summary: the way you and ryland grace got involved with the hail mary are polar opposites. he was forced on this mission against will, despite wanting to live. on the contrary, you volunteered on this mission to die. both of you get caught up in the antithesis of your initial reasoning as ryland finds someone to die for, and you find someone to live for.
tags: somehow angsty?? i meant to write fluff?? reader is lowkey suicidal lmao, reader joined the hail mary to die, rocky mentions and many tears, mentions of eva stratt
Ryland Grace seems to be under the false impression that you are everything he is not.
Being alone in a confined space for so long, you were bound to talk a lot, and it was only a matter of time the topics brushed over how and why you ended up floating in space to find but a semblance of hope to save your planet before extinction in the vast void of the universe.
"Why did you join the mission if you weren't, you know..." Grace trails off, sheepish in his inquiry, "... Sure?"
"Your eloquence astounds me, Doctor Grace," you chuckle, giving him a half hearted shrug. Not meant to be a full reply, but to convey your stance on the matter.
"I had the gene. That was the most important factor, I think. Everything else they could just hammer into my head pronto before launch. Same for the whole astronaut training, apparently." With a contemplative hum, you purse your lips, "Though I suppose it helped Stratt immensely that I picked things up super fast." Purely to show you have a speck of modesty left; "Not to toot my own horn, but to totally toot my own horn," you tack on as an afterthought, just so Grace doesn't think of you as an arrogant ass.
"All the horns are yours to toot, honestly," Grace lifts up both hands in surrender, then gesturing at you with open palms as if to say the stage is yours. "I had heard your name come up multiple times the moment I was cleared to handle confidential information." He mirrors your earlier shrug, like he doesn't want to fully commit to his perception. "Stratt sounded oddly self-assured, like you were the one ace up her sleeve that wouldn't fail her."
That draws a short bark of a laugh out of you. Eva Stratt is many things, but unprepared is not one of them.
Having blind faith in people, also. Not her style at all.
"That's an exaggeration," you push at his shoulder like you push away the ridiculous idea, "I had many back-ups like everyone else, I assure you." Stretching out your legs, you sink back into the impromptu pillow fort with a sigh, "I trust your judgement. If you say so, that is how it must've looked like to an observer. Even if so, it's probably just that she saw high odds of success with my presence or something. Nobody is indispensable to Stratt."
"Oh, I would know."
The bitter chuckle that leaves his lips drip with venom.
... You probably shouldn't ask, but what is humanity without curiosity?
"Could be a different case for you," Nodding, you carefully try breaching the subject. "She was very insistent that you join. I know she's bossy and persuasive, but I still cannot fathom how she managed to convince you. That's Stratt, alright."
It takes you a second that might have come off as you underestimating him.
"Not in a bad way!!" Before he can speak, your hands fly up in defense, "I mean, you just seemed so..." Rolling your hands before clasping them together once you scrambled for the appropriate word for long enough, "... Hesitant. Not to say you were meek or bad at your job or anything, but I was under the impression that you didn't want to be involved any more than the bare minimum needed for the science." Taking a breath through your teeth, you offer a quiet "Sorry."
"You're right on the mark," he says, tone somber, and oh, you're not sure if you can bear to look at him. You have come across him with a mournful expression on his face once or twice, seemingly expressionless but the bleak mood hanging heavily in the air as he watches the stars; and it tugs at your heartstrings in all the wrong ways. "She didn't."
"Hm?"
"She didn't convince me."
Heart dropping to your stomach at the implications, you turn your head to face him at the speed of a medieval gate opening.
"I didn't volunteer," His mouth twitches up, though it's more a grimace than anything else, "I refused â tried to escape when she tried to force me into it. The memories are still a little spotty, but I remember being hunted down."
The sheen of tears in his eyes reflects your own, your lower lip wobbling as he continues; "The grass against my cheek. Uncomfortable pressure on my lower back. A rainbow. The feeling of an intrusive needle in my neck."
They didn't give him a choice. He was hunted down like an animal and forced on a suicide mission with one order, all in the name of greater good. And yet.
And yet he works to help those back home â home, if you can even call it that with the newfound revelation. You cannot imagine being stripped of your autonomy in such a way and still have the resolve to help the very people that betrayed you.
Sure, it is not the entire population. A powerful few, if not just one, but still. You don't dare label him a saint or assume his feelings on the matter, with considerable effort.
The feeling of being betrayed, deceived, far outweighs the sorrow, your resentment manifesting itself as molten anger streaming down your cheeks.
How dare they. How dare they.
"I'm nothing like you, Yao, or Ilyukhina," Grace mumbles, the words haphazardly thrown together as he moves to get up. "Sorry I'm not who you think I am."
Your hand flies to latch on his wrist so hard you hear one of your joints pop.
"We," Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes to pull yourself together, trying to refrain from choking on your words, "We were told you agreed. Yao was against forcing you from the very beginning, as were the rest of us. Stratt said after a long discussion, you wanted to be put in the medically induced coma before launch for nerves or somethingâ!!"
Bile raises in your throat. Your ignorance makes you feel almost complicit in what happened to him, even if you had no say in the matter.
"I'm so sorry," you barely manage to get the words out, lightly tugging at his wrist.
Grace crumples in your arms like a flimsy doll, fingers clumsily digging into your shirt in a poor attempt to hold onto you â or to hold himself together. You can't tell.
"Thank you," you barely hear the words, muffled by your own shoulder, "It's nice to know at least some cared."
Your circumstances could not have been more different. The revelation hangs in the air, present yet not in focus.
It's not like you had someone to die for, you have told Grace that much. No heroism or bravery was involved in your decision, you did simply because you could. No grand aspirations behind it.
It would be nice to be hailed as a hero if you succeed, though it's a double edged sword. You have enough grasp on history to know how quick people are to pin the blame on whoever is the easiest target, in which you and Grace are the very ones.
"I still think that you're extremely brave." Grace croaks, breaking the silence. The glassy sheen in his eyes match yours.
Craning your head to meet his gaze, you can't help but furrow your brows in disbelief. "... I just told you I wasn't thinking much of anything. Might as well have been on autopilot the entire time."
"Doesn't change a thing," Grace shrugs with a surprisingly smug smile that comes with proving himself right, pinky bumping against yours as he adjusts his position gaze at the pixellated beach more comfortably, a small oopâ sounding in the room at the contact.
"I think you're extremely brave, too." Before he can pull away, you curl your pinky around his, grip loose in case he wants to pull away, "Brave, and kind."
His pinky curls around yours. The gesture feels like making a small promise, though you don't know what you're swearing to.
The space walks are the fun part of this entire ordeal, rare as they are.
Grace â Ryland, disagrees. He has always been more at home in the lab, which, you get it, him being the lead scientist, and being the only one who can manage to get something done and all.
"Are you sure about this?" Ryland grunts, hooking a foot in the net as he spins around, trying to put his suit on to accompany you, despite it being more strategically aligned to have someone on base at all times, having insisted you don't go exploring alien territory on your own.
Especially in the form of a golden ship at least three times as long as Hail Mary harbouring intelligent life.
"More than," you chuckle, floating over to zip him up, stabilising both him and yourself with practiced ease. "We're not saying anything, though. Can't risk jinxing it. But they did invite us in the form of attaching themselves on our ship, so at least we're not uninvited guests. All implications included."
"Alright, yeah, got it, no problem," Ryland rambles, releasing a shaky breath as he raises his chin as you zip him up, giving you the most unsure thumbs up combined with the soggiest look you have ever seen.
Holding back a giggle, you pull his helmet closer, though you make sure to splay a palm over his head to mess up his hair affectionately before putting it on him, finally baiting an exasperated chuckle out of him.
He still looks like an elastic band stretched too thin, threatening to snap any minute, though. Like, you're sure he's going to get cramps from how tense he is from nerves.
The solution to such a problem comes to you in the form of latching onto one another, which proves surprisingly effective.
Until Ryland gets startled upon first contact.
The scream scared off himself, you, and the creature, until the situation was somehow diffused, and hopefully written off as a misunderstanding on both sides.
The creature is extremely intelligent, and you love it immediately.
Similarities in culture is not impossible by any means even across stars, though it's still astonishing that body language and gestures convey their meaning this well, mimicking aside. You gesture for it to wait, and after a few demonstrations, it understands, and waits. Mimicking the gesture as closely as his physiology will allow, it tells you to wait as well, and you wait.
God, you're communicating. You're actually communicating with an alien creature.
You decide to take shifts to avoid losing time â or brainpower. Ryland tripped four times just trying to bring a clock over, and you walked in circles back and forth between Mary and the Blip-A for seven minutes before it dawned on you that you forgot what you were searching for.
The process of breaking the language barrier is as close to smooth sailing as possible after the arrangement, so much so that after you take off the soundproof earphones when you wake up, a robotic voice greets you.
"Hi friend!"
You take off your eye mask to see Rocky greeting you with a three-clawed wave.
Any semblance of sleep you had in your body evaporates.
"Hi Rocky!!" you coo, voice going up several pitches from excitement as you jog to meet him behind the xenonite, waving at him before turning to Ryland, "You gave him a voice?"
"Makes things a lot easier," he tilts his head, voice laced with sleep. "Welp, guess it's my turn to sleep." He places a hand on your shoulder, lingering before it slips off your bicep, "Knock yourselves out."
"What Grace mean, question?" Accompanied by two taps for emphasis.
"It's an expression, Rock. He means have fun."
There is a void all around you.
No sound, no sight, no feel. No memory of what happened.
Inhale, exhale.
You feel your lungs fill with air before you force it out. That means you can breathe. Good.
There is still no feeling in your fingertips. Nor your face, for that matter, and you worry it's blunt force trauma. Chances of you being treated in some void pool meant for sensory deprivation is quite low. You try shifting your weight somewhere to test where you are. On the floor, probably, until you feel your entire weight pull you down, and suddenly you're like a marionette on a string.
Not the floor, then.
The tension tells you you're strapped in, andâ
Blue eyes blown wide with terror flash in your mind. A hand reached out towards you, not your face, but in front of it before your memories cut off.
You yank the safety belt off with pure muscle memory, your entire body protesting as it tries to stand upright, your arm shooting out to find support wherever the panels are.
Your senses come back to you slowly, like static sounding more and more coherent until you stumble upon a channel when searching for one in the radio.
The once muted sound of beeps are now deafening alarms blaring in your ears. The once blurred lights are now blinding as they flash red. The smell of something burning makes you gag.
An inhuman wail makes its way to your ears, and the sight that greets you is of Rocky in the corridor, trying to pull a limp Ryland towards the Lab.
Rocky is out of his space, wisps of black smoke rising out of him. So I no die in Grace and friend atmosphere, you recall. Ryland is unconscious, and probably in worse shape than you are.
You lunge forward before your brain can register what you're seeing.
"Your results are everything I could hope for," Says Stratt, and though her voice remains stoic as ever, you can tell she's impressed as she looks over the report in her tablet, your chest swelling with pride. "To call your body durable would be an understatement. Your performance has not fallen under the optimal metrics in any of the environments we tested you for; not to mention your short recovery time. The textbook definition of sturdy, really."
Your hand hooks into the back of Ryland's collar as you throw your body forward to drag him faster without falling over, barely managing to avoid slamming into Rocky, putting one foot in front of the other with unprecedented determination.
The moment Armando is in sight, you grab the first thing you can reach, which happens to be the insulated blanket Ryland has left lying around, and you flick it in Rocky's direction.
Before you can rasp out the command; ever so smart, Rocky steps onto the blanket, and you waste no time dragging him to his enclosure with all the strength you can muster, even with the world swaying beneath your feet, vision growing dim.
The small wail that comes from the medical bed falls on deaf ears.
"I will make it," you hiss, more for yourself than for Rocky, eyes trained on the clear xenonite, "I've got you, buddy."
Only one out of you three set out on this mission to die. You're not about to let either of them be the ones to die, not when Ryland wants to live. Not when Rocky has a mate, a home to return to.
Your hand slams on something as you lose your footing, though you make sure to curl your arm up, just to save Rocky a few steps.
"Please, God, anyoneâ" you croak, not having the strength to even lift your head to see if Rocky made it, "Please let them make it. Let them live. Kill me instead. I'll do anything. I'll die, I'll liveâ anything."
Your world descends into darkness like your plug has been pulled.
"Eye movement detected. Good morning, Doctor Grace."
There is an eery stillness around him.
Blinking to shake off any uncertainties he has, Ryland sluggishly gets up, gaze dropping to a faint trail of black, peppered with red spots, leading out of the lab.
Dread weighs on his shoulders heavier than a boulder as he moves slowly, trying to brace himself for whatever sight that will greet him with each deliberate step.
He sees you first.
Laying face first on the floor, your face is shielded by your arm curling around your head. If he didn't know any better, he would have assumed you had taken a particularly nasty fall but was too embarrassed to get up.
Swallowing thickly, he brings a shaky hand to your neck, resting his fingertips on your pulseâ
There is a faint rhythm beating against the pads of his fingers.
He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, curling in on himself and squeezing his eyes shut, letting his tears fall.
Your other hand reaches out to the xenonite, towards Rocky, and a sob tears itself from his throat when there is a slight move, quiet wheeze of a sound, followed by a thrum.
"Thanks for watching her sleep, pal. I'll take it from here." Hesitantly pulling away from you, he braces a hand against the xenonite, his voice cracking, "I'll watch you sleep, too. But, uh... you gotta wake up, okay? You both do."
ryland falls hard but is scared of being left behind. but there are consequences to avoiding what is right in front of you.
â¶.đ· 2.5k â cw: no use of 'y/n'. angst. avoidant!ryland. sunshine coded!reader. ryland lowkey self-sabotages. canon-compliant to the movie. sorry no happy ending for these two. title pulled from and based on nauseous by conan gray. kinda edited and proofread; all mistakes are my own
a/n: guys im kissing the brick ok? oh and this is my first time writing ryland so apologies if he might be a little ooc since i've only watched the movie as well!
ryland grace masterlist
YOUR LAUGH FIRST CAUGHT RYLAND'S ATTENTION.
He first heard it when he was brought into that makeshift lab filled with argon and stuffed into that suit to figure out what the Petrova sample was.
Ryland looked around the lab for a second. "Am I expendable? Is that what you want me?"
Stratt leaned into the mic. "That's not the only reason."
"It's almost like, you don't care if I die." Ryland let out a nervous laugh as he stared at the observation room.
Stratt turns back and talks to the other military and science personnel in the room with her. The chattering was inaudible to Ryland, and the smile on his face dropped. "Hold on, you have to talk about it?"
After talking to the rest of the delegates for a minute, Stratt finally turns around and speaks into the mic, "The consensus here is that it would be preferable if you did not die."
"Thanks, guys." Ryland quipped, albeit in a dry tone.
Then, he heard it. Before Stratt clicked off the mic, a small but bright laugh made its way through the receiver and into Ryland's ears. A sort of warmth sparked in his chest, overriding for a moment the anxiety and pressure he was under at that moment. He glanced over at the observation room, and his eyes honed in on youâthe only person who had mirth dancing around in your eyes.
Ryland didn't know whether or not you were laughing at him or the situation, but he shook off the blush he knew was on his face and got to work on the sample. But the sight of the half-smile was burned into his brain (for whatever reason).
After Ryland discovered life from the Petrova line, his world became a whirlwind of science, breeding astrophage, and impromptu fighter jet flights, and as soon as he officially met you on that aircraft and shook your hand, feeling your slightly chilled skin from the wind against his own warm (but slightly sweaty) hand. You sent him a smile that sent a jolt down his spine and seemed to ground him despite the rocky waters he was in. He knew it was over for him.
The kindness you showed him didn't escape his mind when he felt so alone on the ship (barring the weird kind of kinship he and Stratt had).
"Morning, Dr. Grace!" You chirped with a smile as you passed by his lab.
Ryland would look up from his station to wave at you, "Morning." His voice cracked slightly, an awkward smile on his face, before it turned into a slight grimace as you left his eye line.
"They say 'Morning' to me everyday, why does my voice crack every time?" Ryland muttered to himself before busying himself and pushing the interaction to the back of his mind.
Ryland was quick to notice that even in the race to save the sun, you were like your own. Everyone seemed to gravitate towards you; it was as if you had your own orbit that naturally pulled everyone in and kept them there. And he was no exceptionâRyland wanted to feel the warmth of your smile shine against his skin.
When Stratt had meetings with all the other officials on the boat, he ended up with you each time. Ryland had to pretend that his stomach wasn't in knots when he could feel your gaze burn into him when he would give updates on his findings or when your hands would accidentally brush where they would rest on the table (were the two of you sitting that close to each other? Ryland never noticed). He thought that being around you should have sent his stomach fluttering, but it felt more akin to a rock settling heavily in his gut.
In the rare times that Ryland had to himself, he couldn't help but find himself in your company. There was a rare type of warmth you had that the others on the ship lacked. Genuine hope radiated from you that had yet to fade in the midst of looming doom that came from the sun potentially dying and the utter chaos that might occur if that happens.
Most of the time, he would find you sitting on the platform at one of the highest points of the ship, staring at the ocean. Ryland would observe from a distance, letting him selfishly drink in the sight of the setting sun painting your skin in an orange hue and the contented smile on your lips.
"I know you're there, Ryland. Come sit." You patted the space next to you. Your tone was gentle, and the gentle breeze brushing your cheeks carried your voice and filtered through Ryland's ears.
Ryland ignored the burst of warmth that spread through his body when his shoulder brushed against yours as he sat down. Neither of you said anything, letting the silence speak for itself as the two of you looked at the remnants of the glittering water as the sun set.
Then, he felt a weight on his shoulder. Ryland glanced over at you; your eyes were shut, but he knew you were still awake as you fiddled with the charm on your bracelet. It felt like his shoulder was burning from the contact, but he resisted the urge to pull away. Ryland also closed his eyes and breathed in the salty ocean air.
God, he was falling quickly and falling hard. Ryland never felt this type of want before in his life. The utter want to love someone so fiercely, so deeply. And that scared him. It was terrifying how fast you managed to enrapture him, pulling him into your orbit, and it felt like he couldn't help but circle you.
Ryland stood up slowly, your head slipping off his shoulder. You looked at him with confusion in your eyes.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I just remembered I have a report to give to Stratt." Ryland gave a flimsy excuse and ran away as if he had a tail tucked in between his legs.
Ryland escaped to his room (you could barely call it a room, given how small it was) and rested his forehead against the cool metal of his door, his heart pounding against his chest. "What am I going to do?" He murmured to himself in the quiet of the room.
Your knuckles tapped on the metal table gently, jolting Ryland out of his dazed state. His hand slipped from his face and almost sent him into the table, but he managed to catch himself, albeit a bit awkwardly.
Ryland wanted to sink into the ground at nearly embarrassing himself in front of you, but the feeling faded at the sight of your kind smile.
"Having a late night?" You asked him with a knowing look on your face. It wasn't the first time you've seen Ryland in his lab this late when everyone else had clocked out at an appropriate time.
Ryland sighed, leaning back in his chair, nodding at you. "Trying not to." He gave you a tired smile.
He noticed that your eyes were studying him, and he tried not to visibly squirm under your gaze, before your gaze stayed on his face.
"Is something on my face?" He started to grow a little self-conscious at the sight of the growing smile on your lips.
"It's justâcan I?" You gestured to his glasses that were askew on his face.
Ryland felt the warmth bloom on his cheeks and the knot that twisted in his stomach as he nodded gently. He held his breath as you fixed his glasses on his face, adjusting them so they sat right on the bridge of his nose.
"You know," You started to say as you pulled away from his face. "It wouldn't kill you to take a break from this once in a while." You gestured to the lab and the report he was working on.
"Ah, well. As they say, there's no rest for the wicked. Then you add the pressure of trying to save the sun, and suddenly it feels like I can't take a break." Ryland admits, running a hand through his already mussed-up hair.
You nodded. "You can't help save the sun if you're burnt out." You shot him a pointed look.
Ryland couldn't help but let out a tired laugh at your unintentional pun, making your eyes alight with joy at the sound of his laugh. You leaned your hip on the edge of the table and watched him with a soft smile, tugging on your lips.
"You know, it's been a while since I've seen you around." You said gently after his laughter subsided.
He swallowed thickly, his eyes not meeting yours. "I know." And that he knows very well.
Ryland made the decision (albeit a juvenile one) after the sobering realization that he was falling for you to avoid you at all costs. He tried not to make it obvious, but after you saw him change direction to avoid running into you, it was pretty clear what he was doing.
"Take a break, Ry." Your voice was soft as you looked down at him. "Come down to the bar and relax."
Ryland stared at you for a moment, his gaze taking in your tired yet gentle smile. He sighed before rising to his feet. "Lead the way." He sent you a crooked smile, adjusting his glasses, making your smile widen, ignoring the way his stomach twisted with nerves.
Once the two of you got to the bar, you immediately got swept away by Ilyukhina, which made you turn around and mouth 'sorry' to Ryland. He waved you off and gestured to the bar, sending you a thumbs-up. Ryland quickly ordered a beer as he slumped into an open barstool. He let the singing and chattering of his colleagues fill his ears as he sipped on his beer. Ryland was hoping the alcohol would settle the nauseous feeling in his stomach (it didn't).
But Ryland was content to people-watch from his place at the bar. But his gaze would never stray far from your figure, a small smile dancing on his lips as he watched you drink and dance with Ilyukhina. He didn't know or realize how long he was looking at you until you caught his gaze and started to approach him.
"Wanna dance?" You asked with a breathless smile, holding your hand out to him.
Ryland stared at your hand. He noticed the sun charm on your bracelet; it glinted in the bar's yellow lighting.
It's not like he didn't want to dance with you. But he was anticipating the outcome if he did. Ryland wasn't sure if he was ready for what you were really asking him. He was scared, to put it lightly. He didn't know what would happen if he did take your hand, what the outcome would be, or whether it would end up like it usually does with him alone. So he did the thing he was best at.
Ryland cleared his throat. "I'm not much of a dancer."
"I'm not either." You were still smiling at him, even though he noticed that it was as bright as before. You grabbed his hand and coaxed him from the barstool.
Ryland went willingly, wanting to feel the warmth of your palm against his. He wanted to savor the feeling of how right it felt to have his hand in yoursâthey fit together seamlessly. Then you squeezed his hand, sending him back to the present.
Ryland ripped his hand from yours, stuttering as he spoke. "I-I'm sorry. I c-can't. I just can't." He brushed past you and made a beeline for the exit. He made the mistake of glancing back at you. Ryland's chest burned at the sight of the hurt expression on your face.
He swallowed thickly and shook his head as he left and made his way back to his room. It was for the better. He thought to himself.
Rapid footsteps approaching him broke him out of his self-loathing. He turned around to see you practically running toward him.
"You can't do that." You said, breathlessly. "You can't just run away."
"I'm sorry." Ryland's voice was brittle as he basically shrank in on himself.
You shook your head at him. "I don't know what I did. I tried giving you space once I saw you were avoiding me."
"I wasn'tâ" Ryland's attempt to deny your (correct) accusation died in his throat once he saw the stare you were throwing him. "You didn't do anything." He reassured softly.
"It kinda feels like I did." You wrapped your arms around yourself, looking smaller than you ever had in front of him.
You didn't do anything but be yourself, and I'm a coward. Ryland thought to himself as he shook his head. "You didn't, I'm justâŠ" He trailed off.
"Just what, Ry?" You asked softly.
I'm so scared of what will happen if I let myself think that being with you won't end up in a disaster, and that I'll be left behind in the wreckage. Ryland's jaw clenched as he looked away from you. "I'm sorry. I can't do this." He muttered before turning and walking away from you, not wanting to see the broken look in your eyes or expression.
Ryland threw himself into his work after that night, and you became a sort of specter in his life. He noticed that his life was a lot dimmer now that you weren't in it. But he knew in some twisted way it was for the better.
Then, the explosion happened, and he was given only three hours to decide whether or not he wanted to go on a suicide mission. For a moment during that time, he considered going to you for help, but before he could, his time was up. But Ryland didn't know that his fate had already been decided, even if he declined.
Ryland ran, but it was fruitless. As he was being pinned down, he swore he could hear you yelling for him. He yelled out your name as he was pleading with Carl before he felt the world go quiet against his will.
Ryland didn't know who he was, not exactly. He knew he was smart, he knew that the sun he was seeing wasn't his own, and that he was alone on this ship heading for Tau Ceti E, for reasons he had yet to figure out.
He rummaged through the duffel bag he presumed was his and found two Polaroids of himself and someone he didn't yet recognize. But he found them beautifulâthe photo was a candid of them smiling, with the sunset as the backdrop, painting them in a golden hue that emphasized their glowing grins. Taped to the back of the photo was a black leather-corded bracelet with a sun charm.
Ryland instinctively put it on and rubbed at the charm with his thumb, staring at it hard. He doesn't know why, but there's an ache in his chest as he looks at the sun charm and the photo of the person. But by the time he does, Ryland is already 11.9 light-years away from the one person that he knew he shouldn't have been so nauseous around.
okay that ask about ryland helping the reader through sex was me, please use this when posting đ
ORIGINAL ASK vv
ryland with reader who has pain with sex but he helps them through.
!! POSSIBLE TW BELOW !!
for context, i was recently told that i have pelvic floor instability and certain points are PAINFUL when touched. i feel broken but im about to start pelvic floor physical therapy for it soon so hopefully it helps. not ashamed to post this, it needs to be spoken about more and needs more awareness brought to it!!
thank you for sharing your experience! having never dealt with something like this myself, Iâve done research to help me understand it better so hopefully this is somewhat accurate (this was written with hypertonic PFD in mind, where the pelvic floor musculature is very tight. I realized a little too late that I shouldâve verified if my assumption was correct :â) ) much of my inspiration came from this reddit post - the lady sharing her experience going through this and how her and her partner handle sex was so sweet, it immediately screamed ryland đ anon and anyone else who is going through this or something similar: you are so strong! you are absolutely not broken, and I hope PT is able to help you find some relief đ«¶
Without a doubt, Ryland Grace is THE best man you could possibly have as a partner if you were experiencing something like this.
Whether youâre diagnosed before you meet him or during, he is putting in the WORK to understand it and pulling several all-nighters to research, read articles, etc to see how best to help you.
He takes your care very seriously- heâs with you at every doctorâs visit holding your hand, heâs ready at a moments notice to gently massage any sore areas (pelvic floor, inner thighs, navel) if it helps, and heâs the most attentive man ever when it comes to sex.
Ryland can read your body like a book. He can tell when youâre hurting, so when he notices the signs he stops everything that heâs doing immediately. All thrusting stops, whether it be his tongue, fingers or hips. Heâll caressing your face, whispering praise and asking if youâre ok. Heâs breathing with you, kissing every bit of skin he can reach until you feel like you can continue.
If youâre unable to keep going, he doesnât mind one bit. Heâs pulling out, cleaning both of you up, and spriting to the kitchen to make you a warm drink. Ryland refuses to accept any apology you might have on the matter, always telling you that your comfort matters more.
If Rylandâs sweet voice canât help release at least a tiny smidge of tension, nothing will. And honestly, a lot of the time, it does help.
Ryland talks you through it and does a hell of a job. Dr. Ryland âuse your wordsâ Grace.
On one such instance, while you and Ryland were enjoying a lazy Sunday morning, he could tell your body was tensing up. Heâs so in tune with your body and its ânormalâ that he can tell when the squeeze around his cock is a pleasurable squeeze or a pained squeeze.
As always, his hips pause. He doesnât get a couple more pumps in to help get himself off- no, he stops cold turkey to focus all of his attention on you.
You donât always tell him when youâre hurting, sometimes enduring the pain so he doesnât have to stop. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), that really only happened a couple of times before Ryland realized what you were doing and spent hours learning your tells so he could stop before your pain ever really started.
His fingers are so gentle as they brush hair out of your eyes, smoothing the strands and wiping away any stray tears.
âPain? How bad?â
â6.â
The two of you had come up with a pain scale. Anything above an 8 was an immediate stop of all sex, no question. Anything lower was left to your determination.
âBreathe. In and out, just like we learned. Breathe with me.â
Ryland was present during all of your PT appointments so he could learn the best ways to help you at home.
The steady rise and fall of Rylandâs bare chest against yours always helped. Feeling the way his lungs inflated and deflated in perfect, deep rhythm helped ground you.
His deep, sultry ârelax, honeyâ shoots a spark up your spine every time. With gentle thumbs, he rubbed the skin high on your inner thigh, his warm fingers soothing the pain there as best he could.
It took time, but with Rylandâs help the pain loosened and the stretch of his cock didnât hurt as much anymore. After your go ahead and another ask for permission for good measure, his gentle thrusts returned.
You thanked every higher power for the man you loved.
I hope this is sort of what you were looking for anon!
content: fluff, hurt/comfort, crying, kisses, use of pet names, TW: mentions of throwing up
summary: just ryland being your only anchor when you get a fever in the middle of space.
a/n: hey my loves! I felt like i needed to put some fluff in between all the smut I've been posting.. (there's much more to come,) this was not proof read and I am currently half asleep so have mercy. feel free to leave requests in my asks!
Today was just like any other day on the Hail Mary. It was surprisingly quiet, only the sounds of Ryland and Rocky fidgetting with various objects was heard. That was until you woke up, letting out a sharp cough.. then a thump, and then the sound of gagging.
This caught both of their attention.
The two of them headed to the dormitory as if you were literally dying. Which you felt like you were.
As they walked into the room, the only thing visible was you violently throwing up whatever space dinner Mary had given you earlier into a bucket.
"(Surname) is leaky. Making terrible sound." Rocky said, rolling over to you in his xenonite ball.
Ryland crouched down to your level, pressing his hand to your back. "I see that, pal."
"What is wrong? Question." Rocky asked curiously.
You shook your head, lifting it from the bucket. "I feel like shit. That's what's wrong."
Ryland exhaled a soft laugh, thumb rubbing against your shoulder. "Yeah, that tracks." He nodded.
Rocky gently bumped into your knee, shifting his torso towards you. "Leaky from mouth cause pain? Question." He said, tilting himself as if it would help him understand. He finally came to a conclusion: "Humans very fragile. Statement."
Ryland laughed again, shaking his head softly. "Not exactly fragile.. she's just.. having a temporary malfunction." He said, standing from where he was crouched so he could grab something.
He reached up into a cabinet, grabbing a small cloth and then putting some water from a left over water pouch onto it. He crouched back down beside you, pressing the cold cloth to your forehead.
You sighed. It felt amazing. You were absolutely burning up.
"You look miserable." He said.
"Thanks." You replied.
"Hold this while I go get a thermometer, okay?" He asked, taking your wrist to press your fingers gently into the cloth.
You obliged, holding it against your head as you closed your eyes.
"Human body is stupid. Statement." Rocky said, his ball pressing against your side.
"Tell me about it, Rock."
Just as Rocky was about to continue, Ryland returned. He pressed the trigger, causing a thin red laser to point towards your forehead. It took about 15 seconds for it to register your temperature.
Ryland sighed. "Yep.. 38Câ°. That's like... 100.4." He sighed.
Rocky let out a soft sound. "Temperature is too high for human. Human may die!" He exclaimed.
Ryland laughed. "She's not gonna die, Rocky. She has a fever."
"No understand."
"I'll explain it later, bud." He said, standing up once again.
You groaned softly, pressing your head into your knees.
Ryland frowned. "Hey, you're gonna be fine. We'll take care of you. Not sure if Rocky can do much but he will certainly make the effort."
You shook your head. "Just let me die." You said.
Another sound was heard from Rocky's sphere. "No! Human can not die! Grace and Rocky help (Surname)"
"Yeah, what he said." Grace walked across the room, rummaging for an emergency kit. There he found a small packet of over the counter fever reducers.
He brought that and the water pouch to you. He crouched down once again. You didn't look up though. He sighed, sliding his hand onto your chin, making you look up at him.
"You're gonna be fine. Here, take these." He said, handing you the small packet and the pouch. You took the fever reducers and swallowed them.
"Into bed you go." He said, pointing at you.
âȘ»âââââ âââââȘŒ
Later that evening, Rocky was fast asleep against your cot. He was "watching you sleep" but just ended up falling asleep himself. You moaned softly, looking towards the laboratory light in the distance.
You still felt terrible. You were absolutely drenched in sweat.
"Ryland..?" You called out.
It was only seconds before he was by your side.
"Yeah?" He asked, brushing his hair back.
"Can you get me some water?" You asked, pushing yourself up into a sitting position.
"Of course." He nodded, moving across the room. He grabbed one and brought it over to you as quickly as possible.
You took it, downing it easily.
You pulled it away from your lips and looked at him, forehead glistening. "I feel so horrible, Ry." You said with a frown. Everything hurt. The slight movement of your eyes, the tense muscles in your body, and most importantly your head.
"I know you do.." He nodded, moving closer so he could brush a damp strand of hair out of your face.
You bit your lip, chin quivering softly as you tried to hold in your tears, but you couldn't.
His expression faltered to an almost panicked one. "Hey.. It's okay.." He murmured softly, wrapping his arms around you. He rubbed your back gently.
You took a shaky inhale, and then breathed out, letting yourself cry now.
"You're gonna be okay, sweetheart. I promise." He said.
Sweetheart... Your heart fluttered but you brushed it away. Your breath hitched as you breathed in to speak again. "I.. I can't-"
"Can't what?" He asked, pulling back gently to look at you.
"I just- I feel so terrible.. and.. I'm in space so there's hardly anything to do about it. It sucks." You said softly.
"I know, honey." He said, kissing your temple.
This was the most touch ever between the two of you. And he was calling you pet names. Of course.. at your most vulnerable times.
"I'm sorry.. " You said, wiping your tears from your face. "You probably have better things to do and I'm just.. being dramatic."
"Hey. Don't say that. You're sick.. it's okay to be frustrated." He brushed the back of your head. "Plus. Your feelings are far more important than anything else right now. We don't get into business for at least another three months." He said.
You sighed, nuzzling your head into his chest.
"You wanna go back to sleep?" He asked, his hands moving to your cheeks so he could tilt your head up.
You nodded, shivering slightly.
He frowned. It was only seconds before he climbed in beside you. It was a shock, but you scooted over.
"C'mere." He said, holding his arms out.
You moved closer, pressing yourself into his chest.
The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, but then he looked down at you.
"You know I've missed you while you were sleeping." He admitted.
You looked up, right into his eyes. "Yeah?"
He nodded. "Rocky is a talkative pain in my ass, love him regardless, but geez." He said.
You giggled softly. "I know."
He smiled almost immediately as he heard your laugh. "There she is.. there's that laugh I missed." He said.
Your heart fluttered. God why was he like this.
He always made subtle comments, soft flirting, etc. Yet he never acted on it. You figured this was just like any other time... especially since you were sick with a more than likely contagious fever. But you were proven wrong.
He grabbed your chin gently and pulled your lips to his. He kissed you, but you pulled back almost immediately.
"Ry-" You stuttered.
"I'm sorry- Was that to far?" He asked.
"I.. no.. but..I don't want you to get sick-"
He let out a breath of relief.
"Oh thank god. I thought I was being rejected for a second. That would've been... so awkward for us." He said. "But anyway. Does it look like I care if I get sick or not?" He asked, tilting his head.
"N..no.." you answered.
"That's right, sweetheart." He paused. "And if you haven't been able to tell.. I'm completely in love with you." He said, pressing him lips to yours again.
The two of you kissed for what felt like hours. You only stopped when he pulled back.
"I uh.. I love you too, Ry."
He grinned sleepily, his glasses falling off his face.
You smiled, despite feeling pretty bad, and you gently rested your head against his chest.
the first time you see dinâs face, itâs against both of your wishes. youâve been captured by the hutts, chained to their side, and youâre forced to watch on as they remove dinâs helmet for sport.
your heart flips at the sight. heâs handsome, with soft brown eyes that you could get lost in. he refuses to meet your gaze, eyes trained away from both the twins and you.
youâve thought about this many times before, how it would be when he finally reveals his face to you. would you be married? would he allow himself to give himself to his wife in the most intimate way? part of you thought youâd never get to see what he looks like, stuck in a spiral of unrequited love.
you know this is wrong. it isnât what he wants, you should look away, but youâre completely enamoured by him. for a moment, you forget the predicament youâre in.
the mandalorian works his magic and before long, youâre safe and sound back in the little house the two of you share. this arrangement was supposed to be temporary, but the kid has grown fond of you and din doesnât have the heart to ask you to leave. heâll never admit that heâs grown too used to your presence, and enjoys coming home to you at the end of the day.
dinâs barely said a word since you got home. he put the kid down to sleep and then pottered around the small space, claiming there was much work to be done. the place hasnât been inhabited for days, but you donât have the heart to say anything. heâs trying to keep his distance from you, and you have no choice but to accept it.
âdin,â your soft voice makes him stop what heâs doing. âif you need me to goâŠâ
âwhy would i need that?â his voice is sharp under the modulator and he sighs. âsorry, i donât mean toââ
âno, iâm the one who should be sorry,â you take a step towards him. âi saw your face and i barely made any effort to look away.â
âyou were taken by surprise. itâs okay.â he reassures you.
âno,â you shake your head. âno, i wasnât. i⊠din, iâve dreamed of that moment for so long.â
din swallows, heart racing underneath his beskar.
âgranted, i thought it would be under different circumstances,â you chuckle. âbut iâve always wondered. i donât mean to make you uncomfortable.â
âyou arenât,â he responds. âi just hope you arenât disappointed. the thought of disappointing you, it⊠i would never want to.â
âhow could you even think iâm disappointed?â you take another step closer, the gap between the two of you closing. âdin, i fell in love with you long before i saw your face. and now that iâve seen it? i only love you more. youâre so handsome. youâve hit every expectation and more.â
âi fell in love with you the moment you opened your mouth,â he admits. âhadnât even said anything yet and i just knew.â
you smile, eyes watering, âand this whole time, i thought it was just me playing house.â
âno,â he responds with a soft chuckle. âi was hoping you wanted to.â
âiâll always play house with you, din, if youâll have me.â
something changes between you and din that night. he doesnât take off his helmet, and you donât expect him to, but you find yourself in his bedroom instead of yours. when he gets under the covers next to you, you hear the whoosh of his helmet and the sound of the metal hitting the bedside table. in the darkness, he finds the crook of your neck and presses a soft kiss there. you fall asleep like that, his face pressed against your skin, and itâs the best sleep youâve ever had.
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. Itâs suffocating and the insufferable warmth radiating from the twin suns overhead only makes the experience more grueling. Youâve always hated Tatooine â youâd 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 â your Mandalorian. He wouldnât bring you here if he had any other choice, but Peli is the only mechanic he trusts with the Razor Crestâs repairs and Mos Eisleyâs salvage stalls are the only place in the galaxy that have parts compatible with the pre-Imperial vessel.Â
Your eyes scan the merchandise until you find the familiar shape of an old ST-70 left engine deflector shield. The Razor Crestâs 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 isnât installed, then your next jump into hyperspace could be your last. You stop at the stall to inspect the part â itâs a little worn, definitely used, but it sure looks better than the cracked piece of useless metal that is on your ship now.Â
âHowâs this look, Mando?â
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.Â
It was after the Mandalorians had raised hell on Nevarro â after Mando had forsaken guild code in order to save the child thatâs 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 wasnât 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 â you werenât disrupting essential trade routes, you were simply protecting a tribe that had taken you in. He knew the weight of that responsibility well and heâs 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.
Itâs 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 â which includes watching your back as you look at salvaged parts.Â
âDin?â
His visor finally moves to face in your direction at the sound of his name â his real name. A name he revealed in the privacy of the Razor Crestâs cabin late one night about a standard year into your ventures together. Youâd 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 didnât need to turn around to know it was you approaching him â heâd memorized your footsteps a long time ago â and yet he still spun his chair to face you.Â
âYou good for the next few hours?â
He nodded in response â 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.Â
âAlright, yâknow the drill â wake me if you need anything.â
Another nod in response and instead of turning around to face the controls like youâd 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 youâre embarrassed by the way you yearn to know the man thatâs underneath the metal.Â
You definitely need some sleep.Â
âNight, Mando.â
You turn on your heel to leave him for the night, but his voice stops you in your tracks.
âDin.â
His voice is soft, even through the helmetâs modulator.Â
âWhat?â
âMy name is Din Djarin.â
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. Youâre usually the talker, but what he just told you has left you completely speechless.
âDin is my family name.â
His family name. Those words weigh heavy on your heart. He had once told you about his homeworld â 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 â 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.Â
âDin.â
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 â the moment of vulnerability feels foreign in this environment. Still, you allow him the time he needs to process. Afterall, he most likely hadnât heard that name since he lived on Aq Vetina â 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 â before Death Watch, before the beskar.Â
You say the name again. The word feels heavy on your tongue, but a smile spreads across your features as the Dinâs head cocks to the side.Â
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 â 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 â because despite his best efforts at looking intimidating, the way heâs looking down at you is undeniably cute.Â
âHowâs this one look?â
Dinâs helmet moves slightly toward the object youâre 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 doesnât pick up the sound, but your proximity allows you to hear it from beneath the helmet. Itâs uncharacteristically warm â it makes you wonder how his voice would sound without the helmet on.Â
âLooks good enough to me.â
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 â heâs never been good with people, but you always seem to understand exactly what to say no matter the circumstance. Youâve 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 â 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 heâs found himself doing more recently. Thereâs just something about you that draws him in, something thatâs becoming harder to resist the longer he spends by your side. He thought about ending your arrangement awhile ago, but heâs certain he wouldnât be able to breathe without knowing youâre safe beside him â wherever you go, he goes.Â
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 theyâre his only lifeline, fist clenching tightly in an attempt to keep his resolve.Â
âYou good?â
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.Â
âYou?â
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.
âJust tired of this heat.â
Din chuckles at that in understanding. Even though heâs 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.
âYou thirsty?â
Your smile grows in understanding. Itâs 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.Â
âVery.â
Din extends his arm out, motioning for you to lead the way. You brush past the Mandalorian and you donât need to look over your shoulder to make sure heâs following â thereâs nowhere in the world you wouldnât be able to feel Dinâs presence, even the crowded alleys of Mos Eisley.Â
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 â the blaster Din gifted you on life day during your second standard year together. Locals tend to leave you alone, theyâre aware that youâre 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 Twiâlek 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. Heâs attempting to make himself look taller by invading your personal space. You wonder if this is an attempt at intimidation â or worse, an attempt to impress you.Â
âCan I buy you a drink, ma sareen?â
Before you can form an answer, thereâs already a blaster pressed into the Twi-lekâs back.
âToo slow, vaarâika.â
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 Twiâlek who hasnât moved an inch. You arch a brow at the young bounty hunter before speaking.
âLooks like Mando already beat you to it.â
The Twiâlek growls, barring his teeth at you. Din presses the blaster deeper into his back in response.Â
âMind your manners.â
Dinâs 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. Itâs moments like this when you realize just how dangerous the Mandalorian truly is. He could drop the Twiâlek without breaking a sweat â and he would without a second thought if the Twiâlek even thought about hurting you. The Twiâlek 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.
âYou ever get tired of being my bodyguard?â
Dinâs head tilts at your question, like he canât believe youâve asked it and he answers immediately.
âNo.âÂ
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 â like the way you immediately change the subject. He doesnât 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 heâd much rather hear the sound of your voice.
Youâre halfway through a story when a commotion from the other side of the cantina interrupts you. Dinâs visor immediately moves toward the group of bounty hunters who are now fighting amongst themselves. He scoffs as he realizes that the olive skinned Twiâlek from earlier isnât with them â he must have left to save himself from further embarrassment. Your head moves to follow Dinâs 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.Â
All good things must come to an end.Â
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 â he watches over you like itâs his lifeâs 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.
âYou really do take me to the nicest places.â
He chuckles at your sarcasm, leading you towards the sparsely crowded passages thatâll take you back to Peliâs 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 â the playful glint in your eye has been replaced with a devastatingly beautiful tenderness.Â
âHey, Mando!â
Din groans in frustration as he tears his attention away from you, spotting the Twiâlek 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, heâs tired of the manâs continued presence.
âWhoâs too slow now?â
Din watches as the Twiâlek 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 â the Twiâlek 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 itâs because of the sudden movement, but as your hand moves to hold your side he knows he was too late.Â
âNo.â
Not you, not now. He cannot lose you.Â
His visor immediately finds the Twiâlek, 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 Twiâlek. 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.
âYouâre okay. Youâre going to be okay.â
You nod at his words, though youâre unsure if heâs attempting to convince you or himself. Either way, he seems to relax slightly at your coherent response.
âWe gotta make it back to the Razor Crest. Can you walk?â
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 Peliâs workshop is grueling. Between the pain in your side and the blistering heat, itâs a miracle that you donât pass out. Din spends the trip carrying the brunt of your weight, mumbling an apology every time you wince.Â
âWhat the hell happened out there?â
Peli questions the Mandalorian as soon as he enters the workshop. He throws the mechanic a look over his shoulder before answering.
âWhatâs it look like? I have a med kit on the Crest.â
âWell, did you at least get the part I need?â
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.
âKeep the kid off the ship!â
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 â the bolt simply grazed the skin on your right side. It will probably scar; however, the injury will heal fairly quickly. Dinâs posture, though, is anything but relieved.Â
âDin, Iâm okay.â
You attempt to soothe his worries; however, it seems that your words fall on deaf ears. He grabs a stimpack from the table â his fingers clutch the container so tight youâre 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 Mandoâa 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 â 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 â 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.
Heâs been careful to avoid this â the addictive sensation of your soft skin against his. Every time heâs 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 thereâs no going back. He never knew what he was missing, but now he does â he was a man dying of thirst and you're an oasis.Â
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 â itâs 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. Heâs desperately trying to regain his self control, but heâs overwhelmed by the fact that your hands grasping his is no longer enough contact.
âDo you trust me?â
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.
âOf course.â
Your immediate answer relieves some of the anxiety thatâs built up in his chest. He trusts you implicitly â more than anyone in the galaxy. Heâs glad that heâs earned even an ounce of that from you.
âClose your eyes.â
You do as youâre told. Dinâs heart is hammering against his chest as he musters up the courage for whatâs 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 â attempting to adjust his vision to the unfamiliar light. And once his eyesight clears, it feels like heâs looking at you for the first time. And gods, you are beautiful.
âPlease donât open your eyes, cyarâika.â
Your heart clenches as his voice graces your ears. The Mandoâa term of endearment has never sounded sweeter. His timbre is soft and warm without the voice modulator â itâs how youâve always imagined his voice would sound. The Mandalorian may be cold and intimidating by nature due to necessity. But Din â your Din â sounds like sunshine. You nod at his plea. Although you wish you could get just a glimpse at the man standing before you, youâd never do anything to break the careful, steadfast trust built between you both.Â
He moves closer to you, invading your personal space more than heâs 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 â you may not be able to open your eyes due to his oaths, but this is his way of allowing you to see him. Dinâs 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 â the noise that escapes him is vulnerable and desperate. He never knew how starved he was for your touch and now that heâs 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.
Youâre starting to think that Twiâlek did more than graze your side with his blaster outside of the cantina â that your body is actually unconsciously sprawled against the sands of Tatooine. Because this is a dream â heaven, really â and you never want to wake up.Â
âIâm sorry this is all I can give you.â
His voice is impossibly quiet and you can hear the shame permeating through his words. You gently shake your head against his. Doesnât he know what this means to you? How you know that heâs already given more of himself to you than his creed allows? Your hands move, cradling his face.
âThis is everything, Din.â
He laughs â really laughs â 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 â years of built up tension finally breaking through your haphazard affections. When you finally break the kiss, gasping for breath, Din doesnât 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.
Summary: Your husband is adamant about the two of you flying to the Gullet, insisting the battle will be over before either of you has the chance to worry. You canât shake the feeling that something is wrong, but Jace promises everything will be fine.
The problem is that promises mean very little in the middle of a war.
Pairing: Husband! Jace x Wife! reader
WC: 3.7k
Warning: 18+, slight smut, s3 spoilers- ish, a few things were changed mentions of injuries, no deaths, fix it au!, targcest, reader rides Silverwing, slightly proofread, fade to black at the end.
As the war had continued to ramp up and tensions had rose, everyone was on edge. Lucerys was dead, Rhaenys and Meleys were dead, your father had spent an eternity at Harrenhall, and your mother wasn't listening to anyone.
It felt like the walls were closing in, like there was a chance that all of you would dieâ making the effort pointless.
Given the circumstances, your parents wanted to solidify thingsâ leaving nothing to question. They had you and Jace get married, a small ceremony for just the two of you. Even in the midst of grief and fear, the two of you smiled with joy during the entire thing.
Your bubble of joy and time alone didn't last as both of you were always needed. Intimacy was rarely able to happen as the two of you would fall asleep when you were in the bed together. If the two of you didn't immediately fall asleep, then Jace was complaining to you about his mothers decisions or how he didn't trust the dragonseedsâ which you agreed.
War was brutal and it always seemed like the price to pay was increasing daily, something no one had warned you about.
You wanted to keep your husband close to you at all times, a pit always in your stomach at the idea of something happening to him. He was always so eager to prove to his mother that he could fight for her, but you wanted him to be a coward. You didn't want him to get hurt or killed and truthfully, you couldn't imagine life without him.
Everytime he suggested that she should send him or the two of you, your fingers would grip his tighter and your stomach would twist. Even though he'd get angry when she would ignore his suggestions, you felt relieved.
Relived that he would be safe, that you would get another night with him, relieved that you would also be safe.
Rhaenyra had summoned everyone for a meeting, you and Jace getting to the room before everyone else.
You stood there, a sigh escaping your lips.
His head tilted as glanced at you, watching you twist the rings on your fingers.
"Are you alright?"
You shrugged, your eyes flickering over to him as he walked closer.
"I'm sure that she has summoned us here to only tell us more bad news. As of late, there has been nothing positive about these meetings."
He grabbed your hands, staring into your eyes as he closed the gap between the two of you.
"My love, we will get through thisâ that I know. You can't give up yet."
You gave a half smile, one that didn't reach your eyes all the way.
"I'm not giving up, husband. I am just scared."
He smiled, not because it was funnyâ but he found you to be so beautiful, even when you confessed that you were scared.
"I too am scared, but this war is necessary. Our future, our children's future, and theirs depends on itâ"
"I never said that it wasn't necessary." You interrupted.
He brought one of his hands to your face, caressing it.
"I do not wish to upset you or argue, I just want you to know that I understandâ everyone here does."
Your eyes locked onto his, silence taking in over the moment as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours in a gentle kiss.
Your moment was interrupted as Rhaenyra cleared her throat, walking into the room with everyone else walking in behind her.
"Mother, I'm glad you finally came." Jace spoke, turning to face her as she walked to the front of the room.
Baela came to the side of you with a smirk on her face.
"There is something that I must inform everyone aboutâ" Rhaenyra spoke.
Jace glanced at you.
"I met with Alicent a few days ago, she came here to visit me."
Your brows furrowed in disbelief, "you did what?"
Jace had a scowl on his face, his hand resting on the table in front of him.
"Mother, you allowed Alicent to come here?â"
"Are you mad?"
Rhaenyra watched as everyone around the table shared a look, the sunlight making your disappointed looks even more obvious.
"She made an offer to surrender King's Landing." Rhaenyra added.
"And you believe her? You believe the woman that helped bring this mess about?" You question, your voice raising.
Jace absentmindedly grabbed your hand as he could tell that you were getting upset.
"I have to believe that Alicent's offer was genuine."
Jace scoffed, "it is a ruse, cloaked in stale friendship!"
"The risk that she took in coming here is beyond question." Rhaenyra pointed out.
"I too would risk my head, if it meant that I could kill off an entire side by using old, fond memories. It is a trap, mother." You chided.
"What about the risk that she now asks you take? To fly to the greens stronghold, based on her word alone?â"
"It is a trap, Mother, to lure you and Daemon into Vhagar's jaws." Jace countered.
Rhaenyra moved around the table.
"No! Vhagar and Aemond are gone, they've flown to Harrenhall and Aegon is bedridden."
All of you stood there silently, everyone deeply frustrated that she's unwilling to listen to reason.
"I could take Aegon and the throne.. in a single stroke."
"No, you cannot. Please, do not trust her." Baela interjected.
"Surely, you're not considering this." Ser Lorent muttered.
"The greens know already that their defeat is written. Aemond flies on Vhagar to join Cole in the Riverlands. With him gone Alicent will open the gates to the Red Keep and surrender Aegon to meâ"
"I will then take his head and the throne."
You scratched your brow, trying to come up with any explanation as to why she'd consider such nonsense. It was wildly unlike her and unexpected.
Mysaria tillted her head, her lips parting to speak but shutting quickly afterwards.
"What are her terms, your grace?â
"That she, Helaena, and Jaehaera are spared and that this war ends without further bloodshed."
"That is a very low price." Mysaria stressed.
Rhaenyra nodded and turned to Baela, "please get word to Corlys in the gullet. I require ships with fighting men enough to secure the city."
Jace sighed.
"Your grace, I protest this action with all my po-"
"And Daemon must return with haste, write to him." Rhaenyra demanded, cutting Jace off and ignoring his remark.
"We will fly to King's Landing in two days time and take the city." She smiled.
You stared a Jace, his cheeks reddened and his jaw tight with frustration.
Jace stormed off and you followed behind him.
"Jace." You spoke, chasing after him.
He continued to walk ahead of you.
"Jacaerys!" You yelled.
He stopped in his tracks, turning back to you. He grabbed your hand, bringing you into your shared chambers and shutting the door.
"Has she lost her senses?â"
"This is fucking.. nonsense." He stammered.
He paced around the room, his curls hanging in front of his face.
"I do not understand what's gotten into her, father needs to be hereâ maybe she'd listen to him." You suggested.
"I fear that she has gone past listening to reason." Jace mumbled.
You walked over to him, a smile on your face. His feet stopped and his mind began to clear.
You pushed the curl from in front of his face.
"We will figure this out, remember?"
He nodded, getting lost in your gentle eyes.
He kissed you, completely taking your mind off what you were talking about â wrapping his hands around your waist.
"I know, darling." He muttered against your lips.
Your kiss deepened, his tongue sliding into your mouth and a whine escaping yours.
"Jace, you didn't lock the door."
He smirked, "no one will come in, everyone will be focused on mother."
His lips traveled to your face leaving kisses, your hand rubbing over his growing bulge.
"I have missed this." He confessed.
He left soft, open mouthed kisses against your neck â causing you to moan.
"Fuck." You breathed.
"You're alway so sensitive here." He teased, licking the vein on the side of your neck.
His fingers moved to undo the laces of your gown as yours simultaneously undid the laces on his trousers.
His trousers loosened, your fingers sliding under the waistbandâ rubbing his hard cock.
He groaned, losing his focus.
"It's been too long.. since I've been able to have a moment with you like this."
You brought your lips back to his with a hum.
The two of you stumbled back towards the desk near the corner, his hand on the small of your back and guiding you.
Your body bumped against the desk, Jace's hand going under your assâ lifting you onto it.
"I love you, my sweet wife."
"I love you more." You breathed, gliding your tongue against his bottom lip.
He pulled at your corset, his hands groping your breasts.
"I want you." You whined.
He caressed your face, "you already have me and you always will."
You pulled up your gown, while he adjusted his trousers.
He lined himself up with your entrance, "don't get too loud, remember the door isn't locked."
You rolled your eyes, "I wonder why?"
He kissed you, a laugh escaping his throat.
The taste of his lips on yours was a taste that you could never get used to.
Jace slowly and gently pushed his cock inside you, making you gasp.
"Gods, you are so wet and tight." He groaned.
Jace was never a rough lover, he was always gentle and went slow making sure that you were okay. He wanted you to feel good, making your pleasure his top priority.
His fingers gripped your thighs as he thrusted into you, his cock stretching like it was the first time.
You brought your hand to the nape of his neck, your fingers curled around itâ with pieces of his hair intertwined.
"That feels very good." You whimpered.
"Good, good. I want you to feel so good." He moaned.
His cock was deep inside you, your cunt clenching around him as his head dragged along your sensitive spot.
"Jace." You gasped.
It felt so good, being close with againâ even despite the stress.
He brought his hand down, his finger circling your sensitive clit as he got closer to finishing.
Your chest rose and fell fast, moans falling from your lipsâ music to Jace's ears.
"Oh, oh." You cried out, clenching even harder around his cock.
"That's it my love, finish for me. I know you want to." He coached, his breath mingling with yours. Both of you on the edge and so close to going over together.
His name fell from your lips over and over, your eyes rolling back in your head and you reached you peakâ Jace following you immediately after.
He pressed his head against yours, both of you reeling from the intense pleasure.
"I wasn't too rough, was I?" He breathed.
You shook your head, kissing his cheek.
"Not at all, my gentle prince."
A loud knock rang from the door, startling both of youâ your eyes wide.
"Jace.. the door." You mumbled.
"Who is it?" Jace asked, his voice raised.
"It's Baela! I need to talk to both of you, there's a problem." She spoke from the hall.
Both of you rushed to get proper before opening the door, "one moment!" Jace shouted.
He tied the laces to your gown, hiding his smirk.
"I would say that was very good, maybe we can do it again tonight."
You laughed, "if you play your cards right."
Jace raced to open the door, an awkward look on his faceâ Baela eyeing both of you.
"What has happened?" Jace questioned.
"There have been an armada of ships spotted, a war in the gullet."
Jace looked back at you, "they have sprung their trap."
He left out of the room, Baela following himâ but you stayed behind in the room.
The once sweet moment between you and your husband, now leaving and you instead are filled with dread.
Jace returned to the room a few minutes later, slamming the door behind him.
"What did she say?" You asked, a panicked look on your face.
"I had Ser Lorent lock her up in her room, with orders to not let her outâ"
Your mouth dropped in shock, "you did what?"
"I will not let her get herself killed! She is not thinking rationally. If she gets killed then this was for nothing, we have nothing!"
He walked over to you in two strides, grabbing your hands.
"My love, we can do this for herâ"
"We can give her this victory without her risking her life. We have Vermax and you have Silverwing, they won't see us coming."
You gently pulled your hands from his with a look of uncertainty, "Jace.."
He nodded, with that wild smile on his face â the one that he'd always have when he was determined.
"I promise that we can do this, just trust meâ okay?"
Your heart thrummed in your chest, a feeling of nausea creeping up your throat.
You trusted your husband, more than anyone else. You just hope that he was right.
You gave him a kiss, letting out a deep sigh.
"Is Baela joining us?"
He nodded, grabbing his gloves from the table.
The three of you made your way to the dragonpit and prepared to leave.
You climbed onto Silverwing, unable to shake the feeling of doing thisâ worried about what could happen.
You rubbed her back.
"Please, obey me, Silverwing. It is crucial that you do, old girl."
She shrieked in agreement like she always does when you speak.
The three of you took off, flying to give aid.
ê
That day the skies were clear and the wind was calm, the best thing that you could hope for.
"Dracarys, Silverwing." You yelled, flying low so that she could burn a ship.
The three of you seperated, all taking three different areasâ burning the enemy ships as effectively as you could.
Unbeknownst to any of you, the bitchfist had a scorpion and with that scorpion they had a large rope attached.
Jace circled around while you and Baela burnt two ships together, Lohar firing the scorpion.
You heard the roar of Vermax, which cause you to look to their direction. Your stomach sank as you noticed the rope and Vermax inching lower towards the water.
"Defend Vermax!" You shouted in High Valyrian.
Silverwing immediately changed course, flying his direction as fast as she could. Baela and Moondancer trailing behind you.
You could hear Jace giving Vermax commands as you inched closer.
Thankfully, there was enough room below them for Silverwing to fly under and let you slice the ropeâ freeing them.
You felt like you could breathe again.
Your relief was cut short when you saw a different dragon had joined the three of you, burning Rhaenyra's ships.
"Kill the rider, Silverwing."
She flew towards the dragon, a dragon that looked rougher than any you had seenâ it also seemed older.
That dragon breathed fire at you as you got closer, causing you to to adjust.
Silverwing circled back around, chomping her jaws.
You got a closer look at the rider, Silverwing scratching the dragon â making him bellow in pain.
"No, Silverwing!" You pulled the reigns, directing her away.
It was Rhaena. How did Rhaena get a dragon? and why wasn't her dragon listening? Why was she burning our ships?
Jace flew closer to you as he also evaded the dragon, the dragon now chasing Moondancer.
"That's Rhaena!" You yelled.
You were at a loss, trying to get away from her dragon and also trying to keep from being hurt by the scorpion.
You burned a few more ships.
They fired the scorpion again, hitting Vermax.
Vermax was going down a lot quicker that time and he seemed very injured.
"Oh, Gods." You mumbled.
Rhaena's dragon had not given up on Baela and Moondancer yet, so she couldn't help.
Vermax was almost touching the water, so you couldn't cut the rope. Silverwing has flown close to water to help before and she always followed your lead.
You watched as your husband struggled, giving commands and Vermax now flapped his wings in the water.
You flew as close as you could, unclipped your belt that held you in and jumped into the water.
The water was ice cold, sending a shock to your body.
You swam as fast as you ever have, pulling the knife from your belt and cutting Vermax's ropeâ almost cutting yourself in the process.
Cutting his rope was difficult, because he kept trying to move and break free on hisâ but you did it.
You watched as it seemed like he wouldn't be coming up, but within a second he flew from the waterâ a roar coming from his lungs.
The water thrashed against you as you came up, gasping for air. You wiped you eyes, staring at all the carnage around you.
You whistled for Silverwing, hoping that she could hear you in the water with all the chaos.
Rhaena was finally able to get her dragon to leave, giving Baela the ability to return her focus to the ships and the two of you.
Jace urged Vermax to turn back towards you to help, Silverwing creeping behind them as she heard your whistle
You grabbed onto a broken board, a sharp pain radiating in your backâ making you wheeze.
"No!" Jace yelled, watching it happen as he couldn't get close enough fast enough.
You turned, somewhat disorientedâ not understanding that you'd just been shot by an arrow.
Another one was fired off, hitting you in the stomach.
Silverwing screeched in agony as if she herself were being wounded, burning the ship on the way to you.
Your blood spilled out into the water, Vermax unwilling to fly low enough to get you.
Baela couldn't get Moondancer to either.
Silverwing flew near, her wings flapping against the water as she waited for you to climb on.
You winced in pain, raising your arm to climb on her back.
"Help me.. I can't." You wheezed.
She shook, helping your weak body onto her. You crawled into your seat, feeling like your body was on fire.
"Take me home, old girl."
ê
When you got into the dragon pit, Rhaenyra was preparing to leave on Syrax as the three of you arrived. Ser Lorent released her as he began to worry that three of you could get hurt.
Jace rushed to get off of Vermax, running to Silverwing to help you.
You were limp and your breaths were ragged.
"Have you lost your fucking senses?â"
"Why would you ever disobey my orders that way?" Rhaenyra yelled.
Her anger immediately died in her throat when she saw jace running towards her with you in his arms.
"God's what happened?"
Jace cried, "she saved me and Vermax. Please, help her."
Rhaenyra's eyes flickered over the two arrows sticking out of you.
"Baela, get the Maester!" Rhaenyra demanded.
Baela raced out of the dragonpit.
Jace carried you into your shared chambers, commotion ensuing around you as the Maester rushed in to take care of you.
Tears welled in his eyes, seeing you in this state. He almost lost you and very well still could, he couldâve lost you because you had to save him.
Rhaenyra walked in, placing her hand on Jaceâs shoulder.
âAre you alright?ââ
âLook at me.â
Jace wiped his eyes, staring at his mother and feeling like a little boy all over againâ feeling the same way when he heard about Lucerys.
Rhaenyra pulled him into a hug.
âThe Maester will do everything that he can to save her, do not fret. She is strong, she is blood of the dragon and she will be okay.â
She took Jace out in to the hall, getting him out of the way while you were worked on. Although she was angry, she would save her scolding for another time.
The arrows did a number on you, the Maesters hoping for your sake that they didn't hit any internal organs.
Luckily, they didn't.
Hours had passed by before they came out of your chambers, Jace still pacing the hall alongside Baela and biting his nails.
The door to your room opened, the servants stepping out with bloodied bandages and bowls of dirty water.
They rushed over, the Maester standing in the doorway.
"My princeâ"
"Is she alright? Is my wife alright?" Jace interrupted.
"Yes, she is doing well." He replied.
Jace sighed, the weight on his chest feeling lifted.
He was so glad that you were okay, he needed you to be okay.
"We removed the arrows and handled the bleeding. As of now, we do not suspect that they hit any internal organs. She was given some milk of the poppy and might be out of it for a while, but we expect a full recovery."
Jace hugged Baela in a moment of joy, both of them happy to hear the news.
Jace entered the room, shutting the door behind him.
You laid in the bed, bandaged upâ still sleeping.
Jace pulled off his doublet and his boots before crawling into bed beside you.
He gently pulled you closer to him, his head pressed against yours.
"Ow." You mumbled.
He kissed your forehead, "I was worried about you.. so worried."
"I'm okay.. I just hurt, everywhere." You hissed.
He pushed your hair away from your face.
"I could've lost you." He admitted, his voice shaky.
He sniffled, wiping his tears.
"I cannot lose you too.. please, never leave meâ"
"I won't. I will be yours until the day that I die, just like I promised." You reassured him, still trying to sleep.
He chuckled, his thumb rubbing against your shoulder.
"You make me feel like the luckiest man alive, my brave wife."
summary â while combing the beach for treasures, you stumble upon the unconscious, grievously injured body of a soldier. you decide to help him, but in doing so find love in a man that may never be able to return it. (11.4k)
featured â jacaerys velaryon / fem!reader
content â spoilers! tread carefully, fluff and ANGST, angst w/ a happy ending, hurt/comfort, canon divergent, jace lives, light medical descriptions, reader cares a lot for jace, dual pov!!!, inexplicit mental health struggles (readerâs deceased father), dead vermax âč, 18+ MDNI implied sexual content/fade-to-black, tw there is a baby
a/n â am i anywhere near caught up with hotd? no. did i write this in spite of that? yes. i'm sorry if things don't make sense or are not in line with canon. the wiki and i did our best!
(cross-posted on ao3)
The cerulean waves lap at the silver beach, ebbing and flowing with the morrowâs breeze. Quiet has finally settled on the shores after a night of war and destruction. A battle beyond these argent sands occurred out in the gullet. All night, the savagery had kept you awake. This morrow, you collect treasures from your fish nets.
You step carefully across the sands, adjusting your silk scarf tighter around your mouth and nose. You bend the knee at the first net.
You heave it onto the shore. Nothing except too-small pieces of fabric and inedible shelled fish are in this one. You empty it and release the fish back to the embrace of the sea.
You stand again, taking a few more steps down. Your mind drifts as you fall into a rhythm of checking these nets, pocketing pretty shells and scraps of metal. Wonder pricks at the back of your neck as you imagine the war. As the lone tenant of this pier, you had never had to consider the rites of the Targaryen rulers. Most of your neighbors had already chosen their sides, even if it did not really matter in the scheme of thingsâneither of those fighting for the throne cared for their subjects, especially not those at the bottom, like you.
Rulers like these bled the common man dry while claiming it to be an act of love.
You move a little rougher with the next net. Nothing but rocks and debris in this one. You imagine it will be a while until you find a worthy treat. The Gods are usually not as generous on solemn days like these. War makes monsters out of men, and the Gods scorn those who partake.
When you stand again, your eyes drift a little further down the bank. At the edge of the shore, a clump of trees catch your gaze. The water is darker there, cloaked in shadow. The shrubbery bends so far, it almost touches the water. You draw closer, eyebrows furrowed.
A dark lump sits entangled by brush, barely concealed by the cluster of foliage. You draw closer, hesitantly. As your eyes adjust, you realize it is not a lump of debris, but a body. Your breaths quicken.
If the person is alive, would it hurt you? Never trust a soldier, your father had once told you.
You bend your knee just as if you are checking a fish net. Your hands unfurl from your sides, reaching out hesitantly. You can only see his body. It is clothed in thick leather, a quality of which youâve never seen before. Several arrows stick out of his torso. A pool of blood stains the sand maroon beneath him.
You pull back the shrubbery to see his face. You startle at the sight, falling back onto your bum.
His eyesâthey were openâalbeit, he did not seem to see much of anything. His skin was not grey and placid like the bodies that you had seen before. Worse, youâd heard something when you held yourself over him. A breath, shuddering through his parted lips.
âAlive,â you whisper in awe. To survive so many arrows, then the tumultuous sea⊠it would take more than just courage. It would take something otherworldly. You know then that your decision has been made.
A huge piece of driftwood sits beneath him in the sand. You push it aside to straddle him. Gently, you grab his arm and sling it around your neck.
The rest of your journey back to the cabin passes in a frenzied blur. You move quickly, trying to spend as little time as possible forcing the grievously hurt man onto his feet. He lets out little grumbles as you move, head lolling this way and that like a puppet cut from its strings. You make it inside and push open the door that your father used to live, laying him onto his back on the bed.
Blood immediately infiltrates the off-white of the duvet, crimson floating before your vision. He groans continuously as you break the ends off of the arrowsâserving as a reminder to the heart that still valiantly pumped beneath his ribs. Once they are off, you are able to slide the armor off.Â
The tunic comes easily. It seems to be made of a material that deflects water, so when you drop it onto the floor, a puddle of liquid forms in its spot. You struggle a little with his breechesâthough, those too come easily with a little pull.
After he is naked, you stare at his body in silence for a moment. You have helped men with injuries before. Arrow injuries just like these, even. But youâd never helped a man with this many.Â
You reach out to touch his cold cheek. He is so youngâhad to be your own age. Too young for the cruel, unflinching hold of war. Gently, you close his eyelids, shutting away the dark brown of his unseeing gaze. He did not need to be witness to this.
You steel your nerves and clench your fists a few times to breathe life back into your numb fingers. Reaching into the bedside table, you grab your suppliesâbandages, a bottle of rum, a couple cloths, and several blunt blades.
âIâm sorry, if you are awake,â you tell him, poising the knife along the edge of one of the arrow heads. âThis will hurt a lot.â
Hours pass quickly under your blade. Each of the five arrows is cut away, sewn with fishing line, disinfected with rum, and bandaged tightly. Sweat falls into your eyes as you step away triumphantly, and you lift a hand to brush it off. As they are levelled with your eyes, you realize your hands are a bloody mess. Your stomach churns and you force the appendages away.
You hover over him a moment longer. You study the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of his eyelids. He had a strong nose and jaw, thick dark eyelashes and a head of water-matted brunet hair. By all appearances, he was quite common-looking. He had the complexion and hair of any man youâd pass on the way to town. But something about himâthe quality of his armor, the blemishlessness of his skin, it screamed something ethereal.
But even Gods can be killed.Â
Your mystery man is not out of the woods yet. The chances of any of those arrows not nicking anything inside him is next to none. Heâs also lost a lot of blood. The sheets are covered in it, not to mention the amount he was sure to have lost at sea.
You draw the hair sea-slicked to his head away from his forehead. Your hand slides to cup his cheek. He might never wake again. Your kind hand may be the last he knows. You wonder how many people missed himâif they were sitting with baited breaths, waiting for him to write. If only you could ease their worries.
You pull away and leave the room before your eyes can fill with traitorous saltwater tears.
There are few certainties in life. Ever since you were but a child, you had recognized this. Life is tumultuous and unfair. It takes and it takes, until you can give no longer.Â
The sea is a comfort. She does not take, she gives. Usually, she gives you more valuable things than a body, but you try not to question her motives.
Itâs been a day since you patched him and he still has not woken. His chest continues to move despite this disconcerting sign, and that remains your only comfort. You stood near-vigil at his beside for most of the hours following. Anticipatory nerves fill your every waking second, even at night when you lay awake trying to sleep.
You recognize that the danger has not fully passed for him. He had not had water in who knows how long. Eventually, his organs would fail due to dehydration and blood loss. That is, if the internal bleeding didnât kill him first.
You also cannot help the hope that blooms in your chest as you gaze upon his face. Perhaps it is the fact that his skin seems more alive as of late. The fact that you have seen his eyes move behind his eyelids more and more often. The fact that you were quite insufferably lonely, and therefore latched onto any individual who came your wayâalive or barely, as in the case of this man in your cabin.
You want him to survive because you want to know him. It is a thought that scares you as much as it invigorates you.
By his bedside, after a long morrow of scavenging by the tide, you dump your satchel of goodies on the now-clean duvet. (Now that had been annoying to doâhaving to move his admittedly quite heavy body over to remove the sheets). You begin to sort through them, cataloging them.
The silence is unsettling, so you begin to speak.
âThe sea has been kind this morrow,â you say softly. You pick up a smooth rainbow shell, twisting it this way and that in the light. âThese will sell for a couple of silvers.â
You put the shell down and then grab your cloth, gently stroking away sand and debris.
âMy father taught me to do this,â you tell the man, âhe taught me everything I know.â
Satisfied with its shimmer, you trade the shell for a clam. You pop it open forcefullyâapologizing profusely to the creature as you didâand stick your fingers into the dark crevice you created.
âNo pearl,â you report when your fingers come up empty. You bring the clam up to your eyes, stroking its now-broken shell. âIâm sorry, friend.â
The last piece had been one you were excited for. You grab the shrapnel of metal gently in your palms, categorizing the weight and feel of it with your hands.Â
âProbably off a shield,â you decide. âIâm sure a blacksmith would like this.â
You put the metal down and let out a heavy sigh. You stare at the man, worrying your lip between your teeth. Perhaps some foolish part of you had hoped he would wake up to the sound of your voice, like the stories you had read as a girl.
But life is no story, as you had to continually remind yourself. Things like that just didnât happen.
You go through a few other bits and bobs in silence, mood dampened by reality. A couple of small shells, a nail, and a scrap of maroon fabric. You arenât sure why you grabbed the fabricâperhaps youâd wanted to try and sew something. It is quite pretty, you decide. It had belonged to someone once.
Once you finish polishing the items, you lift your head up to look at the man. Thoughts and images flash through your mind. What was he like? You wonder. He seems strong, based on his broad shoulders and defined stomach. But he also didnât have the worn skin of a common man. He didnât have callouses on his hands or fading scars upon his torso. He had to be a prince, you decide. A prince of a faraway land, hoping to bargain peace between the two feuding Targaryen houses.
You nod, satisfied with that recreation of events. Yes, a prince. A just, altruistic one. Perhaps he knew of the war and wished to come and save the small-folk.
You look down at his pale hand resting lifelessly upon the duvet. You swallow thickly.Â
âYou must wake soon,â you whisper, âthe kingdom needs you.â
He does not stir. You sigh and gather your things into your satchel. If he is still not awake by the morrow, you decide, you will return his body to the sea.
That evening, you sit at the table with a plate of roasted fish and a glass of water. The fish is one of two meals you eat regularly. The other was for special occasions, depending on if you were able to procure bread and potatoes at the markets.Â
You always eat the eye of the fish first. You do not like it looking at you as you eat its flesh. It feels wrong. The eye is not very tasty, though. The odd texture always makes you vaguely nauseousâthe gooey, chewy ball. Your father had always laughed at you when you ate fish. He was not of an imaginative mind. He did not see the fish as being once alive, like you did. He did not imagine it swimming beneath the tide, with all its other fishy friendsâbefore it was snared by ruthless hands and suffocated by the open air.
You stare at the vacant chair across from you with an empty feeling in your chest. It had been so long since you had a companion at supper time. Your father had not spoken much, but his presence alone was always enough to keep you happy. He is gone now, like with the ebbing of the tide, and all that is left is the shadow of the person he used to be.
His fishing pole, next to the door. His journal, where he kept extensive notes about what he found out on the sea during the day. His bed that now had a new, warm body sleeping in it.
You wonder what your father would have done, had he found the man. You take another bite of the fish, forcing it down with a thick swallow. Would he have left him? You had never thought of him as being cruel, but you also know he loathed unwelcome responsibility. He had enough of an imagination to conjure horrible images of betrayal and hurt, and so you decide he probably wouldnât have brought him home to you. He had too much to lose to do so. Everyone did.
And so why did you? Perhaps, you think, you have lost everything that matters most to you already.
You stare down at the limp skeleton of the fish on your plate. You had never seen a person die of dehydration. Your father had once told you a story about a man he knew that had, and it sounded awful.Â
You pick up your dinner knife, a sharp, clean-edged blade, and hold it in the candlelight. The silver edge catches the light, highlighting the sharp point. Your hand trembles as you study it.
Would it be quick, painlessâslitting the sleeping princeâs throat? Or would it be messy and painful? Would it draw him out of sleep and would he gaze upon you with hurting eyes as he clutched the gaping hole in his neck?
Regret gnaws at you. As time draws on, you begin to think that the mercy you had granted your prince had been nothing but a farce. That by saving him for one moment had only just prolonged his suffering.
You put the knife in your satchel and stand. It is cruel, keeping a person alive only to die in a violent manner like thisâit is inhumane.Â
You take quick steps to the bedroom.Â
You have never killed a person before. Your father had plenty. He always said the eyes, you can hear his voice in your mind now, the eyes are always the worst part.Â
You canât eat the princeâs eyes like you can the fishâs. No matter what you did, you would have to see those eyes. And with it, the betrayal. You stand over his prone body now.Â
A sliver of moonlight streams in from the open window behind you, casting cool light across the heaving chest. He remains impassive, completely unaware of what you were about to do. You do not realize you are crying until you bring the knife up to your eyes and catch a glimpse of your face in the silver.
âIâŠI am sorry, friend,â you repeat the same mantra you had told so many clams before as you pried your fingers in their mouths, looking for a pearl. âBut this is a mercy.â
Your hands tremble like windblown seagrass as you lift the knife against his skin. A moment of hesitation prevents you from acting. And it is just enough for a pale hand to wrap around your own and for dark eyes to snap open.
âWaaa-ter.â
You let out a sharp gasp and yank your hand away. The man watches you, his visage crumpled with pain.
He repeats himself, voice quieter than the first time. âWater, pleaseâŠâ
You move into action. You dart out of the room, hands fumbling with the metal bucket by your door. You run across the moonlit shore to the well that sits on the edge of the woods. Quickly, you fill the bucket. You curse yourself all the whileâmind racing in what-ifs and guilt-ridden condemnations.Â
You heave the bucket back into the house and grab the same goblet you had used with your own water. You take a huge scoop and shuffle back into the bedroom like a child caught with their hand on the sweets plate.
The man is still awake when you re-enter, his eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. You drop next to him on the bed and angle his head and neck up onto the pillows behind him. Finally, you fulfill his request. He drinks like a man in Essos who has wandered the Red Waste for weeks; heavy, desperate gulps of the liquid. Some fall and drip down his side, which you dab away with a nearby cloth.
When he finally drinks it all, he pulls back, his breaths labored and eyes half-lidded.
âWâŠWhere am I?â he finally says once he has caught his breath. You notice him scanning the room as if trying to find the answer written in the stone.
You decide not to answer honestly. You fear what his reaction will be if he forces himself to recall the battle. Instead you say, âyou are safe.â
He stares at you as if only just noticing you. His dark eyes are swallowed almost completely by night, exhausted and ridden with heavy bags. He lifts a hand, as if to touch you, but it falls short. His eyes flutter, and then shut.
He falls unconscious. You touch two hands to his chest to confirm his heart still beats steadily. You let out a breath you had not realized you captured when you find his pulse.
Shame hits you like a tidal wave. You were going to⊠you were going to kill him. You are shocked at the tears that swim in your eyes. You stand in a hurryânot without remembering to pull the duvet back up to his chestâand stumble out of the room.Â
The adrenaline has all but worn away now. Tears clog your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. You allow yourself to feel the emotionsâall of them. Relief, shame, exhaustion, and fear overwhelm you completely and you can do nothing but sob. On the table in front of you, the skeleton of the fish and the silver knife mock you without having to say a word.
Waking feels like drowning. Fighting against the wave ahead of you, trying to get your head above water. Then when you finally surface, you fall behind the waves again.
Jacaerys wakes to the sun in his eyes and a warmth around his waist. He thinks for a moment, perhaps, he is in a dream. Another barrier between him and wakefulness. Then, the pain hits him. No, dreams donât feel like this.
The groan stumbles past his lips before he can stop it and his eyes shoot open. Everything is pain. It surrounds him like dragonfire and steals his breath. He trembles as he uses all his strength to cradle his side.
âGods,â he murmurs. He feels beneath his fingers the familiar texture of a bandage. Someone helped him.
Helped him. Helped him from what? He gasps as memory rolls over him. Drowning. Arrows piercing through skin and muscle. A dragonâs roar of pain. No, not just any dragonâ
âVermax,â he cries out, tears springing to his eyes. No, no, noâŠ
But it was true. His mind had never failed him before. His dragon. His beautiful dragon. Falling to the bottom of the ocean like a shipâs anchor. He tries to move, to jump to his feet, but he canât. Pain ricochets up his side, and he can literally feel the side of his chest pulling taut.Â
He stares at the ceiling above him with tears fogging his eyes and coating his tongue in salt. For one long moment, he despairs. Why? Why would he be punished this way? Forced to live without Vermax? The bond between rider and dragon could notâshould not be severed. Not by something as futile as war. He canât breathe, canât think. Everything is despair.
He should have died. Living is not a gift in this condition. His knuckles go white against the duvet. Anger sweeps over himâhot, potent fury.
He curses everyone who caused this. Aemond, Alicent, Aegon, even fucking Helaena. He doesnât care. Theyâll all pay.
But not like this. He finally shuffles himself into a seated position, cringing at the pain that shoots from every direction. Every small movement feels like another arrow tearing his skin.Â
His feet are unsteady as he finds his footing. For a second, he fears he might not be able to even walk. Then, he finds himself. He grabs his breeches off the table and slowly, painfully, shrugs them on. He leaves his chest bareâunable to even think about having to lift his arms over his head. He keeps one hand on the wall and the other around his waist as he stumbles across the room.Â
The place he is in is frighteningly humble. Thereâs nothing unnecessary here. Everything has a purpose, a function. No gilded armoires, tall candlesticks, or commissioned portraits. Bare, cobblestone walls, sparse furniture (all glaringly handmade and rustic), and cobwebs hanging in every corner.Â
Jacaerys moves slowly from the room he started in to the short hallway that opens into a tiny living area. A large fireplace is the only comfort to him. A pot of a molten, unappetizing glob bubbles above the waning fire.Â
There are very few personal effects here. Nothing to propose any kind of hint or insight. Out the window of the front of the ramshackle building, he sees amber light flickering across a wide sea.
His breath shudders out of his lips. He doesn't recognize this place at all. Heâs hurt. He has no dragon. Heâs never felt worse in his entire life.
All of what energy he summoned flees him in that moment. He practically collapses into a nearby chair and it creaks pathetically under his weight. He hangs his head and a soft sob escapes his lips.Â
Tears tremble down his cheeks and onto the wood table beneath his hand. His mind races, memory and pain and fury collide in a war of its very own. Vermax, his mind strays. The perfect dragon. Gone. He digs his nails into the grain of the table beneath his hands, trying to recapture something to ground him. Short, hyperventilating breaths escape his lipsâhis vision fogs.
Then, everything clears. His hands unclench and he leans back in the chair. He stares at the ceiling, measuring his breaths. You are still alive, he tells himself. Therefore you are still useful.
Because perhaps that was his real fear. That he would no longer be of useâthat he would no longer be worth fighting for. Heâd always measured his worth in terms of what he could provide to his mother. Perhaps the truth is that his worth stretches beyond that.
He hears the sound of crunching footsteps outside. He sits up in the chair, eyes flickering toward the door. Ahead of him, he notices with a jolt, a knife lay discarded on the table. He grabs it before he can think the better of it, brandishing it like he actually could fight his way out of this mess.
He ignores the pain throbbing in his side and pushes himself to stand again. He wonât die now. He canât.
The door creaks open slowly, and he angles the knife in front of himself protectively.Â
But the figure that crosses the threshold isnât what heâd been expecting. Wide eyes and a mouth fallen open into an oval. Hands clutching a satchel of⊠is that a seashell?Â
She drops the satchel with immediacy, hands flying into the air. Jacaerys thinks he hears something break inside.
He keeps the arm holding the knife up despite the involuntary tremble that has begun in his arm. A cool sweat travels down his temple. His vision wanes. Despite her⊠figure (she hadnât brandished a weapon a day in her life, he thinks), he knows looks can be deceiving.Â
âYouâre up.â She does not immediately acknowledge the weapon in his hand. Sheâs either brave or simply ignorant. Jace is not sure what heâs more afraid of.
âWhoââ he starts to speak, but he breaks into a coughing fit. His throat feels like it is on fire. She takes a step forward, as if to help or harm him, but he freezes her in place when he turns his gaze back onto her warningly. âWho are you?â
She tells him her name. Then she quickly adds, âyou washed up on the beach in front of my cabin. I found you.â
He bends over to clutch his side. He notices her eyes widen.
âPlease, Iâm not sure you should be up. You sustained massive injuries,â she tells him. âYour body needs rest.â
âI cannotââ he scoffs, then coughs again. âI cannot simply rest. I must leave. I mustâŠâÂ
A pang in his side makes him gasp and hunch over. The knife falls with a clatter against the floor but he canât seem to bring himself to retrieve it. Everything feels like it is in slow motion, out of his reach and control.
She grabs him around the waist before he tips over. He stays conscious long enough for her to lead him back to bed, but he falls within the waves again the second his head hits the pillow.
Consciousness returns to him in fragments. The sound of footsteps by his head. A burning pain spreading up his chest, to which he thinks he shouts, but cannot prevent. The feeling of a wet cloth soaking his tears and sweat.Â
When his eyes finally flutter open, it is dark in the room. A candle burns to a nub on the nightstand next to him, wax coating the wood. Sorrow fills his chest again so quickly it nearly steals his breath.
He sees her slip into the room like a wraith come to haunt him. It is ridiculous, he thinks, that she should be the one to stand over him. On any other day, in any other circumstance, she would not put up much of a fight. Now, he is at her mercy.
âYou tore one of your stitches.â Her voice is soft, but it reverberates in his ear drums and skull like a dragonâs final roar. He clenches his jaw and turns his head toward the moon that hangs like a silver noose in the sky. âI had to sew it back while you were resting.â
Jace doesnât reply. He isnât sure he would know what to say. How does he encompass all his feelingsâor even one of them, into a coherent thought? It isnât possible.
She draws closer and he tenses. She notices. âAre you going to try and hurt me again?âÂ
He considers her for a moment, then shakes his head.
She pauses, thinking about something, then she settles upon his side of the bed. Jace notices for the first time since sheâs entered the room, that she has a bowl of that wretched-looking soup in her hands.
âHere,â she says, outstretching the bowl. He leans back. She pulls away slightly. âSorry.â She cringes like even she realizes that the soup is nothing to write home about. âIt is all I have.â
Jace swallows thickly. He reaches a trembling hand out. She smiles, relieved.
He goes to take the bowl, but his arm feels weak. He pulls back. âPerhapsâŠâ he pauses, clears his throat. âPerhaps you couldâŠâ
Asking for help has never come easy to him. Being weak is not something he is accustomed to. His other hand clenches the sheet in his fist.
She nods. He does not have to be explicit. He untenses his hand as she leans forward, a small bit of soup in the wood spoon.
The first bite makes his face twist. She laughs.
âI truly am sorry,â she says. âI know it is probably not what you are used to.â
It takes every bit of his strength to swallow the offending liquid. It is strangely salty. It tastes like the brine that filled his mouth when heâÂ
He cuts the thought short. No need to ruin his own mood again.
âSomething happened to you out there,â she says as if sheâd read his mind, and although it should be a question, it is not, âsomething bad.â
He swallows another gulp of the soup. He does not reply.Â
She must realize he does not want to speak on that, for she does not press the matter. She lifts the spoon again and he forces down another sip.
âThe soup has fish and some potatoesâoh, and they had carrots at the market today, so I put those in too. Perhaps those are the disgusting parts. I wonât purchase them again.â
Jace does not have the energy, or perhaps the heart, to tell her it is certainly not the vegetables that have made the soup taste like what sea captains scrape off the bottom of their ships.
She scoops another bit of soup and he forces it down. His mouth had begun to retain that saltiness even when he no longer had the soup in his mouth, like a stain one canât wash away with soap and water.
She does not speak for a long pause, but Jace suddenly feels a bit antsy. It feels too intimate an act to not be speaking.
He swallows another mouthful, then clears his throat to speak. âDid you catch the fish?â he asks, his voice hoarse.
âOh, no, no,â she replies to him like it is a preposterous suggestion. Like killing fish is below her standards. âI just buy them.â
He frowns around the spoon in his mouth and hurriedly swallows the liquid. âThen why were you on the shore when you found me?â
She stirs the foul soup around for a moment, thinking hard about something, then she looks up at him. âI collect things. Shells, scrap metal, and fabrics. You would be surprised what comes with the morning tide, and even more what people would pay for them.â
An odd business, Jace canât help but think. It seems like a hard thing to have to rely solely on the Narrow Sea for food and shelter. The Narrow Sea, he remembers with a sudden clarity. That is near where they fought.
âAre you going to tell your name?â Her head is tilted as she asks this, the soup bowl now empty and forgotten upon her folded legs.
He ponders the question for a moment. He could tell her his full name, but it might backfire, especially if she harbors a grudge against his family. He doesnât think she has it in her to cause him harm, but he knows that many do not until they are cornered.
âJace,â he finally tells her. âJust Jace.â
She smiles and her entire face lights up like nothing heâs ever seen before. Something twists in his stomach. âNice to meet you, Jace.â
One, two, three, four. You count the shells noiselessly as you thread them onto the fishing line. They clink together softly as you pull the line taut around your wrist, measuring the width mentally. You remove the bracelet and add a few more of your little shells.
A few days had passed without much event. Jace drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the day and slept soundlessly through the night. He did not complain, but you had seen his thinly-veiled winces and his shuddering breaths. You know that he is suffering more than he lets on.Â
It is an odd thing, you think, to be harboring a man in your home that you know next to nothing about, but had inexplicably formed an attachment to. You still know nothing more about Jace than his name and even that had not been an answer easily wrought.
You slide the shells all to one side and swiftly tie a knot at the end of the line, forming a perfect circular bracelet. Putting it to the side, you cut a new piece of fishing line and begin sorting through your shells again.
Just as you go to slide the first shell on, you hear something behind you. The creaking of wood as light footfalls go across.
You turn your head, body tense.
âJace,â you say, surprised by his appearance. You stand.
He had not been up since heâd ripped that stitch a few days ago, actually heeding your pleas to rest. But a part of you knew even then that the peace would not last long. He is a restless creature, like a bird stuck behind the bars of a cage.
âDo you need something?â You clutch your fingers together across your front, as if doing so could somehow steel your nerves.
He takes a step into the room. You notice his gait seems more steady today. He looks around every bit of the room, his eyes taking in all the pieces that make up your home. You gnaw your lip between your teeth. Did he approve of what he saw?
His voice comes suddenly, a blade cutting through the silence. âWhat are you doing?âÂ
It is not accusatory nor standoffish, instead it seems almost curious. You grab the bracelet you just finished and hold it out to him.
âA bracelet.â
Jace steps closer, tilting his head. âFor what purpose?â
You let out a short laugh. âIt has no purpose. It is just pretty.â
âHm.â He stares at the offending object like heâs never thought about making something just for the sake of making something before. You smile. He averts his eyes to the other side of the room.
âYou said you do not fish,â he says, âand yet you have a fishing rod.â
You follow his eyes to where the thing sits near the door. It sits, forgotten, in the corner of the roomâthere to haunt you and the person youâd never become, youâre sure.
âMy fatherâŠâ you start to say, but something gets caught in your throat. You forcefully swallow past the blockage. âMy father used to fish.â
Jaceâs accusatory eyes soften around the edges. He hobbles closer and takes the seat across from you at the table. Your fatherâs seat.
âAnd your fatherââ
âHe is dead,â you answer curtly, âhe has been for two summers now.â
You pick up the bracelet you had only just starteda nd slide a seashell onto the line. Hurt does not fill your chest like a cavity anymoreânow all you feel is numbness as it spreads from your lungs to your heart.Â
Jace turns his head to look out the window at the night sky. âMy father is gone too.â
Your eyes leap toward his in a flash. He does not look at you, his hand tracing repetitive shapes on the table. The deep circles beneath his eyes have all but faded now, but the weariness to his expression remains. He possesses the gaze of someone who holds more than they can carryâa gaze your father shared.
Your throat bobs as you force yourself to swallow. You feel hollow, but a bit of warmth has reentered your chest. Two children, you think, without a parentâan awful thing, certainly, but not especially rare in Westeros.
You slide another shell onto the bracelet, fingers trembling. âHe went mad.â Telling the truth, those three words, stings like betrayal. âHe was a knight before I was born. He never⊠he never forgot what he had to do. The faces of the men he killed⊠they haunted him.â
Jace goes pale. His dark eyebrows furrow, the line of his mouth pulling down. âI-Iâm sorry. That must have been difficult.â
You nod. Put another two shells on the line. Desperately, you search for a way to change the subject. âHe always wanted to teach me,â you say, gesturing to the rod, âbut he never did.â
He drags a quick hand through his curly brown hair, then pauses as he gets caught in a tangle. He huffs irritably.
âPerhaps,â he says, onyx eyes catching the amber light of the candle flickering on the table, âif I could summon the strength to get dressed and brush my hair, then I could show you how.â
You swallow thickly. âYou do not have toââ
âIt is the least I can do,â he murmurs. âYou saved my life.â
To smile feels inappropriate, so you avert your eyes and begin to tie a knot in another bracelet.
Jace stares at himself in the mirror that stands in the corner of the bedroom with solemn eyes. His eyes glaze over the bandages that wrap around his chest and lower torso, then the unfamiliar slightness to his shoulders and waist. He feels as though he looks at a person he no longer recognizes, like his mind has been transported into the body of someone much weaker than he used to be.
The old house is quiet in the morrow. Every once in a while, a soft breeze will make the house creak. One may occasionally hear a sea bird calling in the distance. Other than that, everything exists as if completely removed from reality; untouched by the war that rages just beyond the seaâs reaches.
His eyes flick back to the mirror and he sees her standing behind him with a deep green doublet wrapped in her arms.Â
âIt was my fatherâs,â she says, drawing closer. âIt might be a little large on you.â
Jace nods. She hands him the doublet. The material feels like cheap linen, nothing to the quality he had worn before. He does not mind. It would be odd, he thinks, for him to expect anything better.
He lifts the top over his head and she helps guide it over. She seems to be trying not to touch his skin, like she thought he might be made of glass. He clenches his jaw when he feels the familiar tightness in one of his wounds as his arms stretch over his head.
The doublet falls over his body easily, but it does hang on him a bit like the robes a septa might wear.
He hears the sound of muffled laughter from behind him and he turns his head.
âMy apologies.â She can barely get it out through her thinly-suppressed amusement. âYou do look a bit funny, though.â
Jace feels his lips tug upwards in the first semblance of happiness heâd felt in days. It feels odd and out of place, and so it disappears with his next blink.
âShall we go?âÂ
Jace nods. He follows her out of the bedroom and into the living area, watching as she bends to grab the fishing pole. He walks behind her as she leads the way outside, too slow to match her pace.
The brush of a briney mist against his skin feels like flying across the humid air on top of Vermax. His chest pangs and he forces the thought away. His eyes brush the swaying grasses that stand cloistered around the seaâs edge, each one caught up in a current of air drifting by. He watches the woman as she strides ahead of him.
She is quite plain. She does not have the dresses of the courts he is used to, nor the manners of a highborn lady. She moves unhindered by corsets and the plumes of expensive dresses. Her soft legs pump quickly across the sands, barefoot, like she has mapped every inch of the shore to near-perfection and knows without looking where she must go.
Seeing her slip ahead, her hair tangled in the seaâs mist, then as she turns over her shoulder with a jovial grin, it feels so different than anything heâs ever known before.
Baela is beautiful. She is poised, and gentle, but with a rough edge that assures him she couldâand wouldâeasily hurt him if pushed to it. But his stomach never flipped when she spoke. He never searched for her eyes from across the room. He never grasped her hand and wished he never had to let it go. He had known her for so long, he assumed she was all heâd ever need, that the feeling of content he felt in her presence was love. Now he isnât so sure.Â
She reaches the shore and stops when her feet hit the tide.
He meets her gaze as she turns to him. His heart pounds in his ears.
âIs it not wonderful?â She sweeps her arm in a half-arc as she speaks, eyes glimmering beneath the high morrowâs sun.
Jace draws his eyes away from her figure to the open waters. It is wonderful, he thinks. If not wrought with pain and regret.
He forces his gaze away. âYes.â
âSo,â she says, shifting on her heels, âhow do we begin?â
Jace steps forward and picks up the rod. He retrieves the little scrap of maroon fabric that she had found a few days back and attaches it to the end of the hook.Â
âIt is always a good idea to have some kind of bait,â he explains, âfish are attracted to movement. If you can find insects or worms, those work even better. But this fabric may do. We will have to see.â
He moves close to the edge of the water and lets the rod scrape the top of the ocean. âMost fish do not swim right by the shore, so you will need to throw the line out a little ways. Make sure that you do not catch your skin with the hook.â
She nods, eyebrows drawn together in deep contemplation. Jace nearly smiles at the way sheâs taking this all so seriously, before he catches himself and schools his expression.
Jace steadies his hand and propels the line out into the ocean. One of the wounds on his side complains at the movement, but he ignores it. He watches the line bob in the water with a softened expression. His memory flits between days spent under the sun at Driftmark and Dragonstone, laughing while he chases Lucerys with a wood sword; Laenor showing him how to fish among the tidepools; a fierce burn from the sun that is soothed by his motherâs affectionate hand.
âWho taught you this?â Her voice breaks through the silence that had settled between them. Her eyes keep steady on the line, lashes squinting against the harsh light.
âMy father,â he replies after a momentâs hesitation.Â
Another pause.Â
He feels her shift to look over at the side of his face. âIâm sure he would be quite proud of the man you have become.â
Jaceâs breath halts in his throat. Hands suddenly feel clammy. His heart hiccups and thuds against his skin. He had not thought of Laenor in a long time, Harwin even longer. It feels like decades had passed since he had seen either of them, a forgotten moment in his life overshadowed by tragedy after tragedy.
âOh, look,â she says suddenly from beside him. âA conch shell.âÂ
She wields the massive thing toward him. Her entire face is bright with delight as she shows him the object that any normal person would completely disregard. She is anything but normal, though.
âThese always sell for a few silvers at the markets,â she informs him, âthe rich folk think they are good luck.â
He is not able to reply before his arm suddenly jolts and he is pulled a few inches forward. On the end of the line, something stirs in the water.Â
âCome,â he orders her urgently. âSomething is biting.â
She draws close, her eyes wide. The conch shell drops to the sand. âWhat is it?â
âI donât know,â he says, âhere, you hold the rod.â
âWhat? I donât know how to catch a fish!â
He thrusts the rod into her hands. âI am too weak to reel it in. You have to.â It is a lie, but she does not seem to recognize it.
Her hands slip all over the rod as she tries to fight the beast at the end of the line. Jace, pitying her struggle, slides behind her and steadies her hands by placing his on top of hers. She freezes for a moment, then begins to pull. Jace clutches her hands gently within his own and he notices that they tremble like seagrass beneath his own.Â
âHold it steady,â he says against the shell of her ear, âpull only when you feel it stop fighting. You do not wantââ
Suddenly, the pressure is removed from the end of the line and they are both sent stumbling backwards onto the sand. Jace lands on his bum, but she is able to catch herself as she tumbles beside him. The line must have broken. The fish is long gone now.
âOh Jace, are you okay?â He looks over at her as she crouches beside him. âYou did not reopen your wounds, did you?â
The laugh that tumbles out of his lips makes her jolt back. Distantly, he is not sure why he is laughing. The fish got away, he landed on back on the sand, and now one of his cuts hurts. But he had just felt so alive. So unburdened by responsibility, like any man of ten and eight without the entirety of their motherâs empire resting upon their shoulders ought to feel.Â
The laughter eventually abates, and all that is left is the open sky atop him and the sun beating down on his skin.
âDo you think that the fish I cooked last night was spoiled?â she asks in response to his exuberant mood. âOnce, my father caught ill from bad potatoesâŠâ
Jace feels another chuckle escape his lips. âSorry,â he tells her. âI have⊠not felt that free in a long time.â
She lets out a soft âohâ and moves to lay next to him in the sand. Far enough away that there is no chance that they will touch, but close enough that Jace can smell the lavender on her skin.
Jace stares at the clear sky ahead of him until he begins to feel his body ache with exhaustion. He pulls himself into a seated position, but she does not move immediately. She looks at him with soft eyes from where she lays against the sand, a small, affectionate smile upon her lips. Her chest rises and falls slowly, hand absentmindedly drawing pictures in the sand.
His stomach churns as he turns away. He stares out at the rippling current with half-lidded eyes.Â
âHow far is the nearest town?â His words are nearly carried away with the next tide that pulls up the shore. She hears him all the same, sliding to sit up next to him.
âNot far,â she replies, a toothy grin on her breath, âwould you like to come and help me pick out a fish for dinner tomorrow?â
Jace does not reply. The hope tinged in her words makes something inside him feel rotten. Like he is corrupting the world wherein she lives. As he takes longer and longer to reply, he notices something settle upon her face. A realization that fades into melancholy.
âOh.â She looks to the sea in an attempt to hide the dewiness in her eyes, but Jace notices all the same. âYou wish to leave.â
âMy mother,â he says, âshe will be looking for me. She will not stop until she finds me.â
She nods.
Something compels him to continue. âI would stay. I would, truly,â he says, âbut this is bigger than me. Bigger than thisââ
âI understand, Jace.â But Jace is not sure she does. Her lips purse, her eyebrows drawn to form a small wrinkle between them.Â
âI would at least stay a couple more days,â he tells her, âI need to make sure I do not simply hurt myself again by leaving too soon.â
She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her head upon them. âIt sounds like a good plan,â she agrees quietly. âPerhaps⊠Perhaps I could pack you some food as well.â
âYes,â he says this far too enthusiastically, but he notices her brighten at the joy in his voice and so he continues to smile. âThat would be wonderful.â
She nods, pulling at a frayed edge of her dress. âThen it will be done.â
The two of them watch for a few more moments as the red sun burns a hole against the sky and as the water ripples with wrath.
âI will leave on the morrowâ--That is what he had told you over dinner the previous evening.Â
In the morrow, the sky opens and floods them with her tears.Â
You stand by the window of the cabin looking out at the frightful weather. Rain falls like daggers against the darkened, tumultuous sea. Waves crash against the shore. A crack of lightning makes you flinch.
âThe Gods are angry,â you say to the still air of the cabin.Â
Jace sits halfway over his plate of roasted fish as you say this. Then he straightens, his eyes flickering briefly outside. The dark brown of his irises reflect the grey of the clouds swirling above. âOr they do not grant me leave.â
You force yourself to pull away from the window. Turning your head, another flash of brilliant light comes across the floor, painting everything white. You fall into a silence as you step carefully across the cabin.
You knew that from the moment you found him, that it would not be permanent. Just like the rains that fall from above now, this momentary storm in your life will too pass. You had not even wished for him to stay, initially. You recall that first night, sewing his wounds with fishing line, as your eyes stretched across his alien visage. You had told yourself that his presence would be temporary as a comfort then, now you tell it to ground yourself in reality.
Jace had become more friendly in the past few days. Conversation came easily to him and made the thought of him leaving that much harder. Now you were the one that deflated at the sound of his voice across the hall, the one that shrunk from revealing the parts of yourself that had not seen the light in years.
You are selfish. It is a quality that had always lurked behind your eyes, but had sharpened since your fatherâs death. It is a survival tactic. Every animal, even humans, wish to hold onto the things they hold dear. It does not matter if it is not much. Everything you have is in some way worth keepingâincluding Jace.
But you could not fight logic. His mother, his familyâthey had a higher claim to him than you did. You could not keep him like a bird with clipped wings. It is cruel to even think it.Â
You scrub the dish in your hands until your hands feel raw and achy. The only light comes from behind you in the smoldering fireplace and the flash of light that illuminates the sky. You hear the clatter of the bowl from behind you as Jace finds his footingâthe screech of the chair as it rubs harshly against the floor.
You feel his warmth as he comes to stand beside you. He reaches a hand into the soapy mess over the wood bucket and fetches your hand from the fray.Â
âYou have made yourself bleed,â he observes quietly, a finger stroking over the cuts.Â
You feel your throat bob under the weight of his probing stare. You slip your hand away from his and turn your back to dip the bowl in the bucket of soapless water.
âHave I done something to upset you?â he murmurs. His words are echoed by a rumble of thunder in the distance.
You still your movements for just a second before continuing. Your cuts throb at the feeling of the cool water cleansing the blood from your hands. âNo,â you reply simply.
âThen why have you been so quiet as of late?â
You drop the bowl onto the wood surface in front of you and turn, drying your hands with a near cloth. âI just havenât had much to say, I suppose.â
Another flash of light. Rain as it beats ceaselessly against the metal roof. You face him, clenching the towel in your fist.
âShall we remove your stitches?â It had been suggested a few days ago as the first thing he would do before departing, so he would not have to bother with finding someone to do it for him on the road.Â
Jace looks like he might say something. Then he shakes his head. âOn the bed?â
You nod. âThat would be easiest.âÂ
You slip behind him as he moves toward the bedroom. On your way, you light the spill near the fireplace and bring it with you. Your eyes find his figure as it slinks through the darkness. Heâs healed so much better than you had ever expected he might. He should not have survived his injuriesâshould not have been able to heal so quickly. You think the Gods must favor his survival much more than they favored the own laws they stipulated.
He slides off his doublet and lounges back into the bed. You let the flame on the end of the spill touch the end of the wick of the candlestick and the room is bathed in a soft glow. You suffocate the flame and put the spill onto the table next to the bed.
Jace watches you as you do this quietly. When your eyes move up to his face, you notice his eyes are lidded, the tips of his ears red. You feel a warmth catch hold of your skin at his gaze and you avert your eyes to his chest.
You begin your work in silence. You lift the knot of each stitch and easily slice through it with the sharp edge of your knife. At the end of your first removal, you are happy to see that the wound has faded to a pinkish stripe.
âWho taught you this?âÂ
You startle at the sound of his voice after several long minutes of silence. It is a deep baritone, rough around the edges. Its unexpected richness has you shifting in your place on the edge of the bed. A flash of white light from out the window bathes his face in color.Â
âMy father.â You do not elaborate further. You think it self explanatory. Your father taught you everything.
âWas he hurt often?âÂ
You cut another knot. âThere are no maesters in the far reaches,â you tell him. A hint of bitter frustration lines your words. âI have assisted several people who have needed help in the village.â
âI did not know,â he replies softly, âthat is quite kind of you.â
âWe all share responsibility here, no one is without duty.â You put another piece of the fishing line to the side. âIt is how things function when you do not have the entire Seven Kingdoms at your disposal.â
You notice Jaceâs eyebrows furrow. His stomach tenses beneath your hand. âHow did youâŠâ
âIt is obvious,â you say, âyour voice, your cadence, the way you were dressed when I found you⊠you have no scars, no callouses. You did not offer your houseâs name, so I can only assumeââ
âJacaerys Velaryon,â he says, âthat is my name.â
You still. Your eyes dart to his, alarm filling your chest and stealing your breath. âVelaryon,â you echo, heart racing. âThat is the name ofâŠâ
âPerhaps you know of Corlys Velaryon,â he offers, âthe Sea Snake. He is my grandfather. Or Rhaenyra Targaryen, my motherââ
You stand, breathing panicked. âYou must leave,â you say, âwhy did you stay so long? The realm⊠your mother⊠the Seven Kingdoms need you.â
Jace leans forward to grasp your arm. You allow him only because you fear you may topple over without the stability.
âI am of no use to them in this condition,â he scoffs. You notice a faraway look in his eyes. The same look he sometimes got when he stared upon the ocean or recalled stories of his father to you. âMy dragon is dead, my body a wreck. There is nothing left of me for them to scavenge.â
âT-That is not true,â you stutter. âYou must at least find out if they are safe. You have been healed for days⊠you could have leftââ
âI stayed for you.â You fall silent at the sincerity in his voice. His hand drifts down the bare skin of your wrist to thread between your fingers. He cups your hand between his own.
âYou cannot stay,â you tell him.
âIt does not matter if I stay one more day. The realm will not fall today,â he replies, âwe cannot travel in this ruinous weather, anyway.â
Your eyes drift to the window, where the wind throws its tears against the pane. You nod slowly and find your seat again.
You grasp the knife from where you sat it on the duvet. You slide the other to rest upon his warm stomach. His breaths quicken beneath your hand as you drag it up to the next wound.
âI almost killed you the day after I found you,â you whisper, âI thought it would be a mercy. The fact that you are here at all⊠alive, breathing. It is a gift from the Gods.â
He leans forward. âWhat stopped you?â
Your movements pause from where you had started to cut away another knot. âYou did.â
His throat bobs. His hand moves from where it clutches the sheets to where your hand rests upon his sternum. He strokes the skin of your hand gently.
You lean forward without realizing what you are doing. He does not allow you to back away. He brings his other hand to the nape of your neck and leans forward to seal your lips with his.
The kiss is languid. His tongue probes the seal of your lips and you allow it to slip inside. You bring your hand up to cup his jaw and he drags the hand cupping your neck to your hair. You let out a soft moan against his lips and he responds to the noise by pulling you forward onto his chest.
You do not lean your weight onto him in fear of hurting him, but you feel his hands crawl to settle upon your heaving ribs. You gently settle your lower half onto his hips, settling your hand down on a part of his chest that had no injuries.
You and Jace continue to kiss for what feels like hours. It is exhilarating. It feels like flying. Your stomach feels warm and fluttery, and your lips are throbbing.
You shift your hips and Jace lets out a groan. You pull away from the kiss, concerned. His hand moves to grab the flesh of your hip, sliding you back some. There is a hardness beneath you that makes a pleasant chill slide down your spine.
âAre you alright, Jace?âÂ
âUnless you wish for us to have sex,â he grumbles, âyou should move off my hips.â
You swallow thickly at the insinuation. Sex. A novel thing. A thing that should be saved for marriage. But marriage seems so far from your mind now, drifting away like a current.
âAnd what do you wish for us to do?â you murmur. You slide forward an inch and he throws his head back onto the pillows. His chest heaves.
âYou know what I wish,â he groans. âIs it not obvious?â
You lean forward so that your lips barely brush his own. âThen take it.â
Sunlight streams through the window ahead of you, branding the side of your face with heat, and your eyelids flutter against the intrusion. You fist your fingers in the sheets and twist your legs close to your body. As you shift, you feel an arm pulling you backwards.
You grasp the hand splayed across your stomach between your trembling fingers.
âStay,â he murmurs against the shell of your ear. Tears bead in your eyes, but you keep them at bay.
Your thumb finds the pulse that thrums beneath his skin and you count his heart beats. The Gods are cruel, you think. They had kept Jace here long enough for you to miss him when he leaves.
You turn your body over to face him. You are not surprised to see him already staring back at you. His dark curls are a mess on the pillow beneath him. His lips pull upwards at the corners, but do not reach his eyes. He brings his hand up to stroke your cheek.
Your chin wobbles and he blinks away a frown.
âIt will not be forever,â he tells you softly, reverently,
âI will return to you one day.â
You bring a hand up to wipe away the stubborn tears. âI suppose you do not know when that will be.â
He leans forward to give you a kiss and you know that is the only way he can possibly tell you no.Â
Pulling away from the kiss feels like saying good-bye.
You stay in bed as he stands, sluggishly dressing himself as if he was still looking for reasons not to leave. You do not think he finds one. He turns his head to look back at you and his expression falters.Â
A small smile curls at your lips as you mouth the wordâgo.
He heeds your instruction and leaves your cabin with a satchel of roasted fish, a map to the nearest town, and a bracelet strung with seashells.
ONE YEAR LATERâŠ
The nets are full this morrow. The tide ebbs and flows, slinking across the silver sands. Birds let out cries of rejoice overhead for the plentiful bounty gifted by the sea.Â
You bend the knee to heave the first net out of the water. You clutch your chest protectively as you search through the things with the other hand.Â
âHm,â you murmur, âa rainbow shell.âÂ
You bring the shell up to the light and small reflections bounce across your vision. Tucking it into your satchel, you search some more. A piece of metal, two scraps of fabric, and a clam.
You pocket the metal and one of the ratty pieces of fabric, but allow the clam to slide back under the tide. You bring your dry hand to rest upon the head of the babe swaddled against your breast.
âShh,â you whisper to him as he begins to stir. âIt is alright, my prince.â
He brings his head up slowly to peer at you. A splatter of sea foam settles on the side of his face, but he does not seem to mind. He gives you a gummy smile and you return it lovingly.
He watches with bleary eyes as you sort through the next net of things. You show him each individual item as you retrieve it. Your heart skips when you feel a familiar shape and weight in the palm of your hand.
âA conch shell,â you inform him with a giddy grin, âthese sell for several silvers at the market.â
He stares at the shell with wide eyes. The pattern, a dark brown and white mottling, you think, must confuse or enrapture him by the way he looks at it.
The small of your back has begun to hurt. You straighten up and lift a supportive hand to rest underneath the babyâs bum.
âThis will be enough for today,â you decide. âThe sea has gifted us more than we need.â
The little boy smacks his lips as if agreeing with the statement. You nod and carry your satchel and the boy up the familiar path to the cabin.
However, your footsteps slow as you grow closer until you stop right before the door. Something is not right. You protectively cradle the back of your sonâs head as you touch a hand to the door.
It pushes open with little resistance. You slide the knife you kept on you at all times to your hand in one swift movement as you step inside.
You take not but two steps beyond the threshold before you freeze. The knife clatters to the ground and a gasp shudders from your lips at the sight in front of you.
He stands across from you like he never left. Heâs dressed in black gilded leathers, his body a tad leaner and steadier. His face looks older, more mature and shaped by circumstance, just as you imagine yours must too. His mop of dark hair curls around his ears, longer than when you saw him last.
His lips with awe. He stares at you and your face as if trying to map something with his mind.Â
âJace,â you say breathlessly. âHowâŠâ
âI saw you by the shore as I rode in from town,â he murmurs, taking a hesitant step forward. He lets out a soft laugh that sends your stomach aflutter. âI thought I might surprise you. I guess I am lucky to not have received a knife in my throat.â
Your throat bobs. Mistiness clouds your vision. âYou came back for us.â
âFor us?â Jace echoes, eyebrows furrowed. He comes so close he can reach out to you with his arm and you know that he has seen him then, by the shock that melts his features.
The boy turns his head to the best of his ability in your swaddle, his eyes searching for the unfamiliar voice. Jaceâs mouth comes nearly unhinged, a trembling hand lifting as if to stroke his head, but it falls short.
He forces his eyes to look at you. âHe⊠heâs mine?â
You bite your lip to suppress your smile as you nod. You reach around your neck with one arm while the other supports the babyâs bum. You unravel the swaddle easily, and the chubby baby flails his arms with relief. Never one to like a cage.
You outstretch him toward Jace and he takes him eagerly. He holds him with practiced ease. He supports the babyâs head and bum as he gazes down at him, tracing his forehead to the slope of his nose to the flutter of his lashes with only his eyes.
Jace finally breaks away from the baby long enough to look up at you. âAnd I just⊠I just left you. You and my son.â
Your heart skips a beat at the name. Son. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning like a fool.
âYou had to,â you say, stepping forward to lay a gentle hand upon his upper arm. âYour family needed you.â
He clenches his jaw. âNothing we did⊠nothing we accomplished⊠equals this.â
He strokes a featherlight touch against the boyâs cheek and he wrinkles his nose.
âWill youâŠâ you pause. You try to steel yourself for the rejection that may very well follow, hands clammy by your sides. âWill you be staying long?â
Jaceâs eyes rush to meet yours. He steps forward. The baby whimpers in his arms at the movement.Â
âI would stay forever if you would have me.â
You feel your heart skip a beat. âWhat? What of the throne? Of your family?â
He shakes his head. Your stomach drops.
âMy brother Aegon will be the next ruler. Wed to his cousin.â
âAnd you?â
His dark eyes soften as they consider this question carefully. He clutches the lost prince to his chest protectively.
The singers would have made lies of it, if singers had been allowed near the truth.
They would have said the sea opened for love. They would have said the copper dragon descended like some god out of old Valyria, claws bright with sunset, wings beating the smoke away, and that Princess Y/N Targaryen reached through flame and storm because no prince promised to her could ever be claimed by water while she still had breath left in her body. They would have given the moment beauty, because singers were paid to take the ugliest parts of war and polish them until fools mistook blood for rubies. They would not have spoken of the smell. They would not have remembered the burned pitch, the torn sailcloth, the wet choking stink of men drowning under armor, the groan of hulls split open by dragonfire and ram alike. They would not have known how the Narrow Sea looked when it was full of splinters, corpses, burning oil, broken oars, dead horses, and screaming sailors from Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, Driftmark, Hull, Dragonstone, and every miserable corner of the world that had been dragged into the Dance because Targaryens had never learned to break a crown without breaking everything beneath it first.
You remembered all of it.
You remembered the morning before the ravens came, too, which was worse in some ways, because the morning had pretended to be ordinary.
Dragonstone had been grey under a low sky, the sea restless below the cliffs, the castle crouched in its black volcanic bones like a beast refusing sleep. Queen Rhaenyra had held the painted table with a face gone thin from grief and command, surrounded by men who called her Your Grace and then watched her sons with the careful fear of men who knew heirs were more fragile than banners. Lord Corlys Velaryon had stood with both hands braced upon the table, silver hair bound back, eyes fixed upon the carved channels of Blackwater Bay and the Gullet as if he could hold the sea itself by staring hard enough. Your father, Prince Daemon, had not been there. He was away with Caraxes, away with his own war, his own rage, his own secrets, because that was what Daemon Targaryen did best. He left scorch marks in history, then expected those left behind to warm themselves by the ashes.
Jacaerys stood near his mother, taller than he had been when you were first told you would marry him, though still not yet broad in the way older men became after years of command, wine, and arrogance. He had grown harder since Lucerys died. Not crueler, not yet, but the soft places in him had gone guarded. His dark curls were tied at the nape because he had taken to wearing them so when he meant to look older. It never worked on you. You had known him when his voice still cracked during arguments and when he tried to look solemn at betrothal feasts while Baela kicked him under the table and you nearly choked on laughter into your cup. You had known him before war made everyone speak in titles first and names only when afraid.
He felt your stare and looked toward you across the chamber.
For a moment, all the lords and captains and maesters between you seemed to blur into the smoke from the braziers. He gave you the smallest nod, almost nothing, a prince acknowledging a princess in council. But his hand shifted against the edge of the table, fingers closing once, and you knew him well enough to understand the rest.
Stay.
Do not follow.
Do not make this worse by loving me where everyone can see it.
You almost laughed at him for it. Quietly, viciously, in your own throat. Men were unbelievable creatures. Give one a dragon, a claim to the Iron Throne, and the affection of a woman who had spent her life among Targaryens and Velaryons, and somehow he would still imagine he could protect her by standing three paces farther away in a council chamber. Absolute strategic genius. The Citadel would probably write six dull scrolls about it.
âLysene galleys have been sighted near the Gullet before,â one of Corlysâs captains was saying. âThe Triarchy has not forgotten the Stepstones, my lord. Nor Prince Daemon.â
âNo one has forgotten my father,â you said.
The room quieted just enough to prove that everyone had been thinking the same thing and no one had wanted to be the fool who gave it voice. You stood beside Baela, with Rhaena behind you near the carved wall, your sisters silent in different ways. Baelaâs silence always had teeth. Rhaenaâs had sorrow in it, deeper and more private than people understood because they mistook gentleness for weakness. You were the eldest of Laena Velaryonâs daughters, born before the twins, raised between tide and flame, and people had been watching your face since you were old enough to sit beside your mother without fidgeting. They had watched for Daemon in you. They had watched for Laena. They had watched for Velaryon salt and Targaryen madness, as if blood was a cup they could peer into and judge its contents.
Corlys looked at you, and the grief that crossed his face was gone so quickly a careless person would have missed it. You were Laenaâs daughter before you were Daemonâs, at least to him. âYour fatherâs enemies have long memories.â
âSo do his daughters.â
Baelaâs mouth twitched.
Jaceâs did not. He was watching you too closely now, his eyes warning you away from whatever he thought was building in you. He had always known when you were about to do something inconvenient. It was one of the reasons you loved him and one of the reasons you occasionally wanted to shake him until his princely restraint fell out of his ears.
Rhaenyraâs voice drew the room back. âOur fleet holds the Gullet. The Sea Snake has made that plain. If the Triarchy comes, they will find Velaryon sails waiting.â
âAnd dragons,â Jace said.
He spoke calmly, but something moved through the hall when he did. He had gone to the Eyrie and to Winterfell and returned with promises, with oaths, with men speaking well of him. He had found dragonseeds for his mother, bastards and lowborn and doubtful blood made mighty by fire: Addam of Hull on Seasmoke, Hugh Hammer on Vermithor, Ulf White on Silverwing, Nettles on Sheepstealer. A pretty harvest of desperation, plucked from Dragonstoneâs shadow and handed weapons that could unmake cities. You did not despise them for it. You would have mounted anything with wings too, had the world given you hunger instead of a title.
But dragons were not swords. Dragons had moods, memories, tempers. Dragons chose. Dragons grieved. Anyone who thought otherwise had never looked into a dragonâs eye and seen something older than language looking back.
Your own dragon had chosen you before your tenth nameday.
Rhovagon was copper from snout to tail, not the bright useless shine of a new coin, but the deeper color of hammered metal held near flame. Along his neck and shoulders, his scales darkened into bronze, and under his wings ran thin veins of green like old patina spreading through a statue left too long in sea air. He was not as monstrous as Vhagar, not as famed as Caraxes, not as beautiful as Sunfyre was said to be, but he was clever. He listened more than other dragons. He watched the water with particular hatred, as if he personally resented anything that swallowed heat. Your father had once said Rhovagon had the temperament of a suspicious old admiral trapped inside a young dragonâs body. Your mother had laughed and told him that was why he suited you.
You had not thought of that in years without pain catching under your ribs.
âDragons, yes,â Rhaenyra said, and her gaze moved from Jace to you with the careful heaviness of a mother and queen trying not to let either part of herself win too completely. âBut dragons must be sent with purpose, not pride.â
Jace lowered his head. âI know that, Mother.â
âDo you?â
The words landed harder than a shout. Jaceâs jaw tightened. He bowed, but the hurt showed because he was not as good as hiding it from you as he wished. Rhaenyra saw Lucerys whenever she looked at danger now. She saw Arrax ripped apart above Shipbreaker Bay. She saw one son lost to Aemondâs monster and another standing before her, offering himself to war with all the earnest courage that made boys die and old men write about valor afterward.
Your hand curled around the back of a chair. You wanted to speak, but this was not your mother. This was not your council. This was not your place, though you had been promised to its heir and would one day, if any of you survived this familyâs talent for catastrophe, stand beside him as queen. Wonderful institution, monarchy. Everyone bled for rules no one could keep straight once the dragons started eating each other.
After the council, Jace found you on the windy path below the castle, where black stone steps led toward the dragonmont and the air tasted of sulfur, salt, and ash. You had gone there because Rhovagon was restless and because you did not want to sit in chambers while women embroidered fear into silence. He came without guards. That alone told you his mood.
âYou should not speak so sharply in council,â he said.
You turned from the cliff edge. Below, waves struck the rocks hard enough to burst white. âThere he is. My promised husband, brave heir to Dragonstone, terror of Lysene sailors, corrector of womenâs manners.â
His brows drew together. âThat is not what I meant.â
âIt never is.â
âY/N.â
Your name in his mouth softened something you had meant to keep difficult. Annoying, really. Affection had no discipline. It just wandered into arguments and ruined perfectly good anger.
Jace stepped closer. He wore black and red, not Velaryon sea colors, and he had a sword at his hip though he still looked more like a prince than a killer. His face had changed since Lucerys died. There was a line between his brows now that did not leave easily, and grief had taught him to hold still. Before, he had burned brighter, laughed faster. You missed that boy with an ache you did not know where to put. You loved the young man before you too, but that love was more frightening. It had teeth around the edges.
âI do not want you in the first flight if the Triarchy comes,â he said.
âThere it is.â
âI mean it.â
âSo do I.â
His nostrils flared. âRhovagon is swift, but he is not so large as Vermithor or Silverwing. If the galleys carry scorpions, if they have learned from the Stepstones, if they loose enough bolts at once, a smaller dragon is no small risk.â
âAnd Vermax is made of Valyrian steel now?â
âDo not twist my words.â
âThen stop giving me such useful ones.â
He looked away, toward the water. Gulls screamed beyond the cliffs. Somewhere deep under the mountain, a dragon answered with a low, irritated rumble that seemed to pass through the soles of your boots. âYou are Laenaâs daughter.â
âI had noticed.â
âShe died trying to reach Vhagar.â
Cold passed through you. Not the air. Not the sea. Something older and more personal. Your motherâs death was a wound people handled either too gently or not gently enough. Jace knew better. Usually. The fact that he had said it told you how afraid he was.
Your voice lowered. âFinish that thought carefully.â
He turned back, regret already in his eyes. âI only meant that I cannot watch you fly into certain death because pride demands it.â
âPride?â you repeated. âYou think this is pride?â
âI think you would rather burn than be left behind.â
âYes,â you said. âAnd you would rather drown than admit you need anyone beside you.â
His mouth shut.
The wind pulled loose strands of your silver hair across your face. You did not brush them back. You let him look at you half-obscured, half-wild, not because you planned it, but because you were tired of standing neatly inside everyone elseâs fear. âI am not Baela. I am not Rhaena. I am not your motherâs ward to be placed behind walls until the realm becomes polite again. I am Daemon Targaryenâs daughter, yes, and Laena Velaryonâs. I am promised to you, not owned by you. Rhovagon answers to me, and if ships come through the Gullet to burn my grandfatherâs seat and take my kin, I will not sit in my rooms with my hands folded because you have decided love means locking me away from danger.â
Jace stared at you for a long moment.
Then, quietly, âI do not know how to lose another person.â
The anger went from you as if someone had opened a vein.
He looked ashamed of having said it. That was Jace. He could stand in council before Corlys Velaryon, Rhaenyra Targaryen, and half the proud fools on Dragonstone without faltering, but one honest sentence to the girl he was meant to marry and he looked as if he had stripped himself bare in winter.
You crossed the space between you and took his face between your hands. He shut his eyes when your thumbs brushed his cheekbones. His skin was warm despite the wind.
âYou do not get to choose that,â you said, less harshly now. âNone of us do.â
âI know.â
âNo. You command. You plan. You make yourself useful until people forget you are frightened. That is not the same as knowing.â
His eyes opened. Brown, not violet. Familiar, stubborn, alive. People whispered about that too. They whispered about him and his brothers as if hair color mattered more than courage, as if blood was only true when it performed prettily for witnesses. You had hated those whispers long before you loved him. Jace had carried them since childhood, and instead of making him smaller, they had made him determined to earn every room he entered. It was noble. It was exhausting. It was also likely to get him killed one day if no one dragged him back by the collar.
He covered one of your hands with his. âAnd what do you do when you are frightened?â
âBecome unpleasant.â
âThat is not only when you are frightened.â
âCareful, my prince.â
For the first time that day, he smiled. Barely. Enough.
You leaned in and kissed him before the smile could fade. It was not soft at first. Neither of you had been raised in softness, and war had stolen whatever patience courtship might have taught you. His hand went to your waist, fingers tightening in the fabric of your gown. You felt him inhale like he had been struck. You had kissed before, in corners and corridors and once in a storage chamber that had smelled strongly of apples and old wine, which Baela had found so funny she nearly told half the castle out of spite. But since Lucerys, since Blood and Cheese, since rookery messages came in black ribbons and everyone began measuring life by which raven arrived next, each touch had changed. It had become a claim against loss. Not ownership. Never that. More like proof. Here. Warm. Breathing. Mine because I choose and am chosen.
When you drew back, his forehead rested against yours.
âIf I ask you again to stay behind?â he murmured.
âI will pretend not to hear you.â
âThat sounds like you.â
âIf you try to command me?â
âI would not.â
âIf you try?â
His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, lighter now, almost sad. âThen you will become unpleasant.â
âViolently.â
His laugh was short and unsteady, but it was there.
Later, you would think of that laugh. You would think of it when the sky turned black with smoke and the sea took Vermax beneath its burning skin.
The ravens came before dawn.
Not one. Many. Their wings beat at the rookery windows until servants ran half-dressed through the corridors and bells began to sound across Dragonstone. The Gay Abandon had been taken. Aegon and Viserys, the queenâs little sons by Daemon, had been aboard, sent away for safety because adults were forever arranging children like pieces on cyvasse boards and then acting shocked when the board caught fire. Aegon had escaped on Stormcloud, wounded, terrified, his small dragon torn and dying beneath him by the time he reached Dragonstone. Viserys was gone. Taken, drowned, dead, sold, hidden. No one knew. The not knowing was its own kind of knife.
Rhaenyraâs scream carried through stone.
You were already dressed when Jace came for you.
He did not knock. He entered your chamber with his riding leathers half-fastened, hair loose, face pale under the fury gripping him. For a wild instant, neither of you spoke. The castle beyond your door was chaos: running feet, shouted orders, sobbing servants, horns, the distant answering roars of dragons disturbed from sleep. You could smell smoke though there was no fire yet. Fear had a smell close enough.
âViserys,â he said.
âI heard.â
âAegon says ships. Many ships. Triarchy colors. They attacked the cog and took him from the sea.â
Your hands were already moving, buckling the straps at your wrists. âWhere is Aegon?â
âWith the maesters. Stormcloud is dying.â
Jaceâs voice broke on the dragonâs name. Not loudly. Barely enough to hear. That made it worse.
You came to him. âJace.â
âThey took him,â he said. âThey took my brother. My mother thinks him dead. Aegon saw them take him, and he could do nothing.â
âHe is a child.â
âSo was Luke.â
That one landed between you like a blade.
He turned away, breathing too hard. âI am flying.â
âI know.â
âThe dragonseeds are being called. Addam, Hugh, Ulf, Nettles. All of them.â
âAnd me.â
His shoulders stiffened.
âFor once in your life,â you said, âdo not waste time arguing with me.â
He looked back. Rage and terror made him look older than he was and younger than he wished. âIf something happens, I cannot turn back for you.â
âGood. I would hate to discover you had become stupid at the worst possible moment.â
âThat is not a jest.â
âNo,â you said. âIt is an order.â
He stared, then crossed the room in three strides and kissed you with all the words neither of you had room to say. This one was not stolen sweetness. It was fierce, bruising, almost angry, his hands in your hair and yours gripping the front of his leathers hard enough to strain the seams. He tasted of salt and sleeplessness. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours as if committing your face to memory, which you hated so much you almost slapped him.
âDo not look at me like I am already dead,â you said.
He swallowed. âThen do not die.â
âSame to you.â
He nodded once.
That was the last gentle thing.
The dragonmont was thunder by the time you reached it. Vermax was shrieking from the lower slope, green scales dark with dawn mist, wings half-spread, lashing his tail so hard stones cracked under him. Rhovagon waited above him, copper hide catching the first miserable light of morning. He saw you and lowered his long head, smoke curling from his nostrils in hot gusts that smelled of iron and char. His eyes were molten orange, awake and terrible. He knew before you touched him. He always did.
âRhovagon,â you said, pressing your palm to the warm scale above his jaw.
He rumbled. Not comfort. Agreement.
Beyond him, the other dragons gathered or lifted already. Seasmoke moved with pale, restless elegance under Addam of Hull, who sat him better than many highborn would have liked to admit. Addam had a Velaryon look to him despite his birth, and a steadiness you trusted more than Hugh Hammerâs broad-shouldered swagger. Hugh sat Vermithor like a man drunk on being chosen by a god. Perhaps he was. Vermithorâs bronze immensity made the air shake when he moved, old power wrapped in muscle and flame. Ulf White laughed too loudly atop Silverwing, though the sound cracked near the end, betraying the fear under the wine and bravado. Nettles was the strangest among them, small and brown and sharp-eyed, perched on Sheepstealer with a confidence that did not need announcement. Her dragon was mud-brown and lean, ugly by courtly standards, which meant he had probably lived longer than most pretty creatures through the radical strategy of not giving a damn what princes thought.
Jace was already mounted on Vermax.
He saw you climb into Rhovagonâs saddle. His face hardened into command because others were watching. Yours did the same. It was almost funny. Two children dressed as legends, about to fly into a naval battle because every adult in the realm had failed upward into disaster.
Lord Corlys stood below with his captains, shouting to men racing toward the harbor. Baela was there too, furious at being held back, Moondancer too young and too small for such a fight, though Baela looked ready to claw the sky open with her own hands. Rhaena stood beside her, arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on you.
âYou come back!â Baela shouted.
You looked down at your sister and forced a grin you did not feel. âBossy little beast.â
âPromise me!â
That cut deeper than expected. Baela did not beg. She demanded, threatened, mocked, charged. But promise me came out of her with childhood still inside it.
You looked from Baela to Rhaena. Rhaenaâs eyes were wet, but she did not look away. Sweet sister. Quiet sister. The one everyone underestimated because she survived pain without making theater of it.
âI promise,â you said.
A stupid thing to say before battle. Necessary anyway.
Then Vermax leapt.
The sky took him.
Jace rose hard and fast, and Rhovagon followed.
Dragonstone dropped beneath you, black towers and smoking vents shrinking as the wind slammed cold against your face. The saddle straps bit into your thighs. Rhovagonâs wings opened in full, copper membranes snapping taut, and the world tilted into speed. Around you came the others: Seasmoke pale as sea fog, Silverwing gleaming, Vermithor vast enough to make clouds seem thin, Sheepstealer cutting lower with Nettles crouched forward like she had been born out of his spine. Vermax flew at the front, his green body arrowing toward the Gullet, toward smoke already staining the horizon.
You had flown all your life, but never into anything like that.
At first the battle was only a dark smudge over the water.
Then it became fire.
The Gullet was burning from end to end. Warships crawled across the sea like black beetles, some in Velaryon formation, others flying banners of the Three Daughters: Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, old enemies wearing new purpose. The Triarchy fleet had come in force, dozens upon dozens of ships, their decks crowded with archers, crossbowmen, sailors, sellswords, men who had fought dragons before in the Stepstones and learned just enough to be dangerous before dying anyway. High Tide and Spicetown were under attack behind the main press, smoke rising from Driftmark in long torn ribbons. Velaryon ships fought in the channel, their oars churning red water. Men leapt from burning decks. Others burned where they stood. Some tried to swim and were dragged down by armor, ropes, wreckage, or the simple cruel weight of panic.
Through the wind, you heard Jace shouting commands. Not to you. To all of them.
âLysene galleys! Break them before they scatter!â
He did not sound like a boy then. He sounded like what Rhaenyra needed him to be. That terrified you more than weakness would have.
Vermax dove first.
Green wings folded, and he dropped through smoke with a scream that split the air. Fire poured from his jaws, golden-orange and furious, sweeping across the nearest galley. Sailcloth vanished. Men became torches. The shipâs mast cracked, fell, and crushed the deck in a spray of sparks and bodies. Seasmoke followed from the left, Addam bringing him low along the line of fleeing ships, white-grey fire washing over oars and rigging. Vermithor did not so much attack as erase. Hugh Hammer brought the old dragon down upon the Myrish line, and three ships burned in a single breath, their hulls bursting apart under heat too great for wet wood to bear. Silverwing passed higher, flame raining in a wide, terrible arc. Ulf whooped as if he were at a tourney, the idiot, but his dragon knew her work. Sheepstealer moved with ugly precision, diving at stragglers, tearing sails with his claws, setting one ship afire from stern to prow before Nettles pulled him sharply aside from a storm of bolts.
Then Rhovagon descended.
The first blast of his fire struck a Tyroshi ship attempting to ram a Velaryon galley. Copper light filled your vision. Rhovagonâs flame was not as pale as Seasmokeâs or as vast as Vermithorâs. It came dense and roaring, red-gold at the core, edged in green where the heat caught pitch and painted shields. Men screamed below you. You smelled hair and tar and blood boiling in armor. You banked hard, knees clamping against the saddle as arrows hissed past. One struck Rhovagonâs left shoulder and glanced from scale. Another tore through the loose edge of your cloak. A third flashed close enough that you felt its wind against your cheek.
âRhovagon, up!â you shouted, and he climbed.
Below, the Triarchy ships tried to scatter, but the Gullet was crowded with death. Burning ships drifted into whole ones. Oars tangled. Men leapt between decks, some aflame, some trying to drag water buckets through chaos as if a bucket could argue with dragonfire and win. The sky filled with smoke so thick your eyes streamed. You wiped them with the back of your glove and looked for Jace.
Vermax was ahead, too far ahead.
âJace,â you hissed.
He had seen something. You knew it before you knew what. Vermax angled toward a cluster of Lysene galleys breaking from the main fleet, their sails cut loose and oars driving frantically east. They were not fleeing blindly. They were guarding something between them. Smaller vessels. Prize ships. Captives.
Viserys.
Of course Jace saw it. Of course he did.
You dragged Rhovagon after him, cursing him in every language you knew and several you invented on the spot. âNo, no, do not be noble now, you stubborn fool.â
Vermax dropped lower.
The Lyseni were ready.
From the decks below came the snap and groan of scorpions turning. Huge bolts rose like black needles into the smoke. Crossbows lifted in hundreds. Archers packed the rails. Men shouted in bastard Valyrian, in the trade tongue, in the rough clipped commands of sellsail captains who had known dragons once in the Stepstones and carried that terror back with them as instruction. Vermax opened his jaws and bathed the nearest ship in flame, but he was low. Too low. Smoke swallowed half his body. A scorpion bolt cut through the air beneath him. Another tore past his wing. Jace leaned forward in the saddle, driving him on.
âJacaerys!â you screamed, though the wind stole most of it.
Rhovagon heard the panic in you and answered with speed that nearly ripped the breath from your chest. You dove after Vermax as the sea rose fast below, black and red and glittering with patches of fire. A Lysene galley exploded under Vermaxâs flame, its mast flinging upward in a burning arc. Vermax swerved. A bolt struck his wing membrane. Not deep enough to kill. Enough to ruin the rhythm of flight.
The green dragon lurched.
For one instant, Vermax fought the air and almost won.
Then his claws struck a mast hidden in smoke.
Wood shattered. The impact twisted him sideways. Jace was thrown hard against the saddle straps. Vermaxâs wing folded wrong, and dragon and rider crashed into the sea with a sound that seemed to silence the battle for half a heartbeat.
Water swallowed them.
Your own scream tore your throat raw.
Rhovagon tried to pull up by instinct. Dragons hated the sea. All fire hated the thing that could smother it. But you drove your heels down and hauled the reins, not away, not up, but toward the place where Vermax had vanished beneath foam and burning wreckage.
âDown!â you shouted. âRhovagon, down!â
He snarled, furious, terrified, offended to his bones, and obeyed.
The heat vanished as you plunged through smoke toward the water. Arrows rose around you. A bolt glanced off Rhovagonâs breast and spun away. Another buried shallowly near his flank, drawing a roar that shook the air from your lungs. You did not look at it. You looked at the sea.
Vermax surfaced once.
His head broke through with a spray of foam, jaws open, screaming. One wing thrashed. His tail struck wreckage and sent men flying. Jace was no longer in the saddle.
No.
There. A dark shape in the water near the remains of a broken mast. Jace, one arm hooked over splintered wood, hair plastered to his skull, blood running from his temple into his eye. Crossbow quarrels struck the water around him. One caught his shoulder. You saw his body jolt.
Something in you went quiet.
Not calm. Calm was a virtue for septas and corpses. This was older. Cleaner. A narrow place inside fear where there was no room for anything except what must happen next.
âRhovagon,â you said, voice wrecked but steady. âTake him.â
The copper dragon screamed in rage and folded his wings.
You hit the air above the water so low that spray lashed your face like thrown gravel. Rhovagonâs claws reached. The first pass missed Jace by the length of a manâs arm because Vermaxâs thrashing sent a wave between them. You swore so violently your motherâs ghost probably sighed somewhere in whatever afterlife tolerated Targaryens.
âAgain!â
A ship below you loosed everything it had. Arrows peppered Rhovagonâs underside. Most broke. Some stuck. A scorpion bolt shrieked past your leg and punched through the trailing edge of his right wing. Rhovagonâs body bucked under you. Pain blasted through the bond like red lightning. You nearly lost the saddle.
âHold,â you gasped. âHold, my heart. Again.â
Rhovagon banked, wounded wing dragging, and came around over the water.
Jace looked up.
You saw him see you.
Even from above, through smoke, through blood, through the insane battlefield blur of fire and sea, you saw recognition break across his face. Not relief. Horror. He understood what you were doing. He tried to lift his good arm, not to reach for you, but to wave you away.
That stupid, noble, beloved idiot.
You leaned so far from the saddle that the straps carved pain across your hips. âTake my hand!â
He shook his head once, hard, and shouted something you could not hear.
âTake my hand, or I swear by every god this realm has wasted prayers on, I will follow you into the sea and haunt you until the end of days!â
That, apparently, reached him.
Jace let go of the wreckage.
For a moment, the water claimed him again. Your heart stopped with him.
Then Rhovagonâs claws closed around his body, not cleanly, not gently, one talon hooking through leather near his ribs, another catching the back of his riding harness. Jace cried out. Rhovagon beat his wings once and rose, but Vermax screamed below, still sinking, still fighting, one wing ruined, neck tangled in ropes and broken mast lines from the wrecked ship. A dragonâs scream in pain was not like any other sound. It seemed to tear open the world and show the bones underneath.
Jace twisted in Rhovagonâs grip, blood streaming down his face. âVermax!â
You heard that. Everyone heard that.
Rhovagon climbed a few feet, struggling under Jaceâs weight and his own injury. Below, Vermax thrashed, dragging wreckage with him. The sea around him boiled, not from heat but from the violence of his dying struggle. Crossbowmen on the nearest surviving galley cheered, and the sound turned your vision red.
âNo,â you said.
Rhovagon snarled as if he already knew.
You could save Jace and leave Vermax. That was what a sensible person would do. That was what commanders would praise later in careful voices. A dragon was a weapon, yes, and a terrible loss, but the heir mattered more. The promised husband. The boy in your dragonâs claws with blood pouring down his arm. You could climb now. You could live. He could live.
Vermax screamed again.
Jace made a broken sound that was worse.
Damn all sensible people.
âRhovagon,â you said, and pressed yourself low to his neck. âWe pull him out.â
The dragonâs answer was a roar so furious it shook ash from the sky.
He dropped again, Jace still held in one claw, and seized Vermaxâs tangled harness and wing-root with the other. His talons slid once on soaked scale. Vermax snapped blindly in pain, teeth closing on air close enough to Rhovagonâs foreleg to tear flesh if he had found it. You shouted Vermaxâs name, then Jace did too, ragged and desperate, and something in the green dragon recognized his riderâs voice. He stilled just enough.
Rhovagon beat his wings.
Nothing happened.
The sea held Vermax like a jealous god.
âAgain!â you screamed.
Rhovagon pulled.
His injured wing faltered. You felt muscle tear through the bond. He screamed, but he did not let go. Vermaxâs head rose higher. Ropes snapped. A mast fragment dragged beneath him like an anchor. Rhovagonâs body strained so violently you thought his spine would break. The saddle lurched under you. Your hands slipped on blood-slick leather. For one absurd instant, you thought of Baela demanding your promise and Rhaenaâs wet eyes and your mother laughing in Pentos sunlight before death came to your house wearing fever and smoke.
Not yet, you thought.
Not him.
Not me.
Not like this.
A shadow swept over you.
Seasmoke.
Addam of Hull came down through smoke with his face pale and set, Seasmokeâs claws out. âPrincess!â
âCut the ropes!â you shouted.
Addam understood faster than most lords would have, which was another point in favor of bastards and fishermenâs sons over highborn council fossils. Seasmoke blasted flame across the wreckage tangled beneath Vermax, controlled enough not to burn the dragon but hot enough to char ropes, sailcloth, and splintered spars. Smoke burst upward. Rhovagon pulled again.
This time Vermax came free.
Half-drowned, wing torn, body shuddering, but free.
Rhovagon could not carry both. Not truly. He had Jace clutched beneath him and Vermax gripped awkwardly by broken harness and neck ridge, enough to keep the green dragon from sinking but not enough to lift him clear. Seasmoke moved beneath Vermaxâs side, buffeting the water with his wings, helping push him up from the surface. For several insane moments, dragons became cranes and lifelines while men below forgot war long enough to stare. Then the Triarchy remembered itself and loosed another storm of bolts.
One struck you.
At first you did not understand. There was only a heavy punch beneath your left ribs, hot and stupidly intimate. You looked down and saw the quarrel buried through leather and flesh, the shaft trembling with each beat of Rhovagonâs wings. No pain yet. That would come, because the body was petty and always late with paperwork.
Jace saw it from below.
Even dangling half-conscious in Rhovagonâs talons, the fool saw it. âY/N!â
âIâm busy,â you snapped, though it came out wet.
Rhovagon climbed. Seasmoke helped Vermax rise just enough for the wounded green dragon to beat his own good wing, then the other, clumsily, horribly, dragging water in sheets. He could not fly well, but he could stay above the sea in ugly, lurching bursts. Jace was still held by Rhovagon, and that was good because you did not think Vermax could have borne a sparrow then, let alone his rider.
Vermithor swept over the ships below in answer to your injury, or perhaps Hugh simply saw a chance for glory and burning things. Either way, the result was useful. Dragonfire engulfed the nearest galley, the one whose men had been cheering. Their cheers became screams. Silverwing crossed behind him, fire pouring bright into the smoke. Sheepstealer tore through another shipâs sail and sent it crashing into its neighbor, Nettles bent low over his neck, hair whipping loose, eyes hard as old nails. For all their rough edges, for all the danger of giving dragons to untested hands, in that moment they fought like fury given wings.
âBack!â Addam shouted. âGet him back!â
Yes. Back. Dragonstone. Maesters. Ground. Anything that was not this burning sea.
You tried to answer, but blood filled your mouth.
That was inconvenient.
Rhovagon knew before you sagged. His whole body convulsed with panic. Not fear of the sea now. Fear of you. The bond between dragon and rider was not a song, no matter what poets claimed after too much Arbor gold. It was hunger, heat, instinct, memory, command, and something stranger threaded through blood. Rhovagon felt your wound as wrongness. He felt your weakening grip. He felt death looking up from inside you and hated it.
âFly,â you whispered. âRhovagon, fly.â
He did.
The retreat was not clean. Nothing in war ever was, despite men drawing arrows on maps afterward as if battles were tidy little lines instead of thousands of people discovering what their insides looked like. Rhovagon climbed with Jace still in one claw, Vermax half-flying beside and below him with Seasmoke guarding his flank. Addam stayed near, calling encouragement in a voice that cracked from smoke. Behind you, the battle continued to devour itself. Vermithor and Silverwing burned through the scattered Triarchy ships while Sheepstealer harried those trying to flee. Velaryon sails regrouped below, battered but not broken. Driftmark still burned. Spicetownâs smoke rose thicker than before. The Gullet had become a grave no victory could cleanse.
Jace kept trying to speak. You heard pieces.
âY/N. Stay awake. Damn you, stay awake.â
You wanted to tell him not to steal your commands. You wanted to tell him Vermax lived. You wanted to tell him that if he ever waved you away from drowning again, you would marry him solely to make the rest of his life difficult. Good promises, all of them. Very motivating. Unfortunately, your tongue had become a useless lump of meat and your vision kept narrowing.
The flight back stretched strangely. Dragonstone appeared, vanished behind smoke, appeared again. The sea below turned from battlefield red to ordinary grey, as if it had not just tried to swallow a prince and his dragon. Rhovagonâs wingbeats became uneven. Each one jarred the bolt in your side until pain finally arrived in full, white and immense. You could not breathe around it. Your left hand slipped from the saddle grip.
No, you thought, irritated more than afraid. Not after all that.
A laugh bubbled in your throat and became blood.
Rhovagon screamed.
The castle alarms answered. Men were running on the shore. Tiny figures. Useless, frantic ants. Some pointed upward. Some scattered as Vermax, barely controlled, came crashing toward the lower landing ground with Seasmoke beside him. Rhovagon followed, but his descent was wrong. Too steep. His wounded wing dipped. The ground rushed.
âRhovagon,â you tried to say.
He turned at the last possible instant, taking the worst of the fall through his shoulder rather than his chest. The landing shattered into impact. You were thrown forward, saddle straps catching you cruelly. Jace fell from Rhovagonâs claw into a churn of ash and gravel, rolling hard before men reached him. Vermax struck the earth beyond with a broken howl, one wing dragging, claws tearing trenches through black soil. Seasmoke landed nearby and roared at everyone who came too close, which was sensible. Men were generally at their most useless when rushing at injured dragons with good intentions.
Hands grabbed at you.
You snarled at them. Or tried to. It may have been more of a wet cough. Humiliating.
âDo not pull her yet!â someone shouted. âThe bolt, mind the bolt!â
âPrincess, can you hear me?â
âGet the maester!â
âWhere is the prince?â
âSeven hells, look at Vermax.â
Rhovagon twisted his head toward you, eyes wild, smoke leaking between his teeth. He would burn them all if they hurt you. You knew it as clearly as you knew your own name.
âLykiri,â you whispered to him, because the old word came easier than the Common Tongue. Calm.
He did not calm. But he did not burn them, which under the circumstances counted as remarkable personal growth.
Jace crawled to you.
Not walked. Crawled. His shoulder was bleeding heavily around the quarrel lodged there, one side of his face masked in blood, his lips blue from sea cold. Men tried to hold him back, and he fought them with the blank, stupid determination of someone too injured to understand injury applied to him.
âMove,â he rasped.
âMy prince, you must let us look at you.â
âMove.â
That voice moved them. Or maybe his expression did. He reached Rhovagonâs side and hauled himself up by one of the saddle straps, swaying so badly a groom had to catch him around the waist. He slapped the man away without looking.
Your vision cleared enough to find him.
He looked dreadful. Truly dreadful. Pale, soaked, bleeding, shaking, hair plastered flat, one eye swollen, mouth trembling from cold and fury. The future king. Pulled from the sea like drowned laundry and still trying to command the tide by glaring at it.
âYou look awful,â you whispered.
He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. âYou have a bolt in you.â
âI noticed.â
âYou came back.â
âYou told me not to die.â
âI told you not to die. I did not tell you to get shot.â
âYour instructions lacked detail.â
His face crumpled, just for a moment, and that frightened you more than the pain. Jace took your hand. His was freezing. You tried to squeeze back. You were not sure your fingers moved.
âVermax?â he asked, barely able to force the word out.
You shifted your eyes toward the landing ground.
Vermax lived.
Barely, perhaps. Badly, certainly. The green dragon lay on his side while dragonkeepers shouted over one another and approached with chains, hooks, prayers, and long experience with creatures who could kill them by accident while dying. His wing was torn. Blood and seawater streamed from his body. But his chest moved. His jaws opened, and a weak plume of smoke slipped out. When Jace heard him, his own breath broke.
âHe lives,â you said.
Jace bent over your hand and pressed his mouth to your knuckles. His shoulders shook once. Only once. He was still surrounded by men. Still a prince. Still trapped inside all the ridiculous machinery of rule and bloodline and expectation. But you felt the tremor of it through your joined hands.
Then Rhaenyra arrived.
You had never seen the queen like that. Not even after Luke. Her hair was unbound, her gown hastily thrown on, face stripped of all paint and ceremony. Aegon the Youngerâs blood was still on one sleeve where she must have held him before running here. She stopped when she saw Jace alive. Stopped as if the sight had struck her in the chest.
âMy son,â she said.
Jace turned his head. âMother.â
Rhaenyra crossed the ground and fell to her knees beside him, gathering his wet, bloody face between her hands. For a moment, he was not heir, not prince, not commander, not any of the names war had placed on him. He was her boy. Her firstborn. Alive when history had already opened its mouth to swallow him. She kissed his brow, his cheeks, his hair, murmuring words too low for others, and Jace let her because he had no strength left to pretend.
Then her gaze moved to you.
Something passed over her face that was almost impossible to read. Gratitude. Horror. Calculation, because queens could not stop being queens even when blood was on the ground. Memory too, maybe, of Laena, of Daemon, of promises made between houses to bind wounds that kept reopening.
âShe saved me,â Jace said.
Rhaenyra looked at the bolt in your side, at Rhovagon bleeding beneath you, at Vermax shuddering nearby. âI can see that.â
âI am going to marry her,â he said.
Even wounded half to death, you managed to blink at him. âThat was already arranged, you dramatic ass.â
Someone nearby choked. It might have been Addam of Hull. If so, your opinion of him improved further.
Jace did not look away from his mother. âNo. I am going to marry her. Not only because grandsires and councils made contracts. Not because Velaryon blood must answer Targaryen blood, or because the realm likes neat lines drawn between quarrelsome houses. Her. I choose her.â
Rhaenyraâs eyes softened and focused at once. âJace.â
âIf I live,â he said, and his voice faltered there, âif she lives, there will be no more speaking of it as duty.â
You wanted to tell him this was a deeply inconvenient moment for declarations, considering you were actively bleeding onto your dragon, but the words would not form. Besides, some part of you, weak and furious and embarrassingly moved, wanted to hear it.
Rhaenyra looked at you again. âPrincess Y/N.â
âYour Grace,â you breathed.
âYou brought him back to me.â
âVermax too.â
âSo I see.â
âDo not let them hurt Rhovagon.â
Her expression shifted, and for the first time since you had known her, Rhaenyra Targaryen looked at you not as Daemonâs daughter, not as Laenaâs daughter, not as a useful betrothal, but as a girl trying not to die while worrying about her dragon first. Something like grief moved through her gaze. Something like kinship.
âI will not,â she said. âYou have my word.â
A queenâs word. Almost as sturdy as a wet paper shield in this family, but it was something.
The maesters finally took command, because apparently even princes and queens ran out of usefulness once wounds became complicated. Jace fought when they tried to separate him from you. He had to be held upright by two men, which made the fighting less impressive than he likely intended, but he gave it real spirit. You appreciated that. The maester, an elderly man with the dead-eyed calm of someone who had seen too many royal injuries and perhaps wished he had chosen a career in turnip accounting, told him plainly that if he did not sit down, he would bleed to death in a very undignified manner before anyone could remove the quarrel from his shoulder.
Jace said, âSee to her first.â
The maester said, âThere are other maesters, my prince.â
âSee to her first.â
âJace,â Rhaenyra snapped, queen and mother returning together. âSit.â
He sat.
Not gracefully.
They cut you out of the saddle because moving you cleanly was impossible. Rhovagon snarled at every blade until you managed to touch his neck with two limp fingers. âLet them.â
His great eye rolled toward you.
âLet them,â you repeated.
He obeyed, trembling with rage.
The pain became worse when they lowered you. That seemed unfair. You had already done the difficult part by not dying in the sky. But bodies were vulgar little kingdoms, full of rebellion. Men carried you toward the castle on a litter while Jace was half-dragged beside you on another, refusing to be taken anywhere he could not see you. Rhaenyra walked with him for several steps, then stopped when a messenger came running from the harbor with more news. War did not pause because sons survived. Viserys was still gone. Driftmark still burned. The Velaryon fleet had lost ships and men. The Triarchy was broken, yes, but at a price no sane person would call victory unless paid to do so.
As they bore you up the stone path, you saw Baela and Rhaena.
Baela reached you first, face white with fury. âYou promised.â
âI came back.â
âYou look like shit.â
âRuns in the family.â
Her mouth twisted, and then she bent and kissed your forehead hard enough to hurt. âDo not leave us.â
Rhaena appeared on your other side, tears running openly now. She took your hand with careful gentleness. âYou saved him.â
âI had help.â
âI know,â Rhaena whispered. âBut you went down first.â
You could not answer that. Not because it was untrue. Because it was.
Jace turned his head on the litter beside yours. His eyes were half-lidded, fever already threatening at the edges, but he was still conscious. Stubbornness had apparently replaced blood in his veins. âBaela.â
âWhat?â Baela snapped, wiping her cheek with the heel of her hand like she could bully tears out of existence.
âIf she dies, she will haunt all of us.â
Baela let out a strangled laugh. Rhaena covered her mouth.
You looked at him. âEspecially you.â
âI know.â
âI would be unbearable.â
âYou already are.â
You smiled, or tried to.
The maesters took you into the chamber nearest the rookery because it was warm and had tables enough for bandages, basins, knives, and all the other charming instruments by which healing resembled murder with better manners. They put Jace on a bed across from yours because he refused anything farther away and because everyone had realized arguing with the heir while he was bleeding was a waste of energy better spent keeping him alive. Your riding leathers were cut away. The quarrel was snapped short. Wine was forced between your lips, then milk of the poppy, bitter and heavy. You tried to refuse too much of it. You wanted your mind clear.
The maester leaned over you. âPrincess, the bolt must come free.â
âThen pull it.â
His mouth tightened. âIt may have caught deep. There will be pain.â
âI ride a dragon. Do I look unfamiliar with pain?â
âNo,â he said dryly. âYou look like a young woman who believes defiance is a treatment.â
From across the room, Jace gave a weak laugh and then groaned when another maester pressed cloth to his shoulder.
You turned your head toward him. âDo not encourage him.â
âYou like him,â Jace murmured.
âHe has spirit.â
âHe insulted you.â
âYes.â
The maester sighed. âRoyal patients are a plague.â
âThere are worse plagues,â you said.
âIndeed,â he replied. âMost of them listen better.â
Then he pulled.
The world went white.
You did not scream at first. You were proud of that, later. You bit down on leather until your jaw ached and your vision broke into sparks. Then something tore hot and deep inside you, and sound came out of your throat despite your best efforts. Rhovagon answered from outside with a roar that shook dust from the ceiling. Every servant in the room flinched. The maester did not. The old bastard really had chosen the correct profession if he enjoyed standing between dragons and death with only linen and nerve.
Jace tried to rise. âY/N!â
âHold him down,â your maester barked without looking.
âI am the Prince of Dragonstone.â
âAnd currently the prince of making my work harder. Down.â
You would have laughed if you had not been busy trying not to vomit blood.
The bolt came free. Blood followed. Too much, judging by the sudden grim silence. Hands pressed cloth to your side. Someone called for boiled wine. Someone else called for needle and silk. The room tilted. Jace was speaking to you, but his voice came from very far away.
âStay with me. Y/N, look at me.â
You forced your eyes open.
He was pale as bone. A bandage had been wrapped tight around his shoulder, already staining red. Another cut marked his brow. His lips were cracked from seawater. He looked young again. Not boyish, exactly. Just mortal.
âI told you,â you whispered, âno looking at me like I am dead.â
âI am looking at you like I love you.â
âThat is worse.â
His mouth trembled.
You regretted the words the moment they left you, because his face changed and you did not have the strength to fix it prettily. So you did the crude, honest thing instead.
âI love you too,â you said. âUnfortunately.â
Jace made a sound that was almost laughter and almost grief. âUnfortunately?â
âYou are very troublesome.â
âI am?â
âConstantly.â
He shut his eyes. A tear escaped anyway, slipping into the blood at his temple. âI thought the sea had you.â
âNot me.â
âNo. Me.â His voice lowered, roughening. âI thought I was gone. I saw Vermax go under. I could not breathe. Then I saw you above me.â
The maester pushed a needle through your skin, and you gripped the table hard enough that your nails bent. âRomantic. Terrible timing.â
âI waved you away.â
âYes,â you said. âI plan to be angry about that later.â
âI knew you would come down.â
âThen why wave?â
âBecause I am an idiot.â
The maester stitching your side muttered, âAt last, a sound diagnosis.â
Even Jace laughed at that, faintly. The room seemed less likely to collapse for one breath.
Night came strangely. You did not remember the sun setting, only that the windows went from grey to black and candles multiplied until the chamber smelled of wax, wine, blood, herbs, and smoke carried in from the wounded dragons outside. Reports came and went. You caught pieces through fever and poppy haze. The Triarchy fleet had been shattered, though enough ships had fled to carry horror back across the Narrow Sea. Driftmark had suffered terribly. Spicetown was ash. High Tide had burned. Thousands dead. Velaryon power wounded but not destroyed. Aegon the Younger lived, though Stormcloud did not. Viserys remained missing, presumed lost by many, though no body had been found. Rhaenyra moved through the castle like a ghost made of iron, mourning one son, nearly losing another, unable to stop being queen long enough to simply break.
Vermax lived through the first night.
So did Rhovagon.
So did you.
Barely, because your body had decided to be dramatic about blood loss, fever, and a crossbow bolt through the side. Jace did not fare much better. The quarrel in his shoulder had missed the worst by less than a fingerâs width, according to the maester, who said this in the tone of a man personally offended by luck. Jace had swallowed enough seawater to cough half the Narrow Sea into cloth, and bruises spread across his ribs where Rhovagonâs claws had held him tight enough to save him and nearly crack him at the same time.
By the second morning, they moved your beds closer.
No one admitted who ordered it. You suspected Baela, because she had the face of someone daring the entire household to object. Rhaena sat with you often, reading softly from books neither of you heard. Addam of Hull came once, awkward in the doorway until you opened your eyes and told him he looked like a man waiting for permission to exist. He smiled then, uncertainly, and said Seasmoke was healing well.
âYou saved Vermax,â you told him.
He glanced at Jace, then back to you. âYou went for him first.â
âI had already done something stupid. It seemed rude not to finish.â
Addam laughed under his breath. âPrincess.â
âAddam.â
He hesitated. âThey will tell it differently.â
âWho?â
âEveryone.â
That did not surprise you. Everyone always did. By tomorrow, half the castle would say Jace had saved himself through princely courage. The other half would say you had bewitched Rhovagon into dragging a dragon from the sea through sorcery inherited from Daemon, because if a woman did something inconveniently brave, someone eventually blamed witchcraft. Across the water, the Triarchy would probably claim they had killed you both and three dragons besides. The Citadel would reduce the whole thing to a dry paragraph and then spill more ink debating legitimacy than survival. History was a corpse men fought over after the living had done all the bleeding.
âLet them,â you said. âYou know what happened. So do we.â
Addam nodded slowly. âAye.â
When he left, Jace turned his head toward you. Fever had made his eyes too bright. âHe is a good man.â
âYes.â
âI chose well with him.â
âYou chose well with Nettles too,â you said. âAnd Hugh and Ulf, though I reserve the right to dislike them both personally.â
Jaceâs mouth curved. âUlf was drunk when he mounted Silverwing.â
âI noticed.â
âHugh frightens some of the lords.â
âHugh enjoys frightening them.â
âAnd Nettles?â
âNettles does not care what they think,â you said. âThat may make her the wisest person on Dragonstone.â
Jace looked toward the ceiling, his smile fading. âWe won.â
The words hung there, false and true at once.
âYes,â you said.
âThen why does it feel like defeat?â
You watched candlelight tremble across the beams. Outside, somewhere beyond the stone walls, Vermax gave a low, wounded rumble. Rhovagon answered, softer than usual. Dragons speaking in pain across the yard like old soldiers after battle.
âBecause only men who are not there think victory feels clean,â you said.
Jace was silent for a while.
Then, âViserys may yet live.â
âHe may.â
âIf he does, I will find him.â
âI know.â
âIf he does notâŠâ
You turned your head despite the pull of stitches. âDo not finish that tonight.â
âI should have been faster.â
âNo.â
âI should have seen the ships sooner.â
âNo.â
âI should have saved him.â
âYou saved who you could. So did Aegon. So did I. That is all anyone ever does in battle, though men dress it up afterward so they can sleep.â
Jace swallowed. âLuke died alone.â
The chamber seemed to still around his brotherâs name.
You had no clean answer for that. There was none. Lucerys had been a boy on a young dragon under a storm-black sky, chased by a kinsman with a monster beneath him. No speech could make it noble. No revenge could make it whole. So you gave Jace the only thing that was not a lie.
âYes,â you said softly. âBut you did not.â
His eyes closed.
âI saw you,â you continued. âVermax saw you. Rhovagon saw you. Addam saw you. The whole damned Gullet saw you fighting for your brother. If songs come of this, they will be full of nonsense, but that part will be true.â
Jace breathed unevenly. âYou came after me.â
âYes.â
âYou could have died.â
âSo could you.â
âI am not worth your life.â
That angered you enough to cut through the fever. You shifted, regretted it immediately, and hissed through your teeth. âDo not insult me while I am too injured to throw something.â
His eyes opened.
âI decide what my life is spent on,â you said. âNot you. Not my father. Not your mother. Not Corlys. Not any council stuffed full of men who mistake age for wisdom because their knees hurt. I chose. I would choose again.â
Jace stared at you as if those words hurt more than the quarrel.
Then he reached across the narrow space between your beds.
It took effort. His arm shook. Yours was weaker. Your fingers met halfway, clumsy and cold.
âI would choose you too,â he said.
âYou did. Very loudly. In front of your mother. While concussed.â
âI remember.â
âThat is unfortunate.â
âI meant it.â
âI know.â
He held your hand with what little strength he had. For a while, neither of you spoke. There was no need to fill every silence. You had been raised around enough people terrified of quiet to appreciate its uses. The castle groaned around you. Servants passed beyond the door. Far below, the sea went on chewing at the rocks as if it had not been denied its prize.
Near dawn, Rhaenyra came.
She entered without attendants, or perhaps dismissed them outside. Her face looked carved from exhaustion. She had changed gowns, but ash still clung in her hair. Queens were supposed to seem untouchable. Rhaenyra looked very touched by everything: grief, rage, sleeplessness, motherhood, rule. She stood between your beds and studied you both.
Jace tried to rise. âMother.â
âDo not,â she said. âIf you open that wound again, I will let the maester lecture you until you beg for mercy.â
He sank back. âCruel.â
âI have had practice.â
Her fingers brushed his hair from his brow. The touch lingered only a moment before she turned to you. âPrincess.â
âYour Grace.â
âRhovagon has taken food.â
Relief moved through you so strongly it nearly hurt worse than the wound. âVermax?â
âNot yet. But he drinks. The dragonkeepers say that is something.â
âIt is.â
Rhaenyra looked toward the window, though nothing could be seen beyond the dark glass. âAegon asks after both of you. He thinks himself a coward.â
Jaceâs face twisted. âHe is not.â
âNo,â Rhaenyra said. âHe is a little boy who watched his brother taken and his dragon die beneath him. Try telling him that when you can stand.â
âI will.â
Her gaze returned to you, and there was something in it you did not know how to receive. âYou kept me from losing another son.â
You held her stare. âI kept myself from losing him too.â
The corner of her mouth moved, not quite a smile. âYes. You did.â
âI could not save Viserys.â
âNo.â Her voice thinned, but did not break. âNor could I.â
Jace reached for her hand with his free one. Rhaenyra gave it to him. For a long moment, the three of you remained joined by silence, by wounds, by the missing child whose absence pressed into every corner of the room.
Then Rhaenyra drew herself back into shape. You could see it happen. Mother folding into queen because the realm would not wait for her to finish bleeding.
âWhen you are recovered,â she said to Jace, âwe will speak of the declarations you made while half-dead on the landing ground.â
Jace glanced at you. âI stand by them.â
âYou cannot stand at all.â
âThen I lie by them.â
Despite everything, you laughed. It hurt badly enough to bring tears to your eyes. Worth it.
Rhaenyra looked between you, and for a fleeting moment the grief in her face eased. âRest. Both of you. The war will still be here when you wake.â
âComforting,â you murmured.
âIt was not meant to be.â
She left before either of you could answer, because queens also had a talent for making exits before emotions became too inconvenient. A family gift, apparently.
The day after that, the fever worsened.
You drifted in and out. Sometimes you were in the chamber with Jaceâs hand near yours and Rhaenaâs voice reading. Sometimes you were above the Gullet again, falling through smoke while Vermax vanished beneath the water. Sometimes you saw your mother walking towards flame, calm and terrible, choosing fire over the bed that had become her battlefield. You tried to call to her, but your mouth filled with seawater. Then Rhovagon would roar outside, and you would claw your way back to the room.
Once, you woke to Daemon.
At least you thought you did.
He stood near the foot of your bed in black, hair pale as moonlit steel, face unreadable in the candlelight. For a moment you were a child again in Pentos, running barefoot across warm tiles while your sisters shrieked behind you and your mother laughed from a shaded couch. Then the vision focused. Your father was not smiling. His hand rested on the pommel of Dark Sister.
âYou are late,â you whispered.
His eyes moved to your face. âSo I have been told.â
âBy whom?â
âYour dragon nearly killed three handlers and one maester when they tried to change your bandages. I took that as complaint.â
âRhovagon has good judgment.â
âSo does his rider, when she is not diving into a sea battle after doomed boys.â
You turned your head slightly. Jace slept on the other bed, face turned toward you even unconscious. âHe is not doomed.â
Daemon followed your gaze. For once, he said nothing cruel. Nothing clever either. That was rarer.
âYou pulled Vermax out of the sea,â he said.
âRhovagon did.â
âWith you bleeding in the saddle.â
âAddam helped.â
âI heard.â
âI suppose people are already making it sound cleaner than it was.â
âThey are calling it the Copper Descent.â
You closed your eyes. âThat is horrible.â
âYes.â
âThey need better names.â
âWar rarely attracts poets of quality.â
That made you smile, faintly. âDid you come to scold me?â
âI considered it.â
âAnd?â
Daemonâs silence lasted long enough that you opened your eyes again.
He looked older than he should have. Not frail. Never that. But worn at the edges in a way men like him usually hid behind danger. âYour mother would have been proud.â
The words entered you more deeply than the bolt had.
You looked away fast, but not fast enough. Tears slid into your hair. You hated crying in front of him. Not because he mocked it. He rarely did when it mattered. Because Daemon carried grief like a blade, and you had inherited enough from him already.
âShe would have said I was reckless,â you whispered.
âShe often said both.â
âWas she proud of you?â
His mouth curved without humor. âNot as often as I deserved.â
âMore often than you deserved.â
This time his smile was real, brief and cutting. âThere she is.â
You breathed through another wave of pain. âViserys?â
His face closed.
That was answer enough.
âNo word,â he said.
âHe may live.â
âHe may.â
âYou do not believe it.â
âI believe many things when useful.â
âFather.â
Daemon came closer and sat beside your bed. It startled you. He was not a bedside man. He was made for dragon saddles, battlefields, council insults, bad decisions, and rooms full of people afraid to turn their backs. But he sat there and took your hand carefully, as if only now remembering you could break.
âIf the boy lives,â he said, âwe will find him.â
âAnd if he does not?â
His fingers tightened. âThen someone will pay.â
There he was. Your father, reliable as murder.
You were too tired to argue. âDo not let payment become the only thing left.â
Daemonâs eyes flicked to Jace, then back to you. âYou sound like your mother.â
âGood.â
âYes,â he said quietly. âGood.â
When you woke again, he was gone. You were not sure whether he had truly been there until you found a thin smear of ash on your blanket where his glove had rested. Proof, then. Or close enough. With Targaryens, proof was often just the most convincing ghost in the room.
Jace improved before you did, which annoyed you. Not because you wanted him worse. Because he became insufferable the moment he could sit upright.
âYou need broth,â he said on the fifth day, propped against pillows with his arm bound tightly to his chest.
âYou need silence.â
âYou have eaten almost nothing.â
âI have been stabbed. My appetite is shy.â
âYou were shot.â
âSame family.â
He gave you a stern look. It would have worked better if he did not still have bruising across half his face. âThe maester says you must regain strength.â
âThe maester also says royal patients are a plague. Perhaps he is not the authority you think.â
âThe maester is correct on both counts.â
You accepted the cup only because Rhaena was watching hopefully from the chair by the window. Betrayed by your own sisterâs soft eyes. Disgusting. You drank three mouthfuls, which tasted mostly of salt, onion, and obligation.
Baela entered without knocking. âExcellent. Youâre eating.â
âI was coerced.â
âYou usually are.â
âCruel family.â
Baela crossed to the foot of your bed and looked at Jace. âYour dragon bit a keeper.â
Jace straightened. âBadly?â
âNo. More insult than wound. The keeper says Vermax is becoming irritable, which means he will live.â
Relief moved over Jaceâs face so nakedly that Baela looked away, pretending interest in the window. Rhaena did not. She smiled at him, gentle and open, and Jace managed a small smile back.
âAnd Rhovagon?â you asked.
Baela rolled her eyes. âEating like a lord at a wedding and glaring at anyone who walks near him. One wing still pains him. He snapped at Father.â
âGood boy.â
âFather laughed.â
âOf course he did.â
Baela leaned against the bedpost. âCorlys says songs are already being made among the sailors.â
âNo.â
âYes.â
âI forbid it.â
âYou are not queen.â
âI am injured. That should count for something.â
Jace looked amused. Traitor. âWhat songs?â
âOne calls her the Copper Bride of the Gullet.â
You shut your eyes. âKill me.â
Rhaena giggled. Actually giggled. The sound was so unexpected and lovely after days of grief that none of you scolded her, not even when she covered her mouth.
Baela continued, delighted by your suffering because sisters were made by the gods as intimate enemies. âAnother says Rhovagon dragged the sea itself into the sky.â
âThat did not happen.â
âAnd one says Jace kissed you while dying.â
âHe did not.â
âI wanted to,â Jace said.
You turned your head slowly toward him.
He looked back with fever-thinned innocence.
Baela made a delighted noise. âDisgusting.â
âLeave,â you told her.
âAbsolutely not.â
Rhaena was smiling harder now. âIt is sweet.â
âIt is revolting,â Baela said. âThey almost die once and become poetic at each other.â
Jaceâs voice softened. âOnce?â
The room quieted.
There it was again. The war beyond the door. The dead beneath the sea. Luke in the storm. Viserys missing. Stormcloud gone. Driftmark burned. The war had given you a few minutes of laughter and then returned to collect interest like some ghastly Braavosi banker.
Baelaâs expression changed. âI did not meanâŠâ
âI know,â Jace said.
You set the cup down carefully. âWe are alive.â
âFor now,â Baela muttered.
âFor now is not nothing.â
No one argued with that.
That evening, they opened the windows despite the cold because the chamber had begun to smell too strongly of medicine. Sea air moved through the room. Smoke still lingered over the island, but less than before. You could hear dragons outside. Wounded, restless, alive. Jace had persuaded the maesters to let him stand for a few moments, which had gone poorly, then moderately, then poorly again when he attempted a step. Still, he had stood. Now he sat in the chair beside your bed looking pleased with himself in the aggravating way of men who accomplished one medically inadvisable thing and expected admiration from the civilization they endangered.
âYou are smug,â you told him.
âI stood.â
âYou nearly fell into the basin.â
âNearly is not did.â
âRoyal wisdom.â
He smiled, then looked down at your joined hands. This had become habit. Whenever no one was actively cutting, bandaging, feeding, scolding, or reporting disaster to you, his hand found yours.
âI keep thinking of the water,â he said.
âI know.â
âDo you?â
âYes.â
He rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. âIn my dreams, Vermax sinks first. Then you.â
âIn mine, you wave me away and I let you.â
His grip tightened.
âI never would,â you said.
âI know. That is the problem.â
You turned your head on the pillow. His face was serious now, stripped of the small jokes you had both been using like shields. He looked at you for a long time before speaking again.
âWhen we were first betrothed, I thought you hated me.â
âI did not hate you.â
âYou told Baela I looked like a solemn trout.â
âYou were thirteen and standing beside the table as if someone had nailed your feet to the floor.â
âThat was a formal betrothal supper.â
âThat was trout behavior.â
He laughed softly. âI was terrified of you.â
âYou hid it badly.â
âI hid it very well.â
âNo. You tried to impress me by explaining the political importance of our match.â
âI was being responsible.â
âYou were being a trout.â
His laugh faded into something warmer. âWhen did you stop thinking so?â
âThat you were a trout?â
âYes.â
You pretended to consider. âWhen you returned from the North.â
His brows lifted. âThat late?â
âNo. But that was when I saw what you would become.â
âWhat did you see?â
A boy carrying winter promises back across half a realm. A prince with grief hidden under duty. A bastard in whispers and an heir in action. A young man who wanted so badly to be worthy that he might spend himself to bone proving what blood alone should never have been asked to prove.
âYou,â you said. âOnly more.â
He took that in quietly.
âAnd you?â you asked. âWhen did you stop being afraid of me?â
âI didnât.â
You looked at him.
Jace raised your hand and kissed your fingers. âI merely learned to enjoy it.â
âThat is the first intelligent thing you have said all week.â
âOnly first?â
âDo not become ambitious.â
His smile tilted, but his eyes stayed solemn. âI saw you with Rhovagon when we were children. Before the betrothal. You were small, all elbows and silver hair, and you walked straight up to him while three handlers were telling you not to. He lowered his head to you. Not because you commanded him. Because you expected him to understand. I remember thinking I had never seen anyone look less afraid of fire.â
You remembered that day vaguely. Rhovagon had been smaller then, still dangerous, copper wings tucked tight to his body, eyes following every movement. You remembered your mother standing at a distance, one hand pressed to her mouth, not stopping you. Laena had understood dragons better than almost anyone. She had known fear was not the same as respect.
âI was afraid,â you said.
Jace shook his head. âYou did not look it.â
âI am Daemonâs daughter. We learn theatrical arrogance before sums.â
âYou are Laenaâs daughter too.â
âYes.â Your voice softened. âThat matters more.â
âTo you?â
âTo me.â
âTo me too,â he said.
The room went quiet around that. Outside, wind dragged against the shutters. Somewhere below, men shouted over repairs, and gulls circled the cliffs, utterly indifferent to royal suffering. Sensible birds.
Jace leaned closer, slowly enough that you could stop him if pain made the movement too much. You did not. His lips touched yours with a care that hurt more than hunger would have. The kiss was soft, not because either of you had become gentle people overnight, but because your bodies had been battered into humility. His good hand framed your jaw. Yours rested weakly against his wrist. There was no urgency in it. No stolen corridor, no war council about to begin, no sister about to laugh from behind a tapestry. Only breath shared carefully between two people who had nearly run out of it.
When he drew back, his forehead rested lightly against yours.
âI thought I would never do that again,â he whispered.
âYou worry too much.â
âYou dove into a sea battle.â
âYou flew too low.â
âYou followed me.â
âYes. That is usually how saving someone works.â
He smiled despite himself. âMarry me when this is done.â
âThat was the plan.â
âNo,â he said. âNot when the war is done. Nothing waits that long anymore. When we can stand. When you can walk without fainting and I can lift my arm without the maester threatening to sedate me. Marry me then.â
You looked at him. âYour mother may object to haste.â
âMy mother owes you my life.â
âMy father may object because he enjoys objecting.â
âMy mother can fight him.â
âThat would be entertaining.â
âY/N.â
There was fear under it. Hope too, which was worse because hope was fragile and reckless and had terrible survival instincts.
You squeezed his hand. This time your fingers obeyed. âYes.â
His breath left him.
âYes,â you repeated. âWhen we can stand.â
Jace kissed your knuckles again, and this time he did not hide the tears in his eyes. You let him have them. You let yourself have yours too. War had taken enough without stealing every softness to prove a point.
Outside, Rhovagon roared.
Vermax answered.
The sound rolled over Dragonstone, wounded and defiant, two dragons alive who should have been dead by every account the world had meant to write. Men in the yard shouted. Someone laughed. Someone else began praying loudly, which felt excessive but understandable. You closed your eyes and listened to the dragons calling across smoke and stone.
The Gullet had tried to claim Jacaerys Velaryon. It had taken ships, sailors, towns, childrenâs sleep, a young dragon named Stormcloud, and whatever innocence had survived the first blows of the Dance. It had dragged Vermax under burning water and reached for Jace with a thousand cold hands. It had nearly taken you too.
But not all songs were lies.
Sometimes the sea opened and gave back what it had stolen.
Sometimes a copper dragon flew where fire had no business going.
Sometimes a girl promised to a prince refused to let history have him.
And sometimes, by spite, blood, love, and the reckless stupidity that seemed to run through House Targaryen as strongly as dragonfire, the doomed lived long enough to make the singers revise their verses.
Your fingers toyed with the tassels that lay on the corners of your pillow, but your mind was elsewhere. You laid playing the events of the day over in your head. Obi-Wan and Anakin had made the journey to Mandalore to speak with Duchess Satine about a rising threat against her planet.Â
-
You stood beside Obi-Wan making small conversation as you walked into the palace. You werenât even able to finish your thought when Satine called out to him. Quickly Obi-Wan left your side, stepping forward to greet the duchess. He reached out, his arms wrapping around her waist pulling her forward into a tight embrace. Her head fell forward hiding against his neck, your stomach knotted, jealousy was creeping in. You looked up to Anakin, your eyes finding his.
â Do they.. Do they know one another? â
â They know one another well. â
Your heart sank deep down into your stomach, a knot formed in your throat. Why wouldnât he have told you of his past? Just as quickly as the moment came, it passed, Obi-Wan pulled back from her embrace, his arms falling to his sides.Â
They walked together, side by side, leaving you and Anakin in their dust. Anakin could see your brow furrowed in thought, he wasnât clueless, he knew of your relationship with Obi-Wan, he could see the way his past was eating at you.Â
â Oh.. I forgot my comlink, can you come with me to grab it? â
You only nodded, turning back to follow after Anakin. He knew you were barely focused, still caught up on what you had just seen.Â
â You know Obi-Wan cares for you. â
â Yes, I know. â
â His past wonât change that. â
Silence.
You didnât respond, you simply kept on forward, walking aboard the ship. Your heels clicked against the metal floors as you walked towards Anakinâs quarters. His door slid open allowing you to enter, his bed was messy and unmade, a few stray garments laid on the floor. You stepped over his dirty clothes, finding his comlink laying on his bedside pillow.Â
â Here it is. â
â Thank you. â
-Â
The walk back was quiet, Anakin was too unsure of himself to say anything. He knew Obi-Wan well enough to say he loved you, but he didnât know his past well enough to say he did not still harbour feelings for Satine. He saw the way his master looked at her, with a deep longing in his eye, almost the same as when he looked at you.Â
When you finally caught up to them they stood close, reminiscing about times long before you and Anakin. Two grins lay across their lips, their eyes locked on only each other like no one else existed.Â
â I apologize, Iâve been rude, this is my padawan Anakin, and my friend Y/n. âÂ
Friend.
You felt your chest tighten, but still a smile laid across your lips. Her hand outstretched to you, inviting you to take it. You gave her hand a gentle shake before pulling away, allowing Anakin to greet her next.Â
-Â
The hours passed and finally you were being seen to your rooms. Three rooms just adjacent to one another, they were spacious and well furnished, fit for royalty.Â
You shut your door behind you, going off to explore your chambers for the time being. There was a four poster bed, the centerpiece of the room, two bedside tables, a large wardrobe with a matching dress, all paired with a large vanity. There was a large wooden door that hid an attached bathroom.Â
Slowly you slid out of your gown, leaving it to fall onto the bathroom floor before starting the shower. You felt the warm water run over your palm adjusting it to your liking before climbing in. You let your worries and anxieties slip down the drain with the filth that covered your skin.Â
When your shower finished you slipped from its warm embrace wrapping yourself in a robe that hung nearby. You left the bathroom wandering over to the vanity. You stared at yourself in the large mirror, admiring your beauties and your flaws. With time you rose from your seat, making your way across the room. Slowly you turned the knob, opening your door with a soft creak. You peeked out into the empty hall before slipping out, a chill ran up your body as your feet left the carpet pressing down against the cold marble floors.Â
You crept down the hall, slowly turning the knob to Obi-Wanâs door before pushing it open. You peeked just your head in calling out his name. Thatâs when two pairs of eyes met yours, Obi-Wanâs and Satineâs. They stood together in the center of the room, you didnât want to know what they were doing, so quickly you yanked the door shut, hurrying back to your room.Â
-
Now here you lie in your bed, clutching a pillow to your chest, you didnât know what mightâve been if you had come in a moment later, you didnât want to know.Â
Obi-Wan quickly excused himself from Satine, moving past her and out the door. He walked the short distance from his room to yours, finding your door shut tight. His fist raised, knocking against the wood.
â Let me in, please. â
His voice came out as a soft plea against the wood, begging you to let him in.Â
With no response slowly the door creaked open. Obi-Wan found you lying there curled up on the bed, your back facing the door. He made a slow approach, rounding the bed to sit beside you. His hand reached out to gently stroke your back.
â Love, talk to me, what is wrong? â
â You love her. â
â What? â
â Anakin told me. â
At that moment Anakin was the biggest thorn in Obi-Wanâs side. He wanted to throttle Anakin for simply telling you the truth.Â
â What did he say? â
â Itâs not about him! Itâs about you and.. And her, and how you acted like she was the breath that filled your lungs. â
You sat upright, facing him with teary eyes and flushed cheeks. Deep down Obi-Wan knew you were right, he had completely discarded you that entire day.Â
â I didnât mean for it to be like that. â
â Do.. Do you love her? â
â No.. of course not, itâs not like that. â
â Did you ever love her? â
â There was a time, long before you, when I was only a padawan. â
Tears slipped down your cheeks, you only managed a nod in response.
Obi-Wan reached out, pulling you forward into his lap, bringing your head down against his shoulder. His fingers tangled in your hair, his lips pressing against your temple as he whispered soothing words against your skin.Â
â I am yours, and yours alone to keep, please know that. â
You once again only managed a weak nod, your face pressed against his neck.Â
â I have never loved her the way I loved you, please believe me. â
You wanted to believe him, you yearned for it, but a part of you deep down couldnât let it be.Â
â Why was she in your room? â
â She needed to talk about republic senate decisions. â
â Why donât you ever talk to me about those things? â
â Senate decisions? âÂ
You only nodded against his neck.Â
â We can talk about that if youâd like. â
You didnât really want to talk about the republic, but you would talk about the grass if it meant speaking to Obi-Wan.Â
â Would you like to rest now? â
Once again you only gave a weak nod.
With gentle hands Obi-Wan laid you down on the bed, draping the blanket over your robe clad body. He took his place beside you, before wrapping you in his arms. He pressed kisses to your skin murmuring soft words of praise as you drifted off to sleep.
summary: youâve seen a lot during your rebellion days & now with the New Republic⊠but working with a mandalorian may just send you into the wildest tailspin yet
word count: 11.9k (iâm sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS â ïž takes place before & during the events of the film, reader has a backstory & family but no physical description, light use of gendered language, slight annoyance to friends to lovers, pining & yearning, budding romance, threats & moments of violence/threat of kidnapping, flying as a love language, reader has instances of drinking and smoking, competency kink, light voice kink, slightly jealous!reader, spicy times in the cockpit (helmet stays on), dry humping, unprotected p in v, one moment of spit, creampie, protective and soft!Din
a/n: so⊠hi lmao I call this my âletâs daydream about being in the new movieâ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs itâs what we deserve lol big thanks to my dear @babynueva for always supporting my din delulu ily bb! Also this is my first official fic of the year & knowing itâs for Din means so much - so thank you for being here ⥠[divider credit & thanks to the ever amazing @saradika-graphics]
When a mandalorian first strides into base camp on Adelphi, you think youâre seeing things.
The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. Itâs like his ancient armor proudly beams of its power and striking force. The mysterious Mandalorian walks with intent, a steady gait that dares anyone to cross him. You canât help but stare at the mysterious warrior.
âIs he⊠imperial?â Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.
âNope, heâs working with us now.â Teva answers simply.
You didnât believe it. But apparently itâs true.
âHeâs set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.â The colonelâs words then officially etch the truth in stone.
Mando comes around basecamp like a ghost. Barely staying put for you to register his presence, yet the whispers about him grow.
âI heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.â Dyana, your closest friend, tells you enthusiastic to catch up on all the rumors.
Then Ward calls for you, and you miss out on any other gossip Dyana and the others had.
âIâll be heading to Coruscant this week to meet with a few higher ups and senators⊠I need you to do all the debriefs with Mando while Iâm away.
Itâs like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.
âWait, me?â You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.
âDo you think youâre not capable of handling this, ranger?â
âNo, colonel.â You quickly reply, and she nods.
âGood, thatâs what I thought.â
When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.
âDonât worry. Heâs not as scary as everyone thinks he is.â Ward reassures, but it doesnât soothe you much.
Especially when the day arrives and you find yourself waiting for him.
Just like before, the mandalorian saunters in and your focus is immediately drawn to him. But then, it gets knocked out of orbit when you find heâs not alone.
A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?
âWhereâs Ward?â A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.
âWent to Coruscant for a meeting.â You reply partly stunned youâre actually talking to him.
âAnd you are?â But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. Heâs the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?
âIâm the person youâre stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.â Your voice whips out sharp.
He doesnât say anything.
âWhat about Teva?â He counters again, and you want to scream. Whatâs this guyâs problem?
âOut on a mission,â your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.
âIf you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why Iâm not satisfactory enough for your debrief. Iâm sure sheâd love that.â Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.
Itâs as if the whole cantina mess hall heard you because it becomes deathly silent.
The mandalorian simply stares you down with his unflinching helmet. Then the warrior turns and strides out not saying another word.
âI think you pissed him off.â Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.
A sense of dread looms as you realize you mightâve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.
Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.
âWhy do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?â She asks calmly over the comms.
âIâm not! He started it!â You canât help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.
The colonel sighs.
âYou have to understand⊠His people donât trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.â
You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you canât argue with Ward.
âDo the whole debrief drunk.â Zeb jokes about it with you the next day, and you scoff.
But by the time sunset arrives you start getting tempted to get a drink because maybe Mando isnât showing up.
Until he does. And again heâs not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.
Itâs awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.
You donât even know if you should say anything
âMweh?â A surprisingly soft little noise floats through the tension and you turn towards it. You blink down to find the mysterious little being staring up at you with sweet wide eyes.
With curious claws, the baby reaches for the loth cat charm dangling off your belt, the one of many trinkets your niece has given you.
Melted by the sight, you grin and scoot closer. Then you unclasp the charm for the baby to examine it more.
âYou like it? Itâs cute right?â
The little one agrees with a chirp sounding so endearing.
Something softly clicks. If a creature so tiny and innocent as this baby confidently travels with the mandalorian, then he couldn't be that much of an ass.
Someone sighs. Then settling back into your seat, you find the mandalorian seated across from you. The baby hops up to sit beside him. Yet his eager eyes remain happily taken with your charm.
âThat imp base on Hoth had no leads.â He speaks first.
Youâre stunned.
Your gut urges you to not make a big deal about this, to simply now see him as another coworker.
So you nod and casually plug in the info on your datapad.
âHoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.â You even add that in.
You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. Itâs an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.
âWhatâs the next order?â Mando asks firm, all business, just like Ward had told you.
You slide him a bounty chip containing info on a possible military officer who could be running a smuggling ring. The mandalorian doesnât say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.
âCome on, kid.â All he does is address the baby, not even sparing you a second glance.
Cute and so politely, the kid hands back your loth cat with a noise that feels like a thank you.
âYouâre welcome, little cutie,â you tell him warmly.
Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad itâs over. Someone barks a laugh, and you arenât even embarrassed about it.
You canât wait till this is over.
Itâs already been a week and a half of being grounded, doing these debriefs with Mando. You miss being in the skies. But all that hope of getting back in the clouds gets squashed.
âI need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa⊠can you continue to do the debrief?â It isnât much of a question but more of an order from Ward.
So you meet with Mando for the rest of the week and into the next. Itâs cordial, barely speaking for more than ten minutes with each other.
You try to be friendly, make a joke about the weather, but he just silently stares at you, obviously annoyed.
And it pisses you off all over again.
But you think of the adorable little baby who eagerly tags along with the terrifying hunter. The kid sweetly waves, and you wave back. You started bringing treats after his guardian chided him for eating some of yours.
The annoyed sigh Mando gave when you brought more snacks to share was worth it.
This time you decided to bring something else along with you.
It was the first charm your sister gave you when you became a pilot. A tradition her daughter, your niece, now does with you.
âLook!â You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the babyâs eyes go wide.
With adorable tiny grabby hands, he reaches for it and you happily hand it over.
You grin pleased seeing how pleased the kid coos.
âWhatâs your name?â The sudden question from Mando surprises you.
A bit stunned, you give it to him.
He nods solemnly, repeating it. Your heart does a strange flip hearing his deep voice say your name.
âThis is Grogu.â He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.
âNice to meet you, Grogu.â You excitedly greet the kid.
Then you turn to Groguâs guardian. This solemn but striking mandalorian now has you curious to who he is. Your mind thinks about the rumors that have spread about him.
âAnd you? Whatâs your name?â You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. Sheâs become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.
âTheyâre private people,â she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. âItâs probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.â
âIâm sorry, forgive me.â You stammer quickly. âYou donât have to give it.â
A moment passes, and you worry youâve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.
âDin⊠Din Djarin.â His full name. Itâs lovely.
âDinâŠâ you repeat it.
âItâs nice to meet you too.â And you mean that.
Mando, Din, nods, and you think itâs worth the few weeks being out of the skies.
When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.
âCome on kid, give it back.â Din urges noticing too.
âNo itâs okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.â You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.
âWhat do you say, kid?â
Grogu chirps a sweet thanks and waddles away content with the plushie in his arms.
The next day, as promised, he brings it back. But you exchange another charm with him. This time itâs a cute cloud with a sweet face. Eager for the new trinket, Grogu ditches the plushie and you laugh.
Work then follows suit. Din explains on the intel heâs slowly gaining on the imp official.
âTaking a bit longer than expected.â Din gruffly admits.
âDonât worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. Itâs not your fault. Then again thatâs probably an insult to rodents.â Youâve been trying to stay professional, channel your inner composed Colonel Ward. But the old rebel pilot comes out.
Suddenly, a chuckle follows.
Din laughed.
You swear you misheard it. But the way Grogu giggles agreeing with his protector, you know you heard correctly.
âA fair statement.â Din agrees.
And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.
Watching the pair leave, you find youâre excited to see them again.
The rest of the debriefs go smoother than ever. You bring new charms for Grogu to play with, and Din seems to settle in more.
âYou have a lot of those.â He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time itâs a fuzzy bantha.
âManaged to gather a small collection.â You explain.
âReally⊠couldnât tell.â Din deadpans.
Thatâs when you realized he just joked with you.
âThink you might like those two,â Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.
âItâs called being civil.â You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.
âCivil? Yeah sure.â He teases further.
You stay stubbornly quiet.
âDonât worry⊠Theyâve a pain in my ass too.â Zeb huffs, and it does soothe your annoyance.
Especially now that something is festered in you, a sort of curious itch to learn more about Din Djarin.
âI heard⊠he really did blow up an entire imperial base. Thatâs how Teva found him.â Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.
âHeâs quiet, doesnât talk much. So I doubt heâd say anything even if he did.â You mutter.
âDoes he really keep a pet around?â Dyana presses for any new info.
The word âpetâ sounds harsh.
âHeâs more like the kidâs guardian.â The word âparentâ instead wants to slip out especially after youâve seen Dinâs fatherly watch over the baby.
âOh thatâs even more interesting! Why didnât you tell me this earlier?!â Dyana shrieks.
âYouâve been busy.â You half lie.
You could argue that itâs because you want to protect Dinâs trust and donât want to disturb that. But the truth is, you donât want to share this little secret bond youâve cultivated with him.
You however rapidly kick those thoughts away.
Ward will be back sometime this week. Your brief time with the Mandalorian would be over soon.
Except that time comes sooner than expected.
The next morning Colonel Ward arrives, an early return. Disappointment arrives just as fast. You knew this was only a temporary thing.
Trying not to feel annoyed, you now work on your x-wing. Deep under the hull, you refuel trying just to keep your mind focused here.
âDidnât know you were a mechanic.â Suddenly, the rich voice of a certain mandalorian echoes in the hanger.
You scramble out from under the ship confused if you heard right.
But standing off to the side are indeed Din and Grogu.
âWhat? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?â You tease.
Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.
âYouâre looking at one of the New Republicâs best pilots!â Dyana.
She perks up emerging from the other side of the ship, and you shoot a glare her way not even knowing where she came from.
âA pilot?â Din questions, curious.
His helmet tilts towards you.
âSometimes,â you shrug.
âAnd I wouldnât say best.â You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.
âOne day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though Iâm sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!â
You want to strangle her.
âYou fought at Endor?â Din asks, helmet fully facing you and voice faintly awed.
It all makes your skin feel heated and tight.
All you can do is shrug again.
Endor seems like so long ago now. You were so much younger then. Wild and ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of protecting everything you loved. A small secret corner of your heart aches for those days of when you flew with such fire.
âWell⊠gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!â Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.
A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.
âSoâŠan x-wing pilot.â Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.
âOn good days I am.â You again shrug with a half smile.
âSo what was Endor like?â He inquires, and youâre surprised heâs curious about that.
âDonât know, never went on planet⊠kinda was busy flying around.â
You donât even need to see his face to know heâs giving you a silent unamused stare. He must not think your joke is as funny as you do.
A surprised giggle does come though. Both you and Din discover Grogu effortlessly climbing up onto the wing of the ship.
âKid.â Din chides.
âHow did you get up there so fast?â You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.
Din sighs, truly parental.
âI take it that you fly?â You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.
âI do.â Din answers, confident.
âMust be why heâs so curious and comfortable around ships. Itâs good when kids get to experience being in the air.â You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.
âMy niece is the same way.â You reveal.
Din hums a noise, acknowledging heâs listening.
âIs she the reason why you have all those charms?â He asks in a tone softer than youâve ever heard.
âExcuse you, they are medals of honor.â You jokingly try to sound offended.
âWith you I wouldnât be surprised.â He replies deadpan, and you snicker.
âBut yeah⊠sheâs the one who gives them to me.â You explain how it was your sister who first started giving you those charms to decorate your x-wing.
They were to remind you to come home safe.
âI was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.â You repeat the same words your sister told you.
A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But itâs then you realize how close youâre now standing next to Din. You didnât even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.
âThatâs⊠sweet.â His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.
You turn and find heâs already looking at you.
Under Dinâs gaze, itâs like youâre caught in a tractor beam unable to speak or move.
Dangerous thoughts have already begun clouding your mind, and they all connect back to this man. Like how youâve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. Whatâs worse is youâve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.
Groguâs little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.
âSo I take it this is your ship?â Din asks.
âNo, I stole it.â You quip back.
âSure you did.â His dry reply makes you snicker.
âItâs how I got to fight at Endor.â You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.
âThought you didnât see Endor.â He uses your dry joke back at you, and you canât help it.
You playfully elbow him.
Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wingâs edge grinning at you and Din.
âLittle troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?â You smile at Grogu.
âMweh!â He squeals.
âI think thatâs a yes,â you tell Din proudly.
âNo.â Din answers back firmly.
âItâs okay Iâll teach you one day,â you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.
âNo.â Din repeats again firmer.
A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.
âStill need to see Ward⊠shouldnât keep her waiting.â Din is smooth about making his exit.
Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.
You havenât been in the air for long, but it feels like youâre floating now.
The moments you see the pair become like scattered stars.
Months settle in, and a routine follows. You sometimes see Din in the mess hall cantina when you return from a mission. Discussing with the colonel, all you can simply do is give your boys quick smiles.
Other times Din stops by the hanger where you linger now more than ever hoping he drops by. You and him talk about work, missions, the various planets visited.
You want to ask what got him to work for the new republic, but you donât want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.
âItâs budding love.â Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.
âItâs not!â You screech over a drink.
âI donât think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.â Another pilot chimes in.
âHe talks to Zeb the most!â You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.
âNot as much as you, kid.â Zeb rebuttals.
âDonât think we havenât seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.â Sash Ketter snickers, and it only ignites the discussion once again.
You dismiss all their words as attempts trying to rile you up.
Because you donât want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.
Itâs just an awful infatuation. Thatâs it.
Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. Itâll hopefully give you time to clear your head.
âIâm heading home to visit family. Iâll be sure to bring back something good.â You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.
âThereâs no need. Just⊠be safe.â Din nods.
His gentle words carry you the entire flight home.
The brief week away provides peaceful moments of relaxation. While you enjoy the time spent with your sisterâs family, you long to return to Adelphi.
âSo, what did you get me this time?â You ask your niece the day before youâre set to head back.
âI got you⊠THIS!â She proudly raises up an odd creature. You canât even tell what it is.
âShe made it herself.â Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.
âWhat?! Why didnât you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!â You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.
âActually before I go⊠Do you think you can help me make one too?â You ask her and your niece's eyes light up.
With eager hands she gathers all her supplies to deposit them on the table ready to craft.
âSo⊠are you going to tell me who youâre making this for?â Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.
âWhat if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?â You deflect.
âYeah sure.â Sheâs not convinced but thankfully doesnât press any further.
As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, youâre thankful to finally be back to your routine.
And of course, the new little charm sitting in your pocket seems to hold so much weight.
Din returns a few days after you. Itâs hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.
âWelcome back.â He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.
Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.
âI miss you too,â you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.
âAnd look, I got something for you.â You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.
Then you hold up the new charm.
âWhat is it supposed to be?â Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.
âItâs a little monster,â you reply lightly insulted.
âMy niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.â You grin towards Grogu now.
âBweh!â He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.
âSee! He likes it, that's what matters.â You huff proudly at Din.
Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Dinâs chuckle too.
âWhat do you say, kid?â Din says.
Grogu however doesnât say anything. Instead he leans up and hugs you. His sweet little arms curl against your neck.
Holding this baby so tight is like holding a little newborn star. Youâre grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.
âYouâre welcome, little troublemaker.â You softly tell him.
The baby then settles into your arms as if itâs the most natural thing in the world.
Worried you might have overstepped, you quickly snap your attention to Din. His helmet stays focused on you.
You wonder what his eyes look like, what color swims within his gaze.
âGlad youâre back safe.â Dinâs voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.
âMe too,â you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.
This infatuation, or whatever itâs mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.
But youâre reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.
The wound isnât looking good.
Youâre more pissed at yourself for getting ambushed by damn pirates. This operation was supposed to be simple, check in on the distress signal intercepted by base. But one pirate ambush later and youâre now stranded trying to stop the bleeding.
You just hope the emergency signal you sent back to camp went through. Leaning against your ship, you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. Youâve dealt with worse. You can handle this.
Until something pierces your back, and a scream of pain escapes you. Electricity courses through your body knocking you to the ground.
Everything stings. You can barely concentrate, but you hear them. Gleeful disgusting laughs swirling all around. The damn piratesâŠ
âThink of the price weâll get for x-wing parts!â One of them muses.
âOr even for the pilot, quite a cute one.â That comment unleashes a panicked feral terror.
Get up, you have to get up. Even though every part of your body stings, screaming to stay still, you have to move.
You slowly try to sit up through the aftershocks, but then a boot comes to slowly step on your chest, pressing you down to the dirt.
âNah uh little pilot, where do ya think youâre going.â A voice snickers.
You clench your jaw hard. This isnât looking good.
A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.
âWhat was that?!â One of them screams.
Then a blaster shot silenced him.
âStep away from her now.â Din.
Or someone sounding like him.
The voice is deadly, terrifying, and you wonder if it even is Din.
Then the pirate towering above you with his boot still pressing on your chest suddenly gets thrown off.
Weakly you cough sitting up. While you do, you witness Din in action and realize heâs truly here.
And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - heâs incredible.
Youâve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. Youâre witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxyâŠ
And heâs here to save you.
A small concerned whimper comes to your side and immediately you glance down. Grogu quickly waddles to your arm and flashes his wide worried eyes up to you.
âIâm okay, I promise.â He must see the wound, and you try smiling reassuringly.
He hums a small noise at you. Then he closes his eyes, laying his little claw against your elbow. Slowly a gentle warmth suddenly crawls up your shoulder.
What is he doing?
The stinging pain vanishes instantly. Reaching up to your shoulder, you find no wound.
âMweh.â Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.
âYou really are something else, little trouble maker⊠thank you.â You fondly stroke his fuzzy little head, and he beams.
Din urgently yells your name and soon rushes to kneel before you. Gloved hands reach out to steady your shoulders.
âIâm fine.â You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.
An exhale escapes Din, relieved.
âIâm sorry you both had to come all the way out here. Iâm sure there are better bounties to hunt.â You half tease.
âDonât apologize.â He immediately snaps.
Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.
âJust glad youâre safe.â So Din gently adds and steadily helps you stand.
Zeb lands moments later with a mechanic to help patch up your ship. The entire time Din stays by your side, letting you lean against him for support. His guiding hand never leaves you.
Youâre given the rest of the week off to recover.
âSo was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?â You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.
He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.
âIs that what you think?â Zeb doesnât elaborate even when you pester him.
Itâs Dyana of course who reveals the truth.
âMando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.â Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.
How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?
âI think itâs romantic.â Dyana thankfully doesnât judge you when you finally admit everything to her.
There was no time for romance during a rebellion, during a war. Even now you almost scoff at the idea. There are other things to do, other things to focus on than get lovesick over someone.
But Din dismantled all those old thoughts in you, leaving you exposed and almost greedy for someone now.
âItâs okay to want that you know⊠romance and companionship.â Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.
You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. Sheâs always been urging you to get out more, maybe try to find someone. Guess you just had to wait for a mandalorian to show up.
But you have to put all those giggles and feelings aside.
Your time resting is done, and immediately youâre thrown back into the rush of work.
A mission and orders arrive a few days later on your datapad.
Raid strike this week, get ready
Itâs not a full strike squadron, but youâre thankful Zeb is tagging along.
âThink your boyfriend might be joining us.â He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.
âI donât have a boyfriend.â You rapidly dismiss.
âHuh uh.â He rolls his eyes.
As if summoned to add to your pain, Din enters the command center. It feels like feral lizard birds were released in your stomach.
Immediately his helmet spots you. Grogu perched on his shoulder chirps upon seeing you. Trying to act relaxed, you give the boys a casual wave and bright grin.
Zeb chuckles, and you silently shush him again under your breath. You walk to meet Din halfway.
âGlad youâre doing better.â He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.
âThanks to my two heroes,â you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.
Din doesnât say anything.
âGuess weâre finally teaming up.â So you speak up first.
âSeems like it,â Din agrees.
This isnât the first time heâs seen you in your pilot gear. Hell, he just rescued you last week. But for some reason, you feel more self aware than ever.
Thankfully Ward enters, drawing the roomâs attention to her.
The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. Heâs apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. Itâs why this strike squadron was called in. Youâre curious why Din is here though.
âWithout the mandalorianâs intel, we wouldnât have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.â She sends her focus to him.
Din simply and silently nods back.
Then he moves to the holo map and gives details about the estate. Hearing how commanding and surefire his voice resounds, the way he walks confidently and without any hesitation, heâs incredible.
But thereâs no time to linger on this warrior.
Itâs time to fly.
âFinally get to see you in action,â you tell Din as he walks out with you.
âGuess you will.â He replies with a hint of something playful, and it only speeds up your racing heart.
All you can do is laugh before parting ways.
âDonât get lost in the clouds.â You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.
You canât see Dinâs eyes, but you hope theyâre amused.
Him and Grogu now trail away from where youâre stationed, and you settle into your ship.
Your x-wing roars alive, and the familiar comms flicker in your ear. Then the call signals electrify the start to battle.
âDelphi squadron, lock in.â Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.
âBlue 9, standing by.â You chime in, readying the flight path.
âStarfighter, standing by.â Then a new voice floats through your helmet.
The tone resonates rich as a stormy ocean sending a shock through your system.
Hearing Din in your helmet does something to you so wild that you feel guilty at how fast your core clenched. You recollect yourself fast.
Thatâs when you notice the ship he joined in with.
A starfighter? Thereâs no way. Those ships donât exist.
But again, youâre proven so wrong.
Among the gunfire and smoke, the sounds of battle, a new gleam of silver catches your attention. The Naboo N-1 fighter is a marvel.
A sleek whisper of a dream, one minute sheâs a simple flicker of light then the next sheâs firing directly in the trenches of the fight.
But as in awe of the ship as you are, itâs the mandalorian who leaves you breathless.
Din flies amazing. The fast maneuvering, the excellent read he makes of the battle, among his readiness to swoop in and out of tight spaces - youâve never seen anyone fly this beautifully.
It inspires you, the type of flying that makes you want to soar higher to catch up.
So you do.
You embrace the rebel pilot you always might be and dive through the canyons chasing after one of the bandits the warlord hired.
Quickly you dispatch the enemy ship then swirl and maneuver your x-wing to return to the open sky.
âTarget on your left.â Dinâs voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.
âGot it.â You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.
âGot him, great shot!â Listening to Dinâs deep fierce voice over your private channel, his voice colored in pride, you have to mute the channel to exhale.
Because a wave of arousal crawled up your spine so fast you had to bite your lip. Now you try settling yourself down again.
You pride yourself on being composed when you fly. There of course have been times when youâve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.
Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.
Itâs a fight you realize you wonât win.
The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. Thatâs the win that matters.
âGreat job,â Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.
âYou too, thanks for the support,â you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.
âCaptain,â you ask Teva on his personal comms.
âBefore we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?â
Teva takes a moment then sighs.
âMake it quick.â
Giddy you quickly chime back onto Dinâs channel.
âWanna go for a run?â A part of you worries he wonât want to join you.
âLead the way.â But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.
The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. Itâs a flight playground. Among the skies, twisting and twirling down through the natural landscape, you and Din soar around each other, with each.
Playful, yet delicately cautious, your x-wing revolves alongside his starfighter. Din keeps up with you every moment. Quietly the image of a dance among the clouds floats into your mind.
âUp for a race?â He suddenly asks.
âOh, you know it.â You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.
But in a flash, he zooms past you.
âWhat the hell?!â You shriek over the comms.
Dinâs husky laugh in your ear is a beautiful reward.
Returning back to Adelphi, you and him fly beside each other. Ward gives everyone the night off, and the cantina already seems to shine extra bright landing in.
Settling into your spot in the hanger, you notice Din lands his starfighter closer than ever.
Sliding off your helmet, for a moment you worry about how bad your hair looks, how messy and sweaty you must be.
But heading down the ladder, Din already walks towards you.
All your worries vanish. You donât even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.
âYou were incredible.â
âYou flew⊠amazing.â
Both you and Din speak at the same time, words jumbling up and getting tangled. It startles you, even his shoulders stiffen a bit.
Then you laugh.
âNo, you were the incredible one.â You tell him first.
âNot compared to you,â he shakes his head.
âGlad I finally got to see one of the Rebellionâs and New Republicâs best pilots in action.â Thereâs a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.
Any words you want to say, heâs stolen them right from you. All youâre reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.
Din doesnât say anything either. Itâs like you and him canât look away from the other standing this close.
âHey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?â Zeb suddenly breaks the spell, and your blood instantly boils.
You hiss foul curses at Zeb, and he only cackles with laughter.
Embarrassed and trying to escape this moment you shake your head heading towards the exit.
âCome on, letâs go celebrate.â You manage to smile at Din hoping to dispel any comments about what Zeb said.
The mandalorian follows you into the mess hall cantina. The lively celebratory air glimmers with joyous laughter. Itâs a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.
âMaybe in a bit,â He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.
âNo pressure, but drinks on me if you want.â You offer.
âIâll pass, but thanks.â He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.
âCome on, letâs see how good of a sabacc player you are.â After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.
âThink you might be dissapointed,â Din chuckles.
Of course heâs a damn natural.
Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.
âOh, so youâre a liar.â You joke good naturedly.
âNever said I was good or bad.â He answers and itâs rather coy, lighter than what youâve heard from him.
âNext time Mando I want you cominâ with me off planet! We could really win big.â Someone suggests and now itâs comforting seeing how much everyone has warmed up to him, how much Din has settled in here too.
Until you realize the baby is missing and immediately turn to Din. Maybe itâs the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.
âWait, whereâs Grogu?â You ask concerned and low.
Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.
âDonât worry, heâs asleep in the barracks.â Dinâs answer comes low, reassuring.
Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. Itâs a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.
You exhale relieved and donât have time to realize what he just did until someone drags Din away to play darts.
He squeezed your hand, and you now fight against a dumb smile just thinking about it.
Even after another round of getting your ass kicked at cards, you donât care. You glance over to Din.
A cluster of pilots surround him. Youâre not surprised. Heâs a marvel, someone truly remarkable. But one of the prettier pilots slides up next to Din, batting her eyelashes so dreamily up at him.
Something fierce, venomous and coated in jealousy, strikes.
Reaching to Wolf, you nudge his shoulder a few times, and he knowingly looks at you. Not saying anything, he discreetly slips you a smoke stick.
You head out of the cantina into the soft warm night and light up. The smoke in your lungs settles you down for a moment and cuts through the alcohol.
Dumb Mandalorian man making you feel this wayâŠ
Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.
âDidnât know you smoked.â Din.
His voice melts into the night like he stepped out of the shadows themselves. As he wanders towards you, you shift to lean against the rail of the patio.
âNot often,â you truthfully answer. Itâs been a long time since you lit up.
A bad habit you picked up during your rebellion days, being as young as you were around seasoned veteran pilots. It became a way to calm yourself down and stop your hands from shaking from the nerves.
You even tell him that.
âWhat made you join?â He asks, tentative and quiet.
A loaded question but one you feel comfortable enough to answer, especially with him.
The empire took so much from you. Youâre grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You werenât lying when you joked about stealing ships. Learning to steal is how you survived for a while as a kid.
Then you accidentally stole from a man named Luthen Rael, and your life changed. Whatever he saw in your eyes that day when he caught you⊠it kept you alive.
Heâs the one who helped get your wings, got you in touch with rebellion once you could fly. Once you joined, you never saw him again.
âNever looked back since.â You tell this all to Din.
You donât regret your choices. Theyâre what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.
âYou did what you had to⊠you should be proud of the life youâve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.â Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.
You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.
âAnd you? What brought you to the New Republic?â Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.
This time heâs sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. Heâs pressed up right beside you.
âBenn a long way to get here as well.â Heâs vague, but explains how he was, and still is a bounty hunter by trade. How that path led him to the kid. How Grogu is by Mandalorian creed his son and apprentice now.
âI couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. Itâs not the life I wanted anymore.â
Itâs admirable seeing how valiant Dinâs spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.
âThere are wars youâve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you donât think you should be.â Maybe itâs the fading alcohol and slow numbness of the smoke stick, but you want more than ever to just hold him.
You go to take another drag to stop yourself from doing anything reckless, but find your smoke stick is burnt to its final end.
âI donât.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.â Dinâs voice is thick, tangled in thorny emotions.
Yet underneath it all, he sounds softer and raw, like a man trying to find comfort in your words.
So you turn and see his striking dark T visor gaze on you.
A moment passes where itâs just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.
âNo matter what path you took, I'm glad youâre here.â You earnestly tell him.
In such a short amount of time this mandalorian has reawakened something in you and takes up such a large part of your heart.
âMe too.â Din mutters, nodding.
Another x-wing lands outside stealing your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.
âAlways been curious to how they fly.â Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.
âYou wanna see?â
He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.
âCome on,â so you challenge him back with a toothy grin.
Immediately Din follows behind you, footsteps quick yet terrifying agile.
The hanger sits in eerie stillness this time of night.
âShould we even be here?â Din asks low, a bit cautious.
âDidnât take you as a âby the booksâ guy, Mando.â You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.
âOnly when it comes to my employer.â He replies unamused.
âTrust me, weâll be fine.â You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.
He doesnât know it, but this place, especially for pilots, is an infamous makeout spot. You try not to think about that too much.
There you arrive at your x-wing.
âHop in,â you nudge him towards the ladder.
âWhat?â Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.
âGet in,â you urge.
Sighing defeated he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and you follow. You look away trying not to stare at his cute ass.
âCan we even fit in this?â
âX-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,â you proudly declare.
The hatch opens, and Din jumps in. The dashboard and control panel light up as he takes a seat in your chair.
Your throat goes dry seeing him sit in the same pilot seat you fly in.
âThrottle, control stick,â he points out immediately.
As much room as you have, it is cramped standing up. So you curl to the side, closer to him, but keep your eyes on the control monitor.
âItâs got a good radar system.â Din comments admiring the monitor too.
You rattle on about how these are the upgraded models everyone got after the war. The original ones you used during the rebellion are classic, but the upgrades were warmly welcomed.
âSorry, this all must sound boring.â You weakly laugh.
âItâs not. Tell me more.â He reassures.
Youâre about to until you hear commotion around the hanger.
So, quickly you scramble up and around to slide into the seat -
Right between the V of Dinâs legs.
You crouch low and drag him down too.
âWhâŠwhat are you-â
âShhâŠâ you shush him. âHave to lie low just in case.â
âSo we should leave.â Din urges urgent.
âWeâre fine.â You reassure him now.
The commotion you thought you heard passes by, and silence returns.
You exhale a bit relieved, moving to sit up. Then you grin at him from over your shoulder.
âSee⊠told you weâd be fine.â
He stays quiet.
It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you arenât fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. Youâre literally between his legs.
You want to apologize, especially now that the courage fades away fast.
But all you can think about is how stunning Din is, how gorgeous he looks here in your ship.
âOne day you should fly it.â You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.
âDonât think Ward would let me.â He stiffly replies.
âI would.â You immediately counter.
âPlus you look good in here...â Then you realize what you just admitted.
So you try to recover fast.
âKnowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you wouldâve fit in just fine. Probably wouldâve even been half as good as me.â You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesnât linger on anything you said before.
You now glance away to check out the window. The hanger is thankfully still empty.
Then Din suddenly softly breathes your name.
Youâve never heard it sound so holy and raw that it rips you wide open. You completely shift around to glance at him in the lowly light cockpit.
âHow inebriated are you?â He asks husky, thick.
âI could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.â You tell him completely wide awake now. Every part of you feels like a live wire completely focused on this man.
His low weak chuckle makes your stomach flip in the best way.
Din exhales, breathy and deep.
You donât want to over step, donât want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.
Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, youâre galvanized.
Immediately you rise and twist around to fully stare down at him. Looking at Din for a moment, here in the cockpit of your ship, you want to burn this image into your memory. Want to consecrate this in a way you never may do with anyone else again.
You rest your legs on either side of his, caging him in then you settle down onto his lap.
The soft low noise Din makes is music to your ears.
He says your name, but it sounds more like a warning.
âI want this⊠I want you.â You tell him, finally admitting the words out loud.
Then, you grind down on his lap, straddling him, and immediately pleasure floods into your system.
Din groans, and it spurs you on instantly.
Frustrated that youâre still in your damn flight suit, you unzip the top, slide off the jacket, and exhale feeling the coolness reach your skin. Sliding your hands up to his shoulders you whisper his name.
Then you grind against the bulge in Dinâs pants pressing into you, and your mind goes foggy.
But not foggy enough that you notice Din remains still.
Everything collides into you with a halting stop. What if he doesnât want this?
âIâm⊠Iâm so sorry.â You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.
âNo I-â Din starts, but then stops himself.
You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.
âDo you⊠not want to do this?â You ask cautiously. âBecause itâs okay if you donât.â
Itâs okay if you donât want me, is what you actually want to say. But youâre not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships youâve shot down.
âNo.â Din noisily exhales frustrated.
His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.
âI want this, want you. Just afraid I wonât be able to stop.â He admits weak.
âYou donât have to stop⊠I donât want you to.â You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.
Here in your ship, you think maybe heâs become your prey, trapped in your spiderweb. But then his helmet ever so slightly tilts up to you. Under the watch of his unflinching visor, you now feel like a prey caught within a hunterâs gaze.
His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.
âDin,â You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.
âI think about you⊠too much.â Din reveals like itâs a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.
âI think about you all the time.â The truth leaves you effortlessly now.
âWonder about what color your eyes are,â You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.
âIf you and the baby are safe, eating well,â you add, and he chuckles breathily.
âI think about how brave you are and how⊠lucky I am to know you,â you continue feeling molten and sentimental now.
Din says your name again, this time tender, and it almost causes you to falter.
So you lean closer to his helmet.
âI think about how handsome you are⊠imagine your cock inside me.â You mutter and hearing the words aloud feels too much.
But then his strong hands dig into your thighs and slide you on his lap fully, dragging you across his clothed cock.
How strong he pulled you, the fast friction draws a whine from you.
âYeah?â He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.
âYeah.â You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.
This time itâs not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you donât care.
Not when you and Din rut against each other and his hands chart a path all over you. One hand slides up to your neck, anchoring you close to him. The other moves to your back, sliding up to bunch your tank top in his grasp.
Itâs too hot now, and youâre wearing too many clothes.
So you weakly draw away from his hold to reach up and yank your top off.
Then you wiggle the last bit of the jump suit off, trying to let your hips and legs be free. But itâs hard.
Din even chuckles at your struggle, and you shoot him a look, annoyed. Patiently, he helps slide the material down until it pools down your legs.
Now youâre simply in your underwear, completely bare before him.
The sensation of his gloved hands running up your stomach, across your back, reverently taking in every inch of your bare soft skin, it melts you.
âBeautiful,â Din breathes in awe.
Then one of his gloved hands crawls up to knead your breast in his grasp, pinching your nipple. Your head falls back, and your hips return to seek relief. Grinding against him without the jumpsuit, the friction is so much stronger, a delicious undercurrent making you want more.
âDin,â You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.
âWant you inside of me,â you whimper quickly getting drunk on him.
He cusses again sharp, dragging you harder against his clothed cock.
A loss comes when his hands leave your body, but wearily your eyes open once you feel him move to his pant buckle. Eagerly you join in to help.
His cock in your hand is warm. Heâs thick, delicious in size. Heâs already leaking, and possessed by something raw you lean down to lightly spit on his cock. Din groans so loud you think it rattles your bones.
Stroking his cock slow, you love feeling his mess mix with your spit.
He quickly hisses your name.
âInside now,â he urges, a desperate man. Clutching at your hips hard, he practically draws you up.
Who are you to deny your mandalorian?
He helps slide off your stick underwear, now fully bare.
Before you sink down on him, you lean closer to his helmet.
You donât have to say anything. You simply look at him, a final reassurance to see if he wants this the way you want him.
A gloved hand curls up to your face, cradling your sweaty face, stroking your cheek. His touch is fond, and it rocks you more than anything.
He nods firm, so sure.
So you sink down on him, guiding him into you. Both you and him moan and the world implodes in the most beautiful way.
When you were younger and around the veteran pilots, they used to share tales of how theyâd christen their ships. Back then, you couldnât imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.
Now you donât want Din to leave it.
A fervid raw desperation has you clinging to him, Din touches you so protectively, keeping you close. His hands clutch you firm, like heâs worried you could fly away from him at any moment.
Needing to be closer, you curl against his neck. You ache to kiss his skin. But the smell of gunpowder, of something beautifully musky, purely Din, floods your mind and makes your mouth water.
His pace grows sloppy, and you feel it coming too.
âWhere?â He slurs urgently.
âInside, got the implant,â you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.
âInside Din please please please.â You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.
âNot until you come first, wanna feel you.â Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.
Your climax knocks you into another realm. Youâre floating. Din follows you over not long after with the deepest groan.
His warmth fills you, even feel it leaking out, causing you to whimper so content.
Exhausted you flop against his chest loving the cool press of his armor against your bare skin. Then a part of you hisses to pull away. Until Dinâs helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.
âSo⊠you ever done that before in here?â Din asks, partially joking but still curious.
You shake your head no.
âYouâre the only one.â You reveal.
His hand tracing across your skin suddenly stops. Then it fully draws across you to draw you closer to him in a soft like embrace.
An aching adoration for this man cements itself into you. Itâs now etched into your heart and now your ship. Maybe the two are the same.
After this night, you find him everywhere now.
Anytime he or you return back from a mission, one seeks the other out.
Din and Grogu now even rest in your quarters.
The lodging here is small, but itâs become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile youâve made for him on the extra cot. And Din sleeps beside you in your bed.
You believed it was something sacred to know a mandalorian, but you realize itâs a true honor to find one seeking rest beside you.
Bathed in the moonlight leaking into your room, you and Din stare at each other lying side by side.
You wish he could relax more, maybe take off his armor.
But remaining helmeted, you understand his creed and donât want to push. Itâs just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.
âWhatâs wrong?â He notices your silence.
âI wish I could make this more comfortable for you.â Is the best way you can tell him.
He chuckles.
âDonât worry, Iâm fine.â
To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.
âNicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.â
You almost laugh. Heâs so endearing sometimes and doesnât even realize it.
But youâre reminded he does have a home.
âWhatâs your place like on Nevarro?â You ask about it.
âItâs good, simple.â Such a boring classic Din answer.
âMaybe⊠one day you can see it.â That addition he makes has your heart racing.
âYeah, Iâd like thatâ you nod, grateful for the offer.
Slowly your eyes close on their own now.
âBrown,â until suddenly he blurts out a random color.
Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.
âMy eyes⊠theyâre brown.â He reveals.
A soft grateful smile warms your face as you thank him.
You fall asleep beside him, wondering about his home, what it would be like to wake up and see his beautiful brown eyes.
But those daydreams get shoved away fast.
Missions begin piling up. The empire trash is getting sneakier, working faster in the shadows. It keeps everyone busy. You barely see Din. When you do the exchanges are brief, simple glances or even short catch ups.
Ward eyes you and Din suspicious but of course aware.
Approaching Din you try avoiding the colonelâs gaze as she leaves.
Thatâs when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.
âYou wanted⊠this hunk of junk?â You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.
âShe flies better than she looks.â Din defends.
Grogu excitedly waddles up the ramp eager to be inside the old ship.
You still eye the gunship worried about how good she can protect the cargo sheâll soon be carrying.
âMight not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.â Din senses your apprehension.
You give him a soft elbow nudge that barely makes his budge. But he playfully nudges you back, and a grin tugs at your lips.
âUgh,â Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.
âYou know, I notice with all the markings⊠this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.â You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.
He barks a laugh.
âWouldnât that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?â Zeb muses.
âI donât knowâŠI think the crest would fight right in.â You shrug, fond.
âYeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?â Zeb adds and Din flat out shuts that down with a hard no.
It makes you and Zeb snicker.
Now you head in to examine the ship yourself and look around. The older metal, the antique design and layout, it really doesnât ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.
âYour beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.â Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.
âShut up.â You practically hiss at him.
But he leaves you and Din alone.
Itâs hard to navigate this strange space lingering between you and him, as if neither you or him know how to move.
So you decide to be brave. You grab his hand and squeeze it.
âBe safe,â you nod to the mandalorian.
He quietly nods back, gathering your hand in his. He squeezes back just as firm.
You head out of the razor crest and into the bright afternoon sun. From the cockpit window you spot your boys. Din nods a farewell, and Grogu spotting you waves down from the control panel. In his grasp is your silly little monster charm.
Not moving from your spot, you keep your eyes on the ship until it fades into the jump of hyperspeed.
You donât hear from Din for half a month.
Itâs nothing new. Youâre had months where missions kept you both busy. And from how displeased she was with the last mission, Ward apparently has him working on something fierce.
Then another week passes, and youâre sent on a protective mission to Chandrilla.
It takes your full attention. But the entire time your mind is on Din. Are he and Grogu safe? Is everything going okay?
âYou must be in love.â The Senator youâre escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.
âIâm sorry?â You ask slightly confused.
He smiles at you kindly.
âYouâve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.â
Shit.
âI apologize. I promised Iâm focused.â You reassure him, and the senator laughs.
âItâs fine, my dear,â he reassures, then leans in eagerly. âSo tell me about the lucky person.â
Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.
âOh, a mandalorian.â He whispers in awe. âTheyâre a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.â
He is. But heâs more than that.
Heâs kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. Thereâs a compassion that walks hand in hand with Dinâs firm courage.
âOh you got it bad,â the Senator laughs.
Itâs unfortunately true.
How fast and quickly this mandalorian has disarmed you, but what else would you have expected from a warrior like him? Maybe you were doomed from the start to fight against feelings for such a fierce conqueror.
The thoughts of him keep you going through the mission.
Arriving at base camp, you instead find thereâs already commotion.
Din has returned, but heâs not alone.
Jabbaâs son, Rotta the Hutt, is with him.
At least Din and the baby are safe.
Standing off overlooking the beach, Din patiently watches Grogu play among the beach waves with the young Hutt.
âSo, looks like youâve been busy.â You say moving to his side.
âTell me about it.â He sighs.
The rundown he gives you is surface level, getting tied up among the Hutt twins while trying to search for the infamous Commander Coin.
âThings might get hairy soon. Iâm heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.â
His somber tone says more looms.
âDinâŠâ you mutter cautiously.
He turns to you.
âIf youâre in any dangerâŠknow that I want to help.â You urge, hoping heâll tell you more.
âI know.â He nods, yet says nothing more.
Please, your heart begs, please let me stay by your side and fight with you.
But you know fighting against this adamant man is a losing battle. So you sigh and reach down to your belt.
The charm you have on today is your favorite, and you hand it to him.
âRemember to bring it back to me.â You canât even look at him because your eyes suddenly feel like they could spill over a river of tears.
His gloved hand cradles your face, letting you fully look at him.
âWeâll be fine.â His voice soothes you steeled with resolution.
You nod, fighting harder against tears.
Then Din leans down. He presses his helmet against your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into the cool beskar.
With a goodbye hug to Grogu, you tell the sweet little soul to keep an eye on his dad.
This time, you donât have the strength to watch them leave.
You throw yourself into any available mission.
Ward must sense why youâre doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.
âMando will be fine,â Teva tries to reassure you.
You hope he will be. Days pass and you try to settle into a routine.
But then a group of Anzellans arrive in a panic. Youâd been working on your ship when they landed.
Currently they rapidly relay a message to Ward. She patiently tries to listen to all of their worried voices.
âWhatâs going on?â You ask Wolf.
âApparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta⊠donât think itâs looking good.â He mutters back somber.
Absolute dread is unleashed in you.
You donât realize youâre moving until youâre standing right before the colonel.
âLet me join the rescue strike.â You urge.
Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.
âAre we really considering not going?!â Your voice raises, shocked and upset.
âItâs not that simple.â Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.
âWhat isnât simple?! Heâs one of us. We have to rescue them.â You argue back harder.
âThere are protocols. And with the intel and alliance weâve tried establishing with the Hutts we canât just strike in, ranger.â Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.
Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.
You donât care if this will get you in trouble, hell even dishonorably discharged. Din needs you. Grogu needs you.
Then you hear a few others arrive in the hangar.
Ward calls out your name. This is it.
Turning towards her, you ready yourself to accept whatever punishment. Yet, you instead see your commander in her flight suit as well. Your eyes canât help but widen.
She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.
âI should sit you out on this mission.â
âI know. Iâve accepted that Iâll be doing reports for the rest of the year.â You sleepily shrug.
Her smirks grows bigger.
âTry two years,â she says heading to her ship.
Youâll happily accept that too.
The twinâs palace is heavily guarded, and itâs a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.
Then Dinâs voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. Heâs alive.
Now you fly harder and faster than you ever have. It reminds you of Endor. That final battle all you thought of was the hope right before your eyes, knowing something precious was so close and needed to be defended.
Thatâs what this feels like.
You manage to knock out a few droid ships, but the main focus is on the palace.
Yet Din remains inside.
And Ward gives the command to light the place up.
âGet out of there. Please.â You whisper out loud or maybe to the force itself.
Then, the stronghold goes under flames.
You and the others circle around, flying out of the line of fire from the explosion. Yet your stomach stays in knots.
âAnyone got eyes on Mando?â Wolf asks before you can.
Out from the smoke, there among the water below, you spot them. Your boys are alive.
A watery relieved laugh escapes you as you blink away the tears.
âGo pick up the trash, Zeb.â Ward jokes, and you canât even be mad.
Knowing theyâre safe is all that matters.
Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zebâs ship hoping to see them.
But Ward of course arrives first.
You instead idle by your x-wing, pretending to be checking your engines. Ward tells him the truth about the Hutts that even you didnât know. So thatâs why she finally agreed to go.
âAnd⊠we donât leave our own behind.â Her words resound within you.
Din deflects, saying how heâs not with the New Republic.
âSure you arenât Mando, sure you arenât.â She says.
âIf you aren't one of us⊠Who do you think helped convince us to come?â
Wardâs insinuating tone shoots a shock up your spine.
You keep your gaze on your ship, refusing to even look their way. Focusing on mindlessly keeping busy, you donât notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.
Heâs here.
Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.
âIâm so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.â You even press a kiss to his fuzzy head, addressing him as the courageous officer he is.
The baby coos back fond, embracing you with his sweet but sturdy little arms.
While heâs still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.
He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.
âWelcome back,â you croak out.
Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.
âHad to bring this back.â
With a watery laugh, you shake your head.
âYour dad is so silly,â you half whisper to Grogu who giggles, agreeing.
A sigh leaves Din but, in a few steps, he walks towards you.
Then you and Grogu are gathered into his embrace. You immediately wrap one of your arms around Din.
âThank you⊠for coming for us.â Dinâs voice is gentle, grateful.
âAlways.â You answer back with a resounding truth.
Your job is tied here, and you might fly for the sake of the New Republic. But you believe your true wings, your heartâs flight navigation, now will always include a path for and to Din Djarin.
Currently he chats with Rotta, from what you heard might be staying here too.
Once you head into the mess hall Ward calls your name. With a patient knowing grin, she holds out the datapad with the promise of the paperwork you knew would be waiting for you.
Logging in with your chain link, a new message suddenly chimes onto the monitor from an unknown contact.
It contains a coordinates location to Nevarro along with a single message attached.
Stop by whenever, weâll be waiting
Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.
After all, there's a flight to Nevarro calling your name.
Summary: Colonel Ward needs only her best for a rescue mission and her best are you and Mando...if only you two could figure out how to get a long and stop bickering...
Author's Note: Saw the movie- loved it! Highly rec! And now I want to write lots more for Mando! Yay! Thank you all so much for reading and sharing, much love always! â€ïžâ€ïžâ€ïžDivider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisyđ„°
****PS: There are NO plot spoilers here- but I definitely used some moments in the movie as inspo and threw in some fun little stuff from it- just so you're warned!
PPS You can look up the alien species I refer to here. I also use the name of a character in the new Darth Maul cartoon- but it doesn't give away any plot (that was good too- watch it)
Warnings: it's fun and flirty, tense and soft and sweet and there's some action (that I'm pretty bad at writing haha), Grogu is adorable and Djarin is sexy as f, also...all the kisses please
âWhatâs he doing here?â
You throw a thumb in Mandoâs direction, your tone matching your exasperated expression. Without giving Mando a chance to reply, Colonel Ward smiles wryly.
âI have a mission for you,â she says.
You cross your arms over your chest and your nostrils flare. âStill doesnât explain why heâs here.â
âFor both of you,â she clarifies.
You can hear Mando sigh, his hands landing on his hips as his knee pops out.
Colonel Ward holds up her hand to halt any words either of you might throw at her. âHear me out.â
Another sigh from Mando, and you throw him the stink eye.
âItâs a rescue missionâŠâ
After she briefs you on the mission you know itâs not something youâll be able to turn down so you square your shoulders and turn toward Mando.
âIâm in if you are,â you tell him.
âMando?â Colonel ward asks.
âFine. It will be done.â
Colonel Ward gives a triumphant smile. âAnd listen you two,â she adds. âtry to make friends.â
With that, you both head out, Grogu appearing from the bar area with a mouthful of who knows what. As soon as he sees you he peels off in your direction, waddling as fast as he can until he can hop into your waiting arms.
âHey buddy,â you chuckle. âWhat have you been snacking on?â
He pulls out a handful of the snacks you saw on Colonel Wardâs desk, stuffing some into his mouth before holding out his hand in offering to you.
âDoes she know you took those?â you whisper. He just blinks at you, shoving your portion into his mouth. You laugh and rub him between the ears.
âCome on Grogu,â Djarin says as he steps beside you. âTime to get ready.â
Grogu secures himself at your shoulder and you head out to Djarinâs new ship.
âAre you actually going to listen to me this time?â Djarin asks as he takes stock of his weapons.
You let silence hang between his words and your next ones, watching unabashedly as he either hides or straps weapon after weapon onto his body.
âHmm,â you finally answer, drawing his eyes to yours. âNot going to lie, thisâŠâ you continue and sweep your hand over his form, now fully weaponized, âis very sexy. SoâŠmaybe.â
With that you walk off to the cockpit, leaving him staring after you.
âYou know, one day youâre going to have to teach me how to fly this thing,â you say as you start to put on your seatbelt.
âIâm teaching Grogu,â he says and as if summoning him, Grogu hops onto Djarinâs lap.
âNo buddy, not now. We have a mission.â
Grogu makes a soft whine, his eyes wide as he looks to you. âAw come on! Whatâs the difference?â you say.
Djarin looks down at Grogu. âShe wants to learn too,â he says.
Grogu nods, ears perking up as he crawls off Djarinâs lap and into his own seat. His big eyes look at you then at Djarin.
âOh!â you squeak, eying Djarinâs lap, thick thighs spread wide and inviting.  âYou thinkâŠ.well, I donâtâŠIâm not ready.â
Djarin chuckles and you quietly curse him. âYouâre just afraid of sitting with me.â
You turn his way, eyes narrowed and glaring. âIâm not afraid of anything. Especially you. But if you want us to get to our destination alive then you better fly this time.â
âWhatever you say sweetheart,â he murmurs.
âDonât call me that!â you shoot back, sinking into the seat.
He takes off with ease, and you peer out the window, sighing at the beauty of the stretch of blue sea of Adelphi below.
âItâs always extra beautiful from up here,â you say softly.
He hums in agreement, his eyes on you instead of the sea.
The planet of Shakari is dense with life forms bustling through itâs darkened underworld. Mando and Grogu lead the way, his stride purposeful and full of confidence. You admire him in silence, finding it difficult to focus on much else.
âI think this is it,â he whispers, stopping by a doorway thatâs locked. You nod and watch as Grogu hops off his shoulder and through a small window to the side. Less than a minute later the door opens, revealing a delighted looking Grogu.
You smile at him and this time he hops up onto your back. Djarin pauses and looks at you two. âI have cookies,â you explain with a wink. âDonât worry youâre still his favorite.â
You take a step ahead, passing through the doorway and missing when Djarin says, âyeah, for now.â
The bar you enter is at the far back, quieter than the streets but still filled with life forms. Djarin scans the crowd.
âFollow me,â he says and starts to walk forward without waiting for your agreement.
âAlways so bossy,â you mutter.
He approaches a Twiâlek sitting alone at a far table. âLet me do the talking,â he says before you get too close.
You roll your eyes and slide you hand to the hilt of your blaster. Grogu ducks lower on your shoulder.
âWeâre looking for Rylee Lawson,â Djarin states, his voice more gruff than usual.
âI donât care who youâre looking for,â the Twiâlek answers before taking a sip of his drink.
âYouâll be greatly rewarded if you can give me the location of where heâs being held.â
The Twiâlek looks at Djarin again, his eyes full of malice. âGet out of my bar.â
You step around Djarin, gun poised and ready to shoot. âYou can either tell us or Iâll shoot you.â
Djarinâs frustrated sigh reaches your ears as the bar goes quiet and before you can give him a cheeky retort all hell breaks loose. Your back meets Djarinâs as you stay close and expertly shoot anything that moves. Heâs right there with you, the two of you moving as a deadly unit.
Finally you separate, but only so he can take out the large Abyssin headed your way. He moves fluidly, kicking, punching and headbutting until everyone is either dead or lying on the floor groaning.
âYou just donât listen!â he chides when he joins your side again.
âAnd you were taking too long.â
Grogu makes a sound that youâre sure is one of agreement and you smile back at him.
Itâs easy enough to find Rylee and when you reach his sell your heart sinks as the young boy looks up at you with terror in his eyes.
âItâs ok,â you immediately say. âWeâre here to help.â
He looks skeptical but when Mando comes into view his eyes widen.
âYouâre the Mandalorian,â he says in awe.
âYeah, yeah, kid,â you huff. âDonât stare too long. Itâll go to his head.â
Rylee nods and swallows hard, dropping his eyes to the lock. âHow are you gonnaâŠ?â
His question never finishes because you blast through the lock, setting off the alarms.
âSheâs loves to make things messy,â Djarin says as he ushers Rylee out of the cell. âCome on.â
The three of you race down the hallway, Grogu secured at your back. âStay behind me kid,â Djarin yells when you round the corner and face several more armed Abyssinâs.
You shoot all four in rapid succession, each shot perfectly aimed until they drop to the floor. Rylee turns his wide eyes to you. âWow,â he breathes.
You grin. âMandoâs not the only one who can get things done.â
Your escape back to the ship starts out quiet but you quickly gain a following as people realize youâve âkidnappedâ a prized prisoner of the Hutts. With several bounty hunters on your tail itâs making it difficult to escape.
âThis wouldnât have happened if you had some patience,â Djarin grits out as he turns to blast one of the vehicles in hot pursuit.
âOh please,â you answer, âbecause you had some magical plan that was better?â
âI knew you wouldnât be able to listen,â he says back with a growl. âYou never do.â
âI think you like it.â
His helmet turns toward you and you know thereâs a smirk hidden beneath.
âAre they always like this?â Rylee asks Grogu as he ducks away from a blaster shot.
Grogu makes a confirming noise and reaches into his robe for a cookie.
Once you reach the ship, Djarin shoves Rylee into a seat. âBuckle up,â he says. You sit but donât put on your seatbelt, working at the controls youâre familiar with and plugging in the coordinates.
âWhat are you waiting for?â you ask. âLetâs go.â
Gunfire shakes the ship and you raise your brows.
âPut your seatbelt on.â
Your jaw slackens then your mouth closes into a smirk. âWorried for my safety Mando?â
He huffs and pulls the lever for takeoff. âJust do it. NowâŠplease.â
Your smile widens. âSince you asked so nicely.â You buckle the belt.
When the ship is in flight you make Rylee comfortable and share some food. He shoves it in his mouth with almost as much gusto as Grogu and you refill his bowl. Grogu hops up next to him on the cushioned seat and looks at you expectantly.
Djarin quietly watches from the doorway, leaning against the frame while you pull out a sleeve of Groguâs favorite cookies.
âHe should have dinner first,â Djarin says and you startle.
âAnd you should be more fun,â you say with a saccharine smile.
You hand Grogu a cookie, laughing as he inhales it and then asks for another.
âOnly one more or your dad is going to yell at me again,â you whisper.
âI donât yell at you!â Djarin says firmly.
You raise a brow. âOk Mr. Bossy. Whatever you say.â
He shakes his head and walks off. You check on Rylee one more time and notice that both he and Grogu are getting sleepy. After getting them settled you head back toward the cockpit, lifting your shirt to check on the cut you att\ained during your escape. Â
You walk straight into what you think is the wall but instead look up to meet Djarinâs dark brown eyes.
âShit,â you quickly say. âIâm sorry! I didnât knowâŠâ
Youâve seen him without his helmet once beforeâŠa mission that had gotten very messyâŠand the image is burned into your brain forever.
âItâs ok,â he answers, gently grabbing your wrist when you start to turn away. âNo enemies here.â
You give him a look. âYou sure?â
He smiles and you look away, worried your reaction will show more than you want him to see.
His hand comes up slow, heel of his palm first at your jaw and warmth spreads, thumb resting just under your cheekbone. He doesnât turn your face, he waits, asking with his soft touch.
You meet his eyes and lean into the cradle of his palm. âHow bad is it?â he asks softly.
âHow bad is what?â you reply.
âYour injury.â
Your pulse flutters against his touch as you slowly lift the edge of your shirt, revealing the gash at your side. Djarinâs jaw tightens and he leans in, his breath ghosting along your neck and sending a flurry of shivers down your spine. The corners of his mouth dip down and his fingers linger on your skin, a gentle caress.
âWe need to clean and dress this. Grogu can close it for you.â
You nod and his frown turns into a smile. âNow youâre listening?â he teases.
His hands bring you closer, and your comeback dies in your throat, suddenly too tight to hold it. The light above your heads flickers but the smell of him, the feel of his strong warmth, floods your senses. He doesnât let go, if anything, his grip tightens, pulling your hips flush against his. His gaze is dark, blown wide, dropping to your mouth with the kind of hunger that steals your breath.
His hand moves first. Not to release you, but to map your skin. His thumb drags slow and heavy, along the curve of your waist, then up along the length of your spine, pressing against your neck with a possessiveness that makes your knees tremble.
Your hands stutter up the hard expanse of his chest, still covered in his armor and he breathes out your name in a warning heâs too weak to heed.
He leans in, just an inch, waiting for your hesitation. When it doesnât come and you tilt your face, his mouth crashes onto yours, hot and desperate.
A moan vibrates in his chest as he devours the gasp you try to take. Heat floods your veins and you melt into him, your body curving to fit the hard lines of his, your fingers sliding up to tangle in the dark curls at the nape of his neck.
Djarin groans, a low, ruined sound, and hauls you closer until all thatâs left between you is the pressure, friction, and taste of him.
Din Djarin takes a job from a Hutt-linked merchant on Nal Hutta, thinking itâs just another bounty. But the âpaymentâ isnât credits: itâs a human girl, held in a palace cruiser full of the kind of moral compromises he usually avoids.
When the girl proves sheâs smarter, braver, and far more capable than she appears, Din realizes there's things far more valuable than credits at risk.
Or: the story of how Din Djarin lost his virginity.
Pairing: Din Djarin x Princess!Reader
Content warning: no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader, unprotected P in V sex, grogu isn't here this is like a prequel of sorts, idk what else to mention
Check out my masterlist - read this on AO3
Mando shouldâve known better.
Heâd been tracking bounties across the Outer Rim long enough to know which clients were trouble, and which were outright suicidal. And a Hutt-linked merchant on Nal Hutta? That was the latter.Â
But the credits were too tempting, and the Razor Crest was barely holding together (the hyperdrive couplings had been sparking like fireworks, and every core circuit threatened to go dark whenever he took off). So, reluctantly, Din Djarin agreed.
And now, standing in the merchantâs private meeting rooms aboard a hovering palace cruiser, he remembered why he didnât accept anything from Hutt associates.Â
âThis is only half the credits.â Mando said, his voice steady, trying his best to now show any kind of frustration.
âI know, I know, Mandalorianâ the merchant, a Zeltron with deep cerulean skin, replied. âMoneyâs tight, but I am a creature of my word.â
And with that, he stood up, walking towards the end of the room, where he pushed aside a heavy curtain embroidered with stars. Immediately, a wave of strong perfume âspiced with the scent of Corellian hibiscus and Coruscant night marketsâ hit Mando even through his helmet.Â
Din didnât move. He didnât have to; he knew exactly what the âpaymentâ would be, and it was not something he wanted.
But, then, he saw it: across the veil of smoke, a faint sparkle caught his eye, and a laugh driftedâ light, almost musical, melting into the room like the last note of a flute.Â
He stepped forward before caution could stop him.
The merchant guided Din across the wide room, dimly lit by flickering fire candles, the smoke from exotic incense swirling in intricate patterns above Persian-style rugs. The cushions strewn across the floor were deep and embroidered with Naboo silks; they seemed to float above the darkness, inviting yet alien. The air smelled of sin, and the dim lights of the candles drew glowing pale orange shadows on the naked torsos of the ladies.Â
Zeltron, Kiffar, Theelin and other human-hybrid females, dressed in silk and linen, laid across the room, spread over the cushions like dehydrated flowers waiting for the dew. Their garments left nothing to the imagination, and yet they covered them enough to leave a man, regardless of his species, intrigued.
âThis could easily cover the debt.â the merchant murmured, gesturing toward the figures lounging on the cushions. One of the girls stood up, and without breaking eye contact with Mando, moved to the merchantâs side, giving him a side hug. âMore than enough, in fact.â the merchant continued, wrapping an arm across the girlâs slender waist. âMy girls ainât cheap. I am giving you more than what I had offered in the first place.â
Dinâs hand hovered near his blaster. Despite being in a room full of women, a few men (some human, most of them Zeltrons and Kiffars) were there⊠receiving the pleasures they had paid for.Â
Everyoneâs eyes, one way or another, landed in Dinâs figure. He was used to it, at that point, and he knew the lingering eyes of the girls were curious and not threatening, yet Dinâs instincts screamed caution. He checked every man in the room for their blasters and weapons, he took note of the guards standing in the darkest corners, and their rifles. He counted the windows (none) and the exits (just one).Â
Din cleared his throat, ready to demand the credits outright, when that soft, honeyed laugh sounded again. He mustâve reacted in some way, because the merchant raised an eyebrow, and scoffed a dry laugh.Â
âOh, I see.â the merchant said, waving the figures back into the shadows. âYou have⊠particular tastes, Mandalorian.â
The Zeltron, still holding the girl by her waist, guided Din toward a far corner, where the candlelight barely reached. Shadows twisted in shapes that hinted at hidden treasures âor hidden dangers. Din followed, every step measured, his hand outstretched and ready to blast off anyone if needed.Â
Together, the three of them walked towards another room, more secluded. The chamber smelled of spice, smoke, and something faintly metallic âthe trace scent of a blaster discharge long past⊠or perhaps blood. They smelled the same to Din.Â
He didnât know exactly what awaited him, but in his line of work, curiosity and caution walked hand in hand. One wrong step in a Hutt-controlled palace, and it wouldnât just be credits lost âit would be his head, no helmet, mounted as a warning at the entrance of the brothel.
The merchant stopped before a narrow archway draped in sheer fabric the color of twilight. Unlike the main chamber, this room was quiet. No music. Just the soft crackle of a single oil lamp and that honeycomb laughter he had walked to, like a spell.
The merchant hesitated for a moment, unsure if to say anything or not, but instead he just opened the door and pushed the fabric aside. Inside, there were no cushions scattered across the floor. No perfumed haze thick enough to choke. Just a small table, a low bed against the wall, and a viewport showing the skies of Nal Hutta covered in greenish clouds.
And sitting cross-legged on the edge of the windowsill, was a human girl.
She couldnât have been more than twenty standard years. Maybe twenty-four. Her long hair fell in uneven waves past her shoulders, clearly cut with a knife instead of proper shears. Her clothes were simple, compared to her co-workers âa loose linen tunic, trousers too big for her frame, sleeves rolled to reveal wrists ringed with faint bruises. Restraint marks.
She wasnât painted in oils or draped in jewels. She wasnât smiling seductively. She had something in her hand (the cause of her giggles) but she quickly put it away when they walked in. She looked ahead, and then turned to meet Mandoâs gaze, hidden behind the helmet. Somehow, she managed to stare directly at him.
âThisâ the merchant said smoothly as he took a few steps towards the girl âis special stock. Rare. Fully human. No augmentations. No pheromone glands. No tricks.â He crouched beside her, fingers brushing her jaw as if inspecting merchandise. She didnât flinch, but her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. âFresh acquisition from a man who owed me a lot of money. Claims sheâs from some backwater agri-world. No papers. No family.â
The girlâs gaze never left Dinâs visor.
âSheâs not trained yet.â the merchant added. âHer species makes her expensive, but her condition alone makes her worth far more than the credits I owe you. One hour with her and we would be more than settled.â
Dinâs hand slowly curled into a fist.
âHow old?â he asked, his voice lower than before.
The merchant shrugged. âYoungest youâll find of her kind in Nal Hutta.â
Din tilted his helmet slightly. âWhatâs your name?â he asked her.
The girl's eyes widened. It seemed like Din was the first person to ever speak to her directly, or let alone ask her something so personal, now that she wasnât a person anymore. But, before she could even stutter, the merchant interrupted sharply, squeezing her arm. âProperty designation L-17.â
Dinâs visor turned slowly toward him. âShe has a name.â he said, matter of fact.
The Zeltron forced a smile, shaking his head, as he put his hands together. âNames are sentimental. And you see, I manage many girls, itâs useless for the stock to remember names and surnames.â
And with that, the merchant took a step closer to Din, and spoke to the girl in the entrance of the chamber, the one who had followed them in. âGive notice at the front desk, L-17 is booked for an hour.â
Din took one deliberate step closer, shaking his hesd. The sound of beskar boots against the metal floor rang heavy in the small room.
âI didnât agree to this.â he said. âI want the credits.â
âAnd I am offering you something far more valuable.â the merchant replied, slowly and calm, with a tone as sharp as the blade hidden in his garments.Â
Dinâs hand hovered near his blaster againâ but not out of discomfort this time. He was calculating.
He could demand the money once again, and leave most likely empty handed, best case scenario. He could shoot the merchant and fight his way out of a Hutt cruiser swarming with guards. He could walk away entirely without making a scene.
Orâ
âAn hour?â he asked, moving his fingers to relax his grip, forcing himself to not grab the blaster.Â
âMore would be too much. An hour⊠I understand it is enough time for humans.â the merchant smiled, clearly satisfied. âAssuming, of course, you are human underneath that helmet. I heard most Mandalorians are.â
Din didnât reply. The Zeltron bowed shortly, and walked to the door. âWeâll see you in an hourâ he announced as his girl closed the door, leaving Din and the human completely alone in the chamber.
The door sealed with a heavy hiss. The silence that followed was loud, but it finally made Din relax his shoulders.Â
He didnât move toward her. Instead, he crossed the small chamber, removed his gloves one at a time, and set them carefully on the table. Then, he sat on the edge of the low bed, taking his boots off. After a moment, he leaned back against the wall, helmet still on, arms resting at his sides, trying to get as comfortable as possible.Â
He did not look at her. But he knew she was staring, expecting an order. âI wonât touch youâ he said at last.
The words sat between them, heavy. To Mandoâs surprise, the girl didnât relax. But she didnât shrink, either. âYou paid for the hourâ she said.
âI didnât pay. The merchant owed me.â Din replied, closing his eyes, though of course she couldnât see it.Â
He could feel her gaze on him, studying him. âYouâre Mandalorian,â she said carefully. âThat means you have a code.â
He didnât answer. Instead, he opened his eyes, and watched her more closely as she shifted slightly on the windowsill.Â
The way she held herself still, the way her breathing evened out on purpose. The lack of fear, or rather her temple-like control of her emotions, made Din raise an eyebrow. Something metallic flashed briefly in her hand before she curled her fingers around it again. Din noticed, of course.Â
âWhereâd you get that?â he asked, sitting a bit more straight.Â
Her chin lifted a fraction. âGet what?â She played fool.Â
He tilted his helmet toward her closed fist. After a stretch of measured, skin tight silence, where she realised she couldnât lie to him, the girl opened her hand.Â
It was nothing but a small magnetic restraint clip, bent at the edge and with rough edgesâ hacked.Â
âYouâve been working on thatâ he observed.
âFor three weeks.â
Din nodded, impressed. He imagined most girls, if not all, were held against their willâ he had assumed the merchant wouldâve had smarter ways to avoid these kinds of situations. And yet, here there was a human girl, with a hijacked clip, waiting for an opportunity to run.Â
âThat wonât open this doorâ he informed her, expecting to break her illusion, but her reply surprised him.Â
âI know.â She met his visor without flinching. âIt opens the service corridor two decks down.â
Now he turned his head fully toward her, standing from the bed. âThat corridor leads toââ
âHangar access.â She finished the sentence. âOr so Iâm told.â
Told.
The way she said that, and the slip of an accent âfine and clear like ceramicâ made him realize she wasnât a farm girl. He could hear it in her cadence now, and see it in the straighten of her spine, and the elegant arch of her naked feet. But it was more obvious when you spoke to her, and the way she chose words.Â
She was educated, and raised with a purpose much higher than most humansâ and definitely not the one the merchant intended of her.Â
âYou donât sound like youâre from a backwater agri-worldâ Din murmured, not sure if he was doing the right thing or not.
She gave the smallest smile. âNo, Iâm not. And this isnât my place eitherâ but itâs also no place for a Mandalorian.â
Fair enough.Â
Din sat down on the edge of the bed, now closer to the windowsill. âYouâre waiting for someoneâ he said.
âYes.â
âWho?â
She hesitated, for the first time. But that was just a pause to decide her words. âMy people.â She replied at last, something twinkling in her eyes.Â
Not family.
Not father.
Not husband.Â
People.
That was more than enough to know that sheâ oh, she was a princess. Or at least nobility. And whatever her heritage was, she was hiding it very well.
âYouâre not scaredâ he said.
She looked at him for a long moment, until she sighed. âI am.â she replied. âI just refuse to perform it.â
Din felt something shift in his chest. It took him a minute to understand it was respect. He hadnât felt that for someone in a whileâ truth is, he hadnât bumped into many people who deserved it. She did, though. At least in plain sight. A noble girl, trapped in a brothel, refusing to break and planning an escape instead of just waiting like a damsel in distress? That deserved respect.Â
âAre you going to take me out of here?â she asked, but it wasnât a plea to be rescued, it was a calculated question, to measure her own plan.Â
âNoâ. Mando replied, and that clearly surprised her. She raised her eyebrows, not a single wrinkle on her forehead as she did. âIâm not in the business of stealing what isnât mine.â he found himself explainingâ odd for him.Â
Her fingers tightened around the clip. âWell, Iâm not his property, even if he thinks so.â
Mando swallowed saliva, and nodded. âI know.â He said. She had a point. âI agreed to thisâ he said finally, voice lower âso I wouldnât have to kill everyone between here and my ship.â Again, more explanations he wasnât entirely sure why he was givingâ maybe because he hoped she didnât hate him for not helping her out. âIâll figure out the credits later. But it was this or bloodshed.â
She studied him, holding herself with her arms. âThen why are you still here?â
âBecause if I walk out too soon, theyâll know somethingâs wrong.â
That earned him the faintest nod. Now she was the one gaining his respect. The Mandalorian was strategic, not hot headed, and didnât murder for sport. She liked that.Â
Din shifted slightly on the bed, going back to his relaxed pose, resting his back against the bedframe. âYou have how long before your people come?â
âIt is unknown.â
That made him huff a small laugh. âThen you donât have a plan.â
âI doâ she said, straightening up, holding the chip tight on her fist. âItâs just⊠delayed.â
Din looked at the bruises, at her clothes, at the bones poking from the hemline of the neck. Three weeks she had lasted, untouched and unbroken, but it was clear her limit was getting closer. If he had been a lesser man, he wouldâve been the one in charge to bend that willpower holding her together.Â
âYou want to get to that service corridor?â Din found himself asking.Â
She went very still, her breathing caught on her chest before she spoke. âYes.â
He sat up. âThen when the hourâs up, you follow me. Donât run unless I tell you.â
Her eyes sharpened, an eyebrow raised once again. âYouâre helping me.â
âIâm helping myself.â he corrected, or rather lied. âI donât want the merchant to think of me as a partner for business.â A beat of silence followed, and then, once again, Din found himself over explaining. âAnd I donât like what this place is.â
That was as close to an admission as sheâd get out of him, but it was enough. She slid off the windowsill, stepping closer toward him, but still keeping distance.
âFor what itâs worthâ she said quietly, âI knew you wouldnât hurt meâ youâre Mandalorian, after all.â
He didnât respond at that, but his shoulders loosened slightly, almost against his will. Across the hall, distant laughter echoed again. Din glanced toward the door. âWe wait.â
The hour did not pass quickly. If anything, they did the opposite. And it got longer with every distant footstep in the corridor that felt closer than it was; with every burst of laughter beyond the walls; with every distant and echoey moan and whimper that reminded them what performance the merchant expected them to be engaging at.
Din checked the time twice in the corner of his visor display. Fifty-three minutes.
She was pacing around the small chamber, not nervously, but thinking. Her linen clothes made a carpet-like sound as they rubbed against each other. âTheyâll expectâŠâ She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. âTheyâll expect signs.â
âI know.â Din replied, although he hadnât really thought of it. Their gazes landed on the bed, where the sheets laid pristine. Din stood slowly. The mattress dipped as he pressed a gloved hand into it, then released. The fabric smoothed itself almost perfectly.
âWrinkle themâ he said.
She blinked.Â
âThe sheets.â He clarified.Â
She moved without embarrassment now, pulling at the blanket, twisting the fabric, creasing it sharply near the pillows. She tugged one corner loose so it hung unevenly. While she worked on the bed, Din stepped toward the small oil lamp and dimmed it further. The room fell into deeper shadow, making the green clouds on the window glow like emeralds through the window.Â
âYour hairâ he added, looking at the pale green glow bouncing off of her curls.Â
She hesitated only a second before dragging her fingers through it, loosening the waves until they fell more chaotically around her shoulders. But then, she paused, her face contouring into realisation. âIâŠâ She swallowed, with her fingers still tangled on her locks.
âWhat?â Din asked, turning around to see her composure flickering for the first time.
âThey think Iâm untouched.â
He said nothing, but he knew her stomach turned just as much as his.Â
âIf he checksâ she continued quietly, more controlled and collected once again, but thinner at the edges, âthere wonât be⊠evidence.â
Silence filled the room again. On his visor, the clock moved a number. Fifty-six.Â
Din looked at the sheets. Then at her. Then at his gauntlet. The idea came to mind before he could even process it.Â
He stepped past her toward the table, removing one glove. His hands were calloused, scarred with old cuts and burns, many from work, even more from childhood. It took her by surprise to see they were, as least in sight, pure human.Â
âI believe this will be enoughâ he said.
Before she could ask what he meant, he drew the small vibroblade from his boot. He didnât hesitate, not even a second, when he rested the blade on his skin and made a quick slide across the pad of his finger, shallow enough to heal⊠shallow enough to bleed.Â
She inhaled sharply, despite herself, as she watched how Din pressed his hand briefly against the rumpled sheets, leaving a small, unmistakable stain. It wasnât dramatic or excessive. It was⊠believable enough, hopefully.Â
He wiped the blade clean against his glove and sealed the minor wound with a small med-seal from his belt. âAll right?â he asked.
She stared at the mark on the sheets for a long moment. âYou didnât have to do that.â
Once again, footsteps echoed in the corridor. But this time, they didnât pass by.Â
Din put his glove on and resumed his place on the bed, leaning back against the wall exactly as before âexcept now the sheets bore their story.
She moved instinctively toward the windowsill again. âNo.â Din commanded. When she turned, he nodded to the bed.Â
Quickly, she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, back partially turned to him, hair falling forward over one shoulder. She sat close enough to suggest proximity, but still keeping distance. She clenched the edge of the mattress tightly. Din couldnât tell if that was part of the acting or not. But before he could ask, the door lock disengaged with a metallic click, and the Zeltron merchant entered with the same perfumed air and calculated smile he had an hour before.Â
His gaze flicked immediately to the bed and a smile of satisfaction struck his face. The sheets, the light, her hair, and the stain, all seemed to be doing the trick.Â
âI trust the hour was⊠sufficient?â
Din didnât answer immediately. Instead, he rose slowly from the bed. âIt was.â he said.
The merchantâs smile widened. âExcellent. Then our debtââ
âIâm interested in purchasing her.â
Dinâs words cut through the room like a blade. Through the corner of his visor, he saw the girl stiffening a bit, still on her spot.Â
The merchant blinked for a moment, and then laughedâ a short, loud laughter that clearly was the only sound he managed to get out as he processed the request. âIâm afraid sheâs not for permanent sale.â The merchant informed.Â
âIâm offering triple what you owe me.â Din lied.Â
The Zeltronâs expression didnât change, but his eyes sharpened. âYou misunderstand. She is an investment.â
Din stepped closer, voice calm, measured. âEverything has a price.â
Now that wasnât a lie. And yet, the merchantâs pleasant demeanor cooled by a fraction. âNot this one.â
Din could feel guards shifting just outside the doorway now. The shift was subtle but he picked on it right away, and he hoped the girl was smart enough to pick on it too. The plan had just tilted.
âSheâsââ Din stuttered, not entirely sure of how to continue, but the merchant interrupted his words.Â
âShe is leverage.â He informed the Mandalorian.Â
Not merchandise, or cargo. Not a gift, or a tool, or a working machine. She wasnât kept in another room from the other girls because of her price, she was separated⊠because she wasnât a girl from the brothel. Hence why the merchant offered her to pay his debtâ her abuse didnât have the goal of a profit for him, but clearly served a function for him.Â
The merchantâs smile returned to his face, but thin this time. âNow that would be telling.â He said as he gestured politely toward the door. âOur arrangement is complete, Mandalorian. I suggest you depart before additional fees are incurred.â
Din didnât move. The corridor beyond the doorway felt narrower now as guards grew closer, blasters ready.Â
A part of him, a more cowardly side of him, knew he could just walk away with half of a payment and a lot of information.Â
Lucky for her, though, he wasnât a coward.Â
Din moved before the guards did.
The merchantâs smile hadnât fully faded when Dinâs gauntlet shot forward and seized him by the collar, dragging him hard into the doorway. The Zeltron gasped as Din twisted him sideways. When the blasters erupted, the first bolt hit the merchant instead of beskar.
Female screams followed.
Din fired with clean, efficient shots. One guard dropped. Another stumbled back, clutching his shoulder, before falling as well. The corridor exploded into chaos. It was clear the guards hadnât been expecting this, and their hesitation cost them their lives.Â
âMove!â Din said, hoping the girl wasnât waiting for this moment to become foolish. She stepped past the fallen merchant without looking down, and ran to the left.Â
Din advanced, firing with measured precision, as he followed her. They reached the first junction before more boots thundered from the far hall. âLeft.â she said. âService access.â
They slipped into a narrower corridor that was dimmer, colder, and scentless. The decorative walls gave way to exposed piping and maintenance panels. The air smelled metallicâ both from blasters and blood.Â
As they ran, a bolt scorched the wall inches from her head, making her scream. Din caught her arm and pulled her behind him in the same motion, returning fire without breaking stride.Â
âStay behind me.â He shouted.Â
âI am!â She shouted back.Â
Finally, they reached the ladder shaft, where two clueless guards awaited. Din didnât slow, and he blasted before the guards could even draw their weapons.Â
The girl took her chip, the hijacked one, and placed it on the door. Her fingers trembled, but it was the only part of her body doing so. And when the door opened, she gasped in relief. âHangar is forward.â she said, breathing slightly faster now. âBut theyâll lock it.â
âNot before we get there.â Mando shook his head.Â
They turned the final corner, and ran straight into resistance. Four guards this time. Unlike their previous workmates, these ones were prepared and ready to blast. In a quick move, Din shoved the girl sideways, behind a stack of supply crates, just in time the blasterfire erupted.
The corridor filled with light, his beskar armour making fireworks with each hit of a bolt. One guard went down to a clean headshot. Another to a blast that ricocheted off the wall and caught him in the throat. The third lunged forward, and Din drove him into the bulkhead with a brutal shoulder slam before firing point-blank.
The fourth fled the scene. Din wouldâve killed him if it wasnât for the girl.Â
He turned his head to locate her, but lucky for him, she was already moving past the bodies and into the hangar. That made the corners of his mouth lift up as he ran behind her.
They burst into the hangar as the massive bay doors were already beginning to close. And there, waiting, sat the Razor Crest. But blasterfire began to rain down from a catwalk above as they reached the ship. A bolt clipped the edge of the ramp controls as Din slammed his fist against them.Â
The boarding ramp began to lower, and she climbed up, but halfway up, a bolt grazed her shoulder.
Din turned and fired upward, forcing the catwalk guards back just long enough for the girl and him to climb up and close the ramp.Â
Inside, the Crest felt tighter than ever as he rushed to the cockpit. She followed behind, one hand pressed to her shoulder, though she refused to slow or cry.Â
Din dropped into the pilotâs seat and ignited the engines. The hyperdrive couplings screamed in protest, and he silently prayed they cooperated one last time.
âHangar doors are sealing,â she exclaimed, peering through the viewport.
Din didnât hesitate as The Crest lurched violently upward, scraping hard along the closing doors. Metal shrieked. Sparks exploded across the viewport in blinding flashes. For a moment âone suspended, endless second, longer than the hour they had enduredâ it felt like the ship wouldnât make it.Â
And then, they were flying across Nal Huttaâs murky sky. Din steadied the controls, guiding them into thick green cloud cover, and as far away from the brothel as possible.Â
Thatâs when she collapsed.Â
By the time you awoke, the sounds of screams and blasters were long gone, and the smell of perfume and incense had faded away.Â
The ship was quiet. Not silent âships were never silentâ but quiet in the way the world sounds after a thunderstorm, before birds sing again. Quiet, just like when something stubborn settles after surviving. You noticed the faint clicking of cooling metal, and a low vibration under the floor.
You did not open your eyes immediately, as they were still heavy. That was the first thing you felt. The second was pain. Not sharp and blinding like the moment you were shot-- instead, it was a dull, tight pull on your shoulder. You reached your hand to your shoulder, and recognised the gauze to the touch. As your fingers traveled, you touched something else. A blanket, definitely not soft, or washed, but doing its job.
Your memory returned in fragments, then. The corridor. The catwalk. The bolt. The Mandalorian.
Your eyes opened slowly, at last. Around you, the cockpit lights were dimmed. That surprised you-- the fact that you were still in the cockpit, sitting on the passenger seat, instead of laying on a bed. Outside, the viewport stretched not across the green murk of Nal Hutta, but a velvet, deep darkness, speckled with distant stars.
You turned your head slightly, and there he was.Â
The Mandalorian.Â
Your saviour.
He was seated on the pilot chair beside you, helmet still on, of course, with an upright but not rigid posture . One gloved hand rested loosely against his thigh, while the other hung near the controls.
You sat upright, straightening on the chair. You shifted your weight, the gauze cold but comforting across your shoulder. Every movement reminded you of the fight, of the corridor, the catwalk, the feel of cold metal under your palms, and the smell of scorched walls. Yet, even with pain lingering, even with the adrenaline fading, there was a sliver of relief that wrapped around you like the coarse blanket still draped across your lap.
The Mandalorian didnât turn, nor moved. He just spoke.
âYouâre nobility.â
His voice was calm, and he didnât say it like an accusation, just like a fact he had assumed back in the brothel and confirmed a moment ago.Â
You let out a slow breath, as a deep weight sunk onto your chest. âYesâ was all you said.
When he didnât reply, nor ask more questions, you moved, folding the coarse blanket back and swinging your legs slowly off the cot, ignoring the slight pull in your shoulder. The cockpit smelled faintly of fuel, ozone, and oil.
âWhat gave it away?â you asked, resting your head fully against the chair as you watched the stars.Â
âYour accent, and certain words you use--â the Mandalorian explained, his voice deep and rich. Now that you were out of danger and enclosured into the cockpit of the ship, it projected more clearly. âNo farmer girl has your vocabulary, and the leverage part⊠men like the merchant love money more than anything, it didn't make sense he wouldnât sell you to me. So, I searched databases.â
Your stomach tightened, but not from fear. From inevitability.
âI found inconsistencies.â he continued. âNo missing persons report matching your description from any agri-world in the sector. No ransom demand listed through known Hutt channels.â His head tilted slightly. âNo public bounty.â
You held his gaze through the visor.
âYetâŠâ he continued calmly, âthree encrypted bulletins were issued through private syndicate networks three weeks ago. Diplomatic bulletins.â
The silence that lingered was deep and rich, and it added more weight to the stone that was oppressing your chest.
âYour father...â the Mandalorian spoke, matter-of-fact. âis the King of Corfaiâ
âFormer King.â you corrected softly, and cleared your throat as you looked away. âHe abdicated three years ago, my brother sits on the throne now. But the Hutts donât care about titles.â
The engines hummed steadily. âThe merchant said they took you for leverageâ the mandalorian repeated.
âFor humiliation.â You corrected, again. Gathering strength, and ignoring the pull on your shoulder, you stood carefully, bracing one hand on the bulkhead. The ship swayed subtly with hyperspace corrections. âThey wanted a smuggling corridor across Corfaiâs southern hemisphere. A permanent passage with unchecked inspections and protected airspace.â
âFor the merchant network.â he said.
âFor the Hutt merchant networkâ you clarified, giving him a look that implied a lot. He is a bounty hunter, you thought to yourself, so he must be aware what kinds of merchandise flows in a Hutt merchant network. Spice, weapons, drugs, and more than just women to feed the brothels.Â
âCorfaiâs economy is delicate, especially now with these turbulent political times.â you continued. âThey believed my father would bend and convince my brother, but he didnât.â A faint exhale left your chest, although it didnât lessen the heavy sensation you felt.Â
âSo they made you disappearâ Mando said, but you shook your head. Unconsciously, you found yourself clasping your hands together, behind your packâ an old posture from state briefings.Â
âI wasnât meant to be killed or disappeared. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was meant to be seen, and rumoured about my whereabouts. About my dignity.â
âAnd then returned damagedâ he finished.
Your jaw tightened. âI donât believe they wouldâve returned me, but yes. Hand me back damaged, stained, violated. No longer a princess, but instead a living proof of the Huttâs power, of what happens when you say no.âÂ
He paused, and for a moment, you dared to let the heaviness settle without moving. The soft vibration of the hyperdrive hummed through the floor and into your bones. The dim cockpit lights cast long, angular shadows across the panels, glinting off the metallic edges of buttons and switches. Outside, the stars blurred into thin, pale streaks, streaks that seemed to echo the chaos youâd just escaped.
Then he broke the silence. âAre you hurt?â
âJust the shoulder.â You shruggle, holding the injured arm with your hand. âThanks, for patching me up. And saving me.â
Your manners were not the best, you knew, but it made you feel flustered just to imagine the Mandalorian picking you up, ripping your shirt off, cleaning your wound and then carefully setting you beside him.Â
âYouâre welcomeâ he scoffed. âBut I meantâŠâ His voice softened, almost low enough to be swallowed by the hum of the ship. âThe merchant said you were unclaimed.â
His voice was low, and if he hadn't been wearing that helmet, you wouldâve sworn he was blushing as he spoke. âYou said you were unclaimed. Is⊠that true?â
The words lingered in the air, heavier than any blaster bolt had been. You knew what he meant, and for some reason --perhaps owing him your life, or perhaps his religion-- you decided to speak the truth.
âNo.â
You looked out the window, into the stars, as you continued. âI was claimed long ago, by a knight who no longer works at the palace. Iâve had many lovers since then.â You didnât meet his gaze, but through the corner of your eye you saw the helmet move. âThe merchant thinks he can tell when a human is virgin or not, when he barely even knows our anatomy.â
There was a pause, filled only by the quiet clicks of the shipâs machinery. You hoped he didnât ask more specific details.Â
âDid the lie help?â
âYesâŠâ you spoke with the truth again. âBut it wasnât going to last long. You came in time.â
You shifted, taking a steadying breath as the hyperdrive thrummed beneath you. The vibration traveled through your chest, soft but persistent, lessening a bit of that heaviness you felt in your chest.
And when you thought the conversation was over, the bounty hunter spoke once again. âWhy did you choose the service corridor instead of the main hall to escape?â
âThe main hall cameras record to external Hutt archives. The service corridors are internal.â You explained. The smooth, unyielding tilt of his helmet caught the low light, reflecting stars in tiny, fractured patterns.
âYou werenât planning to be rescuedâ he said quietly, as though verifying a truth he already suspected.
âNo.â you admitted, looking back at him. âI tried to keep a low profile, and flee on my own before things could escalate.â
âAnd now?â
You looked out the viewport at the velvet expanse of hyperspace, letting the stars draw your focus. âNow I need a ship that can move without attracting attention.â
A slight tilt of the helmet, deliberate, made you turn once more. âYouâre in one.â he said.
Your shoulders eased slightly. âYou realize that if you return me to Corfai, you will not leave quietly, right?â
âI donât plan to land publicly.â
âAnd if my father insists on thanking you?â
âIâll leave before he can.â
For the first time, a small smile flickered across your face, fragile but real. âYou could drop me at a neutral system, and erase yourself from this.â
âI donât abandon assets mid-transport.â
You almost replied back with something silly, like âI'm not an assetâ, but you knew it'd be pointless. And a lie. You were an asset, a piece of a game, an object for menâs politics. So you just sat down again.
The shipâs hyperspace hummed deeper, steadying the shipâs path, as if sensing the fragile truce forming between you.
âWhat happens when we reach Corfai?â the Mandalorian asked.
You inhaled, slow, measured, the faint scent of ozone and oil sharp in your nose. âOfficially? I was never gone.â
âAnd unofficially?â
You bit your cheek. âWeâll determine how much of this becomes public. If the Hutts are exposed, it becomes galactic. If it stays quiet⊠then perhaps we might let it slide.â
For a long moment, the two of you sat in the cockpit, suspended in the silent hum of the Razor Crest. The dim lights glimmered on the smooth curves of metal, on the worn edges of control panels, on the gloved hands resting lightly at your side. Outside, hyperspace stretched, carrying you away from the brothel.
Time moved slowly as the bounty hunter and you traveled through space towards your planet, and the Hyperspace had gone quiet in the way only deep night can feel quiet.
The Razor Crest vibrated softly around you. The lights were dimmed to a low amber glow, shadows settling into corners, the cockpit illuminated only by the wash of blue streaming past the viewport.
You couldnât sleep.
The Mandalorian had shown you a bed where you could rest more comfortably, the only one in the small shipâ his bed.Â
You turned in the sheets, trying to pick up the smell left there. The scent, not of his armour, but of his skin. Every time you closed your eyes, echoes of the brothel invaded your thoughts. Long nights where all you could hear were moans and pleasure. Now, those memories mixed in with the scent of what hid beneath the beskar.
You couldnât sleep.Â
You stepped from the bed slowly, your bare feet quiet against cold decking. You took a few steps âit wasnât a large ship by any meansâ and found the Mandalorian right where you had expected him, still on his pilot seat, even though the ship was in autopilot.Â
âYou donât trust autopilotâ you said softly, hoping to not startle him, but he wasnât asleep.Â
âItâs old.â He replied, gloved hands resting on his thighs.Â
âSo are you.â You joked, taking another step closer. And, to your surprise, he joked back.Â
âIâm older.â
You smiled, and stepped into the cockpit.
The air was unperfumed. Nothing like the brothelâs cloying air. And yet, the echoes of the moans continued to run on your ears. You lowered yourself into the co-pilot seat. âCouldnât sleepâ you explained.
âNightmares?â The Mandalorian asked, making you chuckle.Â
âEh, you could say soâ you said with a shrug.
The silence stretched, deep like the black stretching across the galaxy. Not a ship in sight, not a planet nearby. They were so far away even the stars seemed to be out of reach.Â
But you couldn't let that distract you. You were on your way to Corfai, to your father and brother, to your duties and responsibilities. To your silk dresses and long hours of work. You had to shift your mind once again, dart it away from the echoes of the brothel, from the scent still trapped on your nostrils.Â
âCan I be honest now?â you found yourself saying. The Mandalorian nodded, shortly. âYou asked if I was⊠still a maiden. And I said no. Iâd rather we keep that between you and me.â
It took the bounty hunter a long moment to reply, long enough to make you hesitate if the request had been a right call. But he surprised you, at last, when he cleared his throat, and said: âNot my business to tell.â
âRight. But, for nobility, these kinds of things are important.â You replied, perhaps too quickly. You didnât like the anxiety that was growing on you the closer the ship got to Corfai.
âWhy?âÂ
âHuh?â
When you turned your head, you found the beskar helmet staring right at you, your own face reflected on the visor. You didnât look happy for a princess that was just rescued.Â
âWhy is your maidenhood important for nobility?â The Mandalorian asked. Â
You had to look away, even if he didnât. âWell, heritage, I suppose.â You found yourself doubting, even though you knew the reasons. You were taught from birth your body was more important than others, because it had the ability to birth heirs to the throne, to continue the bloodline. That, above all, was your duty and purpose.Â
âAnd⊠thereâs this thing about beingâŠÂ pure. The whole reason I was kept in a brothel and not locked in a cell is because they wanted to take that away too.âÂ
âBut you arenât pure.â The Mandalorian said, matter-of-fact.Â
âNo, Iâm notâ you confirmed.
Your gazes met again. But now, instead of watching your reflection, you forced your eyes to look beyond, to try and spot the human eyes you knew laid beneath the armor.Â
You didnât mean to do it, but your eyes dropped down to admire the rest of the fit-- a big armor, for a big man. Older, he had said. Determined, not hot headed. Respectful. And yet, incredibly dangerous. After all, this wasnât one of the castleâs knights, this was a bounty hunter who just so happened to bump into you. A man who couldâve abused you if he had wanted to. A man still with the opportunity to do so.
His hand --the one he had taken the glove off to cut his finger for you-- was resting on the control board, but it drifted down slowly, like a snail, to lay on your knee. It was big, heavy, and warm, and his thumb ran soft circles on your exposed skin.Â
And when you looked up --to do what? You werenât sure-- he moved it away, as if heâd gotten a whiplash.Â
âSorry. I donât want to get it wrong.â he apologized, looking ahead, and straightening his stance --closing his legs, tightening his shoulders, and clearing his throat, his voice more correct now, less warm. It didnât sound arrogant, nor controlling.Â
He was nervous.Â
You turned fully in your seat to face him, your legs crossed daintily by your ankles.Â
âGet what wrong?â you asked quietly.
The Mandalorian didnât look at you at first. His helmet remained fixed forward, staring out at the endless streak of hyperspace as if it were the most fascinating thing in the galaxy.
âYouâ he said after a moment. âIâm a bounty hunter.â he continued, voice careful now, measured in a way that felt more deliberate than before. âYouâre a princess.â
The way he said it made the title feel heavier than it had when it came from courtiers and diplomats. From them, it was expectation. From him, it sounded like distance.
âYou were taken by Hutt menâ he went on. âYou were kept somewhere you didnât choose to be. Iâm bringing you home.â His fingers curled once against his thigh. âWouldnât be right to...â
âTo what?â you pressed, hoping, begging on your mind heâd ask what you wanted him to. That he also couldn't escape the moans echoing on his head, that he was also drunk on your scent --not the incense of the brothel, but your own scent, the smell of your skin.
The helmet turned toward you again. And, once again, your reflection stared back at you from the visor, eyes darker now in the dim amber light.
âMistake your kindnessâ he said.
That surprised you. âKindness?â you repeated, a bit disappointed.
âYouâre grateful I got you outâ he said simply. âThat can feel like something else, to other bounty hunters.â
You bit your cheek, a bit frustrated, and leaned back slightly in the seat, folding your arms loosely across your middle. For a moment you watched the faint reflection of his helmet in the cockpit glass, the broad shape of him filling the small space.
âThatâs a very cautious way to live.â
âItâs a necessary one.â
You tilted your head. You knew it was necessary-- it was the way you were raised to. But needs were needs.Â
âFor bounty hunters?â
âFor men who wear armor.â he simply said, and something about the way he said it made your stomach tighten. The odor of his human skin, the one trapped beneath the beskar, still hung on your nose.
You let the silence stretch again, long enough that the hum of the ship filled the space between breaths.
Then you spoke, almost in a whisper. âYouâre assuming my kindness comes from being rescued, or because of my manners.â The cockpit felt smaller, if that was even possible, when he turned again. âI spent weeks in a brothelâŠâ you continued, your voice steady but low, your gaze fixed on the visor. â...listening to men think they were irresistible because someone was paid to moan for them.â You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbow on the armrest of your chair. âTrust me, Mandalorian. I know what false interest sounds like. This isnât it.â
You could almost feel the way he was listening now and how his body relaxed involuntarily-- shoulders loosening, legs opening up again.
âSo, if I were gratefulâŠâ you said, standing up, ââŠit would look like this.â
The pilot seat didnât move when you slowly lowered yourself to sit on his legs, straddling him.Â
You didnât move until you got a sign, of any kind, that he wanted this. Lucky for you, it came rather quicklyâ his hands, gloves on, moved to hold your waist, and fixed your posture on his lap to a more comfortable angle, exactly where your hips and his met.Â
But when he spoke, his words shocked you.Â
âIâve neverâŠâ He began stuttering. âIâve never been with anyone.â
There was no embarrassment in his tone. He just said it, stating a fact. It made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
âYou donât owe me that confessionâ you said gently.
âI wanted you to know.â
âWhy?â
âSo you donât expect something I donât know how to give.â
That made your smile soften, and relax your shoulders, even if you hadnât been aware you were so tense. He was a virgin, probably by Mandalorian code, or perhaps due to his own personal experience. A man so correct, so right, so strict, of course had trouble enjoying himself. It didnât turn your heat offâ if anything, it made you feel calmer. And hornier.Â
âSex isnât about giving or takingâ thatâs prostitution. Thatâs what happened in the brothel. We arenât there anymore.â You explained, running your fingers lazily up and down his arms, moving them up to trace a slow line along the edge of his collar. âYouâre very brave in battleâ you murmured.
âBattle makes sense.â
âAnd this?â
The Mandalorian took a pause, exhaling.Â
âThis doesnât.â
It made you smile again. âIt will. If you want toâ you whispered.Â
And, to surprise you again, the Mandalorianâs hands tightened around your waist at your words, almost as if heâd been afraid you wouldâve stepped away from his lap.Â
âI do.â
You smirked.Â
The heat pouring off of your core was already too noticeable to ignore it anymore, so you rested your hands on his broad shoulders, holding on to his frame, as you began to rock your hips back and forth. The fabric of his pants made a sharp contrast between the rough linen of your brothel clothing, rubbing you harsh but determined. And the naked parts of your body âyours hands, your arms, and part of your thighsâ felt hot against the cool beskar armour.Â
But before you could moan, he did.Â
His hands grasped your waist stronger, pushing you deeper into his crotch, making the friction more intense. A moan, mixed in with a small gasp of surprise, left your lips.Â
You wouldâve devoured his mouth now, but he kept his helmet on, your own eyes reflected on them. âDoes it break any Mandalorian codeâ?â
âLeave that to meâ he interrupted before you could even finish. His voice sounded worked up, and breath taken. âYou⊠you keep moving.â
That made you bite your lip to hold on a smile. You kept moving, slowly, in a circular pattern. You felt yourself get wet, dampening the linen of your clothes.Â
âYou feel anything under your suit?â
âI do.â He growled. That made you speed up just a bit, and rub yourself a bit tighter. The Mandalorian didnât moan again, but you could tell he was swallowing all the noises down his throat.
âAnd your gloves?â You continued, pushing the edge a bit. You were eager to be touched by real skin, and to get closer to the scent youâd smelled in his bedâ his scent, not the scent of the beskar. âYou can touch meâ
You didnât expect much, so you smiled when he actually moved his arms from your waist to remove both of his gloves. The cut finger was the first one to land on your waist again, and you felt the small bump of the healing wound against your skin.Â
His hands were big, soft, pale white. And they guided you deeper into his crotch. Your linen garments were ruined by your wetness by now, and through his pants, you felt his manhood grow and harden, rubbing you exactly where you wanted him the most.Â
âYouâre not bad at thisâ you whispered.
âIâm armoredâ he replied, making you laugh softly, and the sound broke the last of the tension between you two.
Your hands slid from his helmet to rest lightly at his collar. âIf we go furtherâ you said, gently âwe go slowly. And we stop if you want to.â
âYes.â
He looked steadier now. Not overwhelmed. Just focused.
âI donât want to rush youâ he said.
âYouâre not.â You replied, a bit surprised. You were clearly the one rushing him, not the other way around. But this man, this Mandalorian, youâve come to learn, was too well mannered.Â
You brushed your thumb lightly along the edge of his helmet, and he pressed his fingers tighter against your skin, pressing on to your ribs.Â
âYouâre choosing this?â he asked quietly.
âYes.â
âWhy?â
You chuckled a bit, although it was more of a moan than a giggle. âDo I have to explain why I want to sleep with you?âÂ
âYes.â He replied immediately. âI donât want you to do it because you feel indebted.â
âI know i'm notâ
âOr because you think you should.â
âI know I shouldnâtâ
âThen why?â
You stopped your hips, feeling his cock hard and pressing against you. You felt like you were drowning in your clothes, and seeing him all dressed, helmet on, made the sensation worse.Â
âBecause I need to get off.â You confessed, and looked down at the spot where your hips met his, where the fabrics had faint stains of wetness. âAnd so do you.â
That seemed to settle it.
He nodded once, sharp, firm, like the knights of the palace when you gave them orders. âThen Iâm yoursâ he said quietly.
It made you bite your lip. You wouldâve devoured his mouth right there, but there was one thing standing in between.Â
âThe helmetâ?â
âStays onâ he cut you off, immediately.Â
You sighed, a bit frustrated. âSo I canât kiss you?â
It took the Mandalorian a moment to reply, as if he was measuring his options. But in the end, he shook his head, sharp, but less firm, like this wasnât an order he was happy to follow.Â
You swallowed saliva, the pool of heat on your thighs now unbearable. âWell, lucky for you I can do other things with my lipsâ you said, and moved.Â
He was about to protest when your hips moved away from his crotch when you kneeled in front of him, and worked your way around his belt.Â
The Mandalorian didnât moveâ he seemed too shocked for it. But when you huffed in annoyance he flicked your fingers off of the belt, and swiftly removed it. You leaned back for a bit to admire it; watching a man take his belt off was a sight you loved to see.Â
When he was done loosening the belt, you continued your job. Gracefully, as to not startle him, you moved your hand, cupping his cock before sliding it in to pull it out.Â
It was pale, veiny, and you saw a lot of hair at the base. Pretty good lengthâ not too much, not too little. The tip was a soft shade of pink, and you couldnât help but imagine that was the same color of his lips, hidden beneath the beskar helmet.Â
The bizarreness of it all made you chuckle a bit. Here you were, holding a manâs length in all its glory, and yet you were not allowed to see his face as you lowered your lips, and gently sucked off.Â
Drowning the moans was too much for the bounty hunter at this point, and his hiss felt like a victory chant. After all, it was the only way to know he was enjoying it.Â
You took your time blowing him. He was a virgin, but you werenât sure if he had ever been given pleasure like this before, so you made the experience worth remembering.Â
Your tongue wrapped on his tip all the way through, and sucked hard, making pressure on his nerves. You removed your lips quite often to spat on his shaft, so your hand could slide up and down smoothly. You felt every vein on his cock pump with each stroke of your hand, and by the time your mouth was reaching the base, the Mandalorian was holding your hair, helmet tilted back, and growling like a beast.Â
âIââ he moaned, clearly out of his control. You moved your lips away, holding to his cock but not stroking it. It pulsed, like a bomb, on your grip. You knew exactly what was happeningâ he was about to come, all the cum gathered right on the tip, waiting for release.Â
âBed?â You asked as you slowly rose. He nodded, and you almost swore you saw him tremble.Â
Smiling, licking his taste off of your lips, you took his hand and guided him to his bed, as if this wasnât his ship and not yours.Â
You wouldâve loved to ask about the helmet once again, but you knew you couldnât push it. So, once you reached his bedsheets, you only slipped off of the linen garments, and rested on all fours, chest pressed on the mattress, ass up in the air.Â
You didnât have to explain to him what to do, although it took him a moment to follow. You felt the tip right on your folds, trying to push inâ and even though you were wet, the friction made you flinch a bit.Â
âSpit on it, and go slowâ you told him. You couldnât help but moan when, after a pause, a wet and cold spat landed right on your ass, sliding down to your core. âThatâs it.âÂ
The Mandalorian moved the tip up and down, parting your lips, before he put a knee up on the bed, and slowly pushed in. The sensationâ the first time a cock slides into your womanhoodâ was as good as ever. But for him? Oh.
The Mandalorian let out a loud huff, something along the lines of incredible pleasure and frustration to not come right away. He stood still inside of you, before he gathered himself and began to rock his hips in and out. You werenât sure if you needed to give him any more guidance than this, but he seemed like he didnât need it.Â
For a moment, all the sounds on the ship were his and your moans, growing louder, covering the hum of the ship, the sounds of the windpipes on the walls, the drip of the oil or the purr of the engine. Thatâs why he took you by surprise when he spoke, voice a bit trembling, but holding together.Â
âYou said let it slideâ Â
âHuh?â
âYour kidnapping.â He huffed, hips in and out. âWhy wouldn't you want to--?
âTake revenge?â You finished the sentence as he drowned in a moan.Â
He swallowed. âClaim justiceâ
You adjusted your hips, raising them up a little. Your chest rose off of the mattress, letting you breathe a bit more, and talk more smoothly. You swallowed another moan. âSome battles are not worth the fight. My planet isn't in the right position, politically and economically, to face the Hutt cartelâ you explained as your hand reached down to rub yourself, immediately tightening around the bounty hunterâs cock. It made him hiss.Â
âArenât you mad?â He asked.Â
âIâmââ you tried to reply, but the Mandalorian moved his own hand off of your hips to replace your own fingers in your cunt. You held them in place, teaching him exactly how to move them, and where. He was a quick learner. âIâm closeâ
The political conversation ended right the same way it had startedâ drowned in moans. You moved your hand away, and the Mandalorian kept his movements perfectly paced, synchronizing his thrusts with the circular movements around your clitoris.Â
You turned your head, your lips partially open, holding in the tune of the moans, and saw him nakedâ all except the helmet, of course.Â
His torso was lean, strong, covered in hair. Some spots didnât have hair, though, and instead had scars. He was pale, very much so, but sweat covered every inch of his skin, and you knew underneath that helmet he was blushed and dripping.Â
You knew he was making eye contact through the beskar, because he thrusted harder when you turned to face him. âWould you let me do this back in the brothel if I had wanted to?â He asked.Â
âNo, definitely" you said, although you didnât sound that convincing as he pounded you in all fours.Â
âThen why you let me now?âÂ
You rolled your eyes. You knew this was important to himâ to know that this wasnât a mistake, that he wasnât breaking codes, nor your trust. You knew that he, bless his heart, had never done this, and wasnât totally aware of the subtle, gentle, swift dance around sex. âConsent, rewardâ you moaned, feeling your cunt get tighter.Â
âShitâ the Mandalorian cursed, loud, as he suddenly pulled his cock out. You hissed at the sudden loss of contact. âStop thatâ he said.
You shook your headâ asshole didnât let you come. Of course, he had no clue what was happening, he only did so because he was probably about to finish as well, just with the grip of your core.Â
âSorry, didnât mean to make you uncomfortable.â You apologized, but raised an eyebrow as you saw him kneel right on your core. âWhat you what are you--?â
âClose your eyes.â He commanded, and you smiled. He was about to eat you out. Biting your lip, you faced the wall again. Then, the sound of beskar hitting the floor, and a deep breath, told you all you needed to knowâ heâd removed his helmet. Â
âIâve never done this beforeâ he said, voice raggedy but more clear now that he didnât cover his head anymore.Â
âRemove your helmet or go down on a girl?âÂ
He huffed. âThe latterâ
You moved a little in place, and used both hands to spread your cheeks wide, but his own hands covered yours in a second. You removed them, and held tight to the sheets. âGive it a long lick, all across the folds first.â You explained.Â
It took a second but then you felt itâ the soft, cold, slimy tongue right across your burning cunt. It felt refreshing, like sipping a glass of the coldest and sweetest juice you could find in the galaxy when you are thirsty. Your moans made you vibrate, and you felt him smirk on your sex.Â
âNow part them apart, and work your way in with your tongue.â You continued explaining, and he obeyed to perfection. His lips sucked on you, drinking in your fluids. âOnce you reach the clit you suckâ fuck!â
Heâd found it, and he had sucked.Â
âYou alright?â He asked, parting his lips from your cunt as your knees shook. Â
âDonât stop.âÂ
The Mandalorian obeyed, and went back to eating you out. His tongue explored every crevice, and moved in and out of your entrance just like his cock had done it before lowering to your clit. It moved up and down, sometimes close to reaching your ass. You wouldâve loved to ask him to lick it too, but you didnât want to push him too muchâ besides, your cunt was tilting by this point.Â
âI need a fingerâ you murmured, nose buried on his pillow as you inhaled his scent.Â
âHuh?âÂ
âIn me.â You clarified. âDo it slow, lick it first.â
You couldnât help but giggle a bit when, suddenly, his hand was right next to your face. He wanted you to lick his fingers.Â
You moved your head a bit to do so, and through the corner of your eye, you saw a glance of himâ small ears, and brunette short hair with curls stuck by his sweat onto his skull. But that was about it.Â
In your tongue, you felt the small dent of the cut on his finger, the small wound he had taken to himself to free you from the brothel, all because youâve lied about your virginity. And now here you were, sucking on it, helping him claim his own.Â
The Mandalorian removed his hand, now sloppy with your saliva, and you smirked. âYouâre naughty, MandalorianâÂ
âDin. call me Din.â He corrected, but he didnât pause to let you process the information. âNow what?â
âInsert them, slow, and when you reach the top, hook them up and move them towards you, like you're calling meâ you explained.Â
You felt the index and middle fingers slowly get in, sliding with no problem. They were thick, and they easily got all the way in, and hooked like you asked him. It made you shiver as he moved them, calling for another orgasm.Â
âNow?â
âKeep eating me too.â You sighed, and moaned louder when his fingers moved faster and his tongue went back to your clit. âOh myââ
It didnât take you that long to cum this time, now properly riding your orgasm through his fingers. You felt yourself tighten around them, and you knew he felt it too, and tasted the sweet liquid softly pouring out.Â
When he removed his lips, you thought he was just taking a break to breathe through, but he moved his fingers away, and held you by the hips. âKeep your eyes closedâ he commanded as he flipped you to lay on your back.Â
He barely gave you a second to obey, but he was ahead of itâ his hand reached your eyes before your back had hit the mattress. You opened your legs wider, setting them on his shoulders. This time, you didnât have to give him any indications.Â
You moaned hard when he slipped in. You were over-stimulated by this point, and the angle on your hips made his cock thrust even deeper, rubbing against your cervix, making you hiss. His hand, big, rough and sweaty, pressed hard against your eyes.Â
âDonât stopâ you begged.
âWasnât gonnaâ he replied, and to your surprise, his voice was just centimeters away from your ear. His breath mixed in with yours when you moved your head a bit. And, still with your eyes covered, you leaned into his mouth.Â
His lips were chapped, but the moistness of your cunt had softened them. He tasted like you, but they also had a metallic touch to them, probably from the beskar. You were surprised to also feel hair from a trimmed beard and moustache as well.Â
Your hands moved to hold him, to run your fingers on the damp curls, to caress his jawline and feel his beard, to hold on to his thick, strong neck. You were lost, lost in his smell, his touch, his tongue, his cockâ so lost, in fact, that you didnât even realize heâd removed his hand from your eyes at one point to hold your waist, and cup your breasts, and run his fingers through your curls too.Â
But his hand returned to cover your vision at the same time he broke the kiss apart in raggedy breaths. âI need toââÂ
âCome? Pull out, thenâÂ
You felt it all, but didnât see itâ his cock moving out of your pulsing cunt, and the hot pool of cum dripping into the skin of your belly. It was hot against your skin, and it came out in small intervals, until it was finally over.Â
âKeep your eyes closedâ he murmured as he softly stood up, removing his hand from your face, and walking away.Â
Of course, you didnât obey.Â
You opened them up immediately to see the mess. His cum, white and thick, was creamy and shiny on your skin. You saw the bedsheets were damp as well. And in between your thighs, just before your leg ended and your genitals started, there was a love bite.Â
You couldnât explore it much before you heard footsteps, and closed your eyes shut again.Â
âYou can open themâ you heard Din speak, his voice a bit drowned nowâ heâd put the helmet on. He was still naked, but now more freshened up, sweat no longer clinging to his skin. He carried a damp towel, which he immediately used to clean his seed off of your skin.Â
He did it slowly, and you knew he was admiring it under the helmet, taking in the scene in front of him.
âHow you feeling?â You asked.Â
He sighed, and dropped the towel aside as he put his hands on his hips. âTiredâ was all he said, and then moved to pull his pants up.Â
You smiled, and moved to the side, to leave him room. âSleep with me.â You said, and chuckled when his helmet suddenly snapped up. âWe already fucked, we might as wellâÂ
He didnât move, not speak, but his shoulders relaxed. He crawled to your side, and laid on his back, stiff like a board.Â
Rolling your eyes and smiling, you moved to cuddle him. âThis is part of the sex too, Dinâ you explained, and that made him loosen up, loosely draping an arm around your waist as you drifted off.Â
dividers by toastray - pics from Piterest - DO NOT copy, reupload, translate or steal pls
summary: the four times Din Djarin almost says it, and the one time he does. alternatively, the four times you almost say it, and the one time you do.
a/n: *gif is not mine, itâs from Pinterest* just imagine that trend on tiktok where people scream and cry in their shower to the bridge of enchanted by taylor swift, except itâs Din doing it. also, did I include a Princess Bride reference? yes, cause Iâm trash, but I thought it fit (sidenote this may just be my most favourite thing Iâve ever fucking written??)
warnings: a FUCK ton of angst, major one-sided pining (is it though?), jealousy, broody Din, reader is fucking oblivious, Cobb Vanth being a flirty little shit, eventually a lotta fluff
word count: 6.1K (it's a long one, guys, but I promise its worth it)
đȘ
i.
âStop. Moving.â You spit through gritted teeth as you try to wipe at the bloody mess before you.
Mando flinches beneath the wet rag. âJust-â he groans as you swipe rather harshly at the wound that traces his entire bicep. âJust use the bacta spray, dank farrik!â
âItâs called cleaning the wound first. Maker, Mando, how you made it this long is kriffing beyond me.â You squeeze out the bloody rag into the bucket placed at your feet before draping it on the side.
The vibroblade that had caused the wound had made a perfect gashâdeep, bloody, and very infected.
Usually, you had a weak stomach and werenât able to tend to wounds, especially of this magnitude. But the more injuries your Mandalorian had acquired, the more you were put in a position to take care of him. And so, here were the two of you, hunched over each other in concentration.
You pull out said bacta spray from the medical kit along with a pair of scissors. Placing your hand along the rip in his shirt, you run your fingers gently around the fraying ends and look at your friend. âIâm going to have to cut the rest of the fabric around the wound so that way the bacta can reach the surrounding areasââ
âNo, Iâthatâs enoughââ
âMandoâŠâ you warn lowly, attracting his attention to you. âItâs okay. Itâs just me.â
He lets go of a shaky breath and allows himself to lean back against the metal wall. You take that as your go ahead and begin to cut the shirt. You know about his Creed, how strictly he follows it and what he allows himself to feel comfortable with. You respect him greatly, and so you make sure to only cut away the parts of the fabric that is needed.
Splaying your hand on the curve of his armor-ridden shoulder (you had somehow managed to convince him to remove it in order for you actually heal him properly) you take the bacta and spray along the jagged edges of the now clean wound. Itâs a nasty cut, but far more manageable when itâs not covered in blood and scabs.
He flinched again at the cool contact but quickly settled into you. âYou need to even out your breathing. You're gonna make yourself light-headed.â You say nonchalantly, making sure you are focused on getting bacta to every exposed area possible.
He doesnât respond, but you do hear him pause, then inhale and exhale deeply through his modulator. Youâre grateful for the way it calms you downâhands cease shaking, allowing you to start wrapping his arm in bandages. âYou gotta keep this on. You can take it off in a couple days, but until thenâŠâ you tuck the open end into itself and stand up wiping at your knees and the dirt that accumulated on them from the ship's floor. âUntil then donât do anything to aggravate it.â
He huffs, but you can tell he tries to hide it as a cough when you shoot him a sour look. âIâm serious, Mando. I see that thing come off before itâs supposed to and youâre a dead man. You hear me? Iâll beat your ass so hard even the New Republic officers wonât be able to find you.â
He groans as he sits up slowly. âThey already canât find me.â
His quip elicits a harsh look from you. He raises his non-injured arm up in defense. âAlright, I get it. I wonât take it off.â
You keep the glare on him until youâre sure he got the message, then slowly allow the hint of a smile to breakthrough.
Then, you hear a coo and feel two tiny hands grab at your ankle. You look down with an even bigger smile and pick up the baby. âHi, little guy!â You sit him in the curve of your inner elbow and bounce around on your heels, waiting for him to burst into a fit of giggles. Although it doesnât take much for your tiny green child to laugh, he is almost always overjoyed when you bounce him around or spin with him in the air.
âYou wanna see your dad?â His mouth falls open in a silent laugh when you reposition him against your chest. âYeah, heâs alright. A little stupid, but heâs okay.â
You look up to Mando mid-laugh only to see that heâs already looking at you and the kid.
Typically, itâs unnerving when he stares. After all, intimidation is his strong suit. When he wants to be scary, he is, and with a type of ease only he possesses, he parts crowds like the Geyser Sea. But right now, he isnât like that. ItâsâŠdifferent, somehow.
Instead of the sharp lines of his visor being pointed down, theyâre slightly titled upwardâan air of softness to the minuscule movements he makes. A strange, yet familiar feeling bubbles in your stomach, but you do what you know best and push it down. You clear your throat before sitting down beside your friend and place the baby in the middle of you two.
âTell me again why you waited almost two days to treat that?â
He shrugs, head lolling to the side as the kid plays with his gloved fingers. âYouâre better at patching me up, I guess.â
You feel your face quirk up. âWell, youâre not wrong. I am an amazing medic.â
He lets out a soft laugh, picking the green child up and sitting him in his lap. âAn amazing medic who passed out after seeing a blaster burn for the first time.â
âOh, câmon, that was one time. I didnât have any experience yet!â You lean into him unconsciously as you both play with your adopted child. âBesidesâŠyou donât seem to be complaining. I mean who else is gonna patch you up? Certainly, not him,â a pair of big brown eyes meets yours. âThe kids smart, but heâd definitely try eating at least half of whatâs in that med kit.â
He laughs harder this time. The sound reverberates off the walls of the Razor Crest and rattles your ribs.
Heâs lovely.
The two of you fall into another bout of comfortable silence. The only sounds are the occasional creaks of an old ship and the babyâs soft humming.
âY/NâŠ?â You turn your head enough so that way your eyes catch his through his helmet. He breathes deeply, chest rising and falling until yours fall into the same rhythm. He takes one particular shaky breath and then⊠âthank you.â
"Anytime."
ii.
âY/N, this is Cobb Vanth. A frienââ
âThe Marshal,â you say in awe. âIâve heard a lot about you.â
The man in question shoots you a friendly smile: wide and toothy. Heâs an attractive man, with dark silver hair swept to the one side of his face and bright hazel eyes that lift up at the corners. He softly takes your hand in his, cradling it like you do your child. âAll good things I hope.â
You snicker, earning a wink from the stranger. He lets your hand fall at that, but never leaves your side, opting to face Mando and bump shoulders with you.
âMando,â he muses. âYou didnât tell me how pretty your uh, friend here was. Wouldâve liked to freshen up a bit, ya know.â
âNo need.â Mandoâs voice is low and dark and sends chills down your spine. âWeâre just visiting. But we should go, itâs getting dark.â He practically stomps towards the two of you, shoulders squared out and head held up high. You quickly notice how his arms are held to his sides, fists clenched as though heâs restraining himself. It makes you nervous.
What he's restraining himself for? You donât know. But the sight makes you gulp and want to hide in the safety of your bunk on the ship. Even the child, whose head pokes out of the brown satchel that rests on your hip, cowers back into the safety of the bag at the sight of the angry Mandalorian.
âNow wait just a second.â Cobb places a friendly hand on the manâs shoulder and points to the closestâand quite frankly, the onlyâcantina in Mos Pelgo. âYou two just arrived. Take a break for once Mando, yeah? Youâre all work and no play, itâs not healthy. Lemme buy you and the lady a drink.â
Somehow, your Mandalorian bristles even more at that notion, and before anything can escalate, you choose to interject.
âThat sounds wonderful, Cobb, thank you.â Out of the corner of your eye, you see the familiar beskar helmet snap in your direction. He backs up a bit, adding distance between the three of you, and somehow that one act shows you just how tense the air had gotten.
You watch your friend as he shifts. Itâs subtle, hardly noticeable if youâre a strangerâbut all too familiar to you. Heâs retreating. âYou, you want to stay?â His voice is softer than usual and you swear you catch a hint of sadness.
Itâs like a punch in the gut.
âWell, weâre just visiting, right? Might as well get a drink. I could go for some spotchka, and uh, I think you could use a break too.â You try to keep your tone as even as possible as you send Mando a comforting smile. One that you hope he accepts as an olive branch.
Instead, he just stands there for a couple seconds as your pulse pounds. Then, he bows his head. ââŠAs you wish.â
âGreat!â Cobb says as he leads the three of you up the steps of the cantina. He walks in ahead, calling to the bartender with a loud laugh.
Mando goes to follow him to the bar until you stop him in the middle of the room. Youâre both extremely exposed, but that thought doesnât concern you right now. As a matter of fact, not much does. The only thing that concerns you is him.
Itâs always been him.
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. The air is thick and heavy but itâs not from the Tatooine heat, rather, the sudden coldness between two friends. You donât know what to say to him, but you canât leave it like this. You canât pretend that something didnât just happen, regardless of the fact that you donât know what that something is. But he waits. He patiently stands there, but he never looks at you. You realize you canât look at him either.
It canât just be youâŠ
The kid pushes himself further out of the bag to greet his father, probably picking up on the weird silence. That action alone gives you strength. âAre you okay?â You whisper. You meant to sound stern, but your throat is dry and scratched. You chalk it up as a side effect of being surrounded by sand, but you canât rule out fear either.
âI donât know what you mean,â is his response.
Your heart dropsâŠmaybe it is just you.
Heâs far more composed than you: with his hands on his hips and visor trained on the baby gurgling at your hip. You take a quick once-over of him to make sure youâre not hallucinating, but he remains relaxed. Thereâs still something wrong. Something feels off with his words, and it hurts to analyze. To worry. To hope that everythingâs okay when it definitely feels like it isnât. âLook,â he sighs and goes to reach for your arm in a way heâs done countless times before. But he stops. He stops mid-air, and you wait for something to happen, but it never does. Simply, you watch him retreat for the second time in ten minutes. âYouâre right. We need a break and Cobbâs good company. Seems to like you a lot. Letâs just enjoy ourselves.â
You step closer to him and wish more than anything that you could actually see his eyes. You want to see the colours that flicker in his irisâ; the way you imagine they soften at the sight of his son, and how they glow when he laughs. You want to pinpoint the different emotions he feels through eyes alone, but he doesnât give you that. He just nods politely and walks inside the cantina leaving you and the little green guy to fear the worst.
iii.
He feels stupid.
Like, really kriffing stupid.
Cobb had picked the table furthest from the bar, smack dab in the corner, providing an ample view of the entire cantina. Though there werenât that many patrons, Din still liked to be in the corner. He was an observer after all. It was where he had the most control because he didnât have to worry about anyone sneaking up on him. It also allowed him to see everyone in a more subtle way; one where he wasnât blatantly staring and would likely rile up a drunk who wanted to pick a fight.
He could monitor things and still be able to enjoy what little amount he allowed himself to partake in.
But he feels stupid. Because thatâs not the case right now.
He could have a group of raiders walk right up to him and he would never notice. Not when heâs staring at you. It isnât that this is a rare thing he does because it happens more often than heâd care to admitâwhen his attention drifts to the one thing, the one person, that somehow constantly invades his mind.
He tells himself that itâs for safety. Heâs keeping an eye on you, making sure youâre alright and that no oneâs bothering you (although heâs the first one to say anything whenever anyone does). But even he knows thatâs a lie.
Itâs not uncommon for him to steal subtle (or what he hopes are subtle) glances at you, but it is uncommon for him to be this angry when looking at you.
Usually, heâs at peace when it comes to you. But he wasnât anticipating Cobb to invite the two of you for a drink. He wasnât anticipating Cobb to take such a liking to you, nor, to offer to go with you to the bar to get said drinks even though youâre more than capable. But out of all the surprises heâs had today, the one that shakes him the most is you taking such a liking to Cobb.
The two of you are talking wildly to each other as the barkeep prepares your drinks. Youâre smiling at him and heâs smiling right back, and youâre doing that thing where when you get excited you talk with your hands.
Din finds it endearing, but right now itâs different. Because heâs just watching. Heâs not the one youâre excited about. So, he canât bring himself to join you two. He knows that he wouldnât be able to handle seeing you look at him like heâs a burden, a buzzkill who only knows how to follow you like a lost pet. But he wants to. Maker does he ever. Because maybe at the end of it all heâd get to keep you. Youâd choose him after realizing that heâs always chosen you.
He forces himself to look away at that. Why would you choose someone who you canât even see return your smile?
Heâd never disobey his Creed. Itâs a part of him, itâs what he stands for. And yet, he canât count the number of times heâs second-guessed himself just to show you that he does in fact smile, that heâs alive, that he needs you more than anything. Heâs a breathing man with a bleeding heart that wasnât made for you but canât live without you. And he hates it.
âHere we go,â Cobb sits down gently on the chair and places the drinks in the middle of the table.
Din keeps his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you take the seat beside him. The kid notices your back and immediately grasps for your attention. Which you give to him every single time because you love him.
Din would give anything to be him.
You sit the child down in your lap and grab at your glass of spotchka when a look of realization hits you. âOh, we forgot his broth.â
Cobb, in what Din sees as a chance to impress you, is already up before you can ask. âI got it. You sit tight little guy.â
The man saunters off and when heâs out of earshot, you turn to look at him. Din feels himself start to sweat. âSo, I know you said everythingâs okay, but I call bullshit.â
Dinâs eyes widen at the blunt statement. Not that she can see, but heâs very aware of his reactions to her (maybe the fact that she can't see is for the best). âMando, whatâs going on?â She lifts the baby up so that he can see him clearer. âWeâre both worried.â
He sighs and shifts in his seat. Quickly, he weighs his options.
He could ignore her, wait until Cobb gets back, and then interrupt their little date. Cobb would get the hint and sheâd be back with him and their kid on the Razor Crest. But he realizes thatâs selfish of him and sheâd be even angrier with himâŠpossibly even hate him, which is the last thing he wants. Ever. So he scraps that thought. He thinks that he could bluff his way out of the situation: tell her his mind is once again on his abandoned covert and that heâs just having an off-day. It wouldnât be the first time, and if he was convincing enough sheâd probably believe him. But then he thinks of something different. He considers, for a very brief moment, what itâd be like if he just told her. He could tell her everything. How sheâs all he can think about most days and nights, how he imagines what itâd be like to actually hold her hand without reason, and most importantly, how his biggest fantasy involves him taking off his helmet and kissing her. Actually kissing her like heâs longed to do since the first week of having her stay with them.
She doesnât long for you, though.
He realizes sheâs still looking at him and so he makes his decision. âItâs just an off-day for me, cyarâika. Iâll be alright. Iâm sorry if I worried you and the little one.â
She pauses, her face turned downward in sadness. His heart twists painfully. But soon she smiles. Itâs faint and fake and nothing like her usual self, but itâs something.
âOkay.â
Cobb comes back to the table with a small bowl of broth and places it before the kid. The conversation returns to normal and Din is thankful that the noise is just loud enough to drown his thoughts. Even if for a short while.
iv.
âOh, Mando look at this!â
You show him a large green and blue textile with intricate designs along its edges. It was knitted with care and looked impossibly comfortable, as far as Din could tell. âItâs beautiful.â
You smile widely and lift it up to properly look it over. âIt reminds me of him.â You look down to the child that this time Din was now holding. He lifts him out of the bag in order to show him the blanket, which he immediately grabs onto. The baby coos at you, which elicits a giggle and smooth knuckles to run over his cheek. âHe likes it,â you say. âWe should get it for him. It can be his new blanket.â
âHe has lots of blankets, cyarâika.â He knows you know this. You're both a sucker for the little guy, but at some point Din reasons, he will have to stop spending so many credits on blankets. Though, if it keeps his cyarâika and his adâika happy, he figures it canât be all that bad.
It seems though youâve already beat him to that realization. âYeah, and who gets him all those blankets? Us. âCause, weâre the best parents in this kriffing galaxy.â
His parents. Din preens at your words. âIâll buy it. You go look around some more, weâre gonna have to leave soon.â
You frown playfully at him but take his advice and skip off to another booth filled with hand-made items.
Din smiles at you beneath his mask then looks down to see his child already looking up at him. The baby, who knows far more than he lets on, looks at him and then looks at you, only to look back at Din. Itâs then his turn to follow the kidâs line of sight before it clicks. âNo. Not happening,â Din mutters, pulling a couple of credits out of his pocket and passing them to the vendor who gives him the folded blanket.
He tucks the blanket under his arm then walks in your direction. You had moved on to a new vendor, touching anything you could get your hands on. This particular display though seemed to have you preoccupied as you proved to be too distracted to notice him come up beside you. âFind anything you like?â
You don't respond, but Din sees how your eyes were fixated on one particular piece of jewelry. The necklace was strung up on the stand closest to the woman who he assumed made them: a beautiful, long silver chain with a small moonstone attached to it. You admire it, but eventually back away from the display. You take a quick glance at all the pieces one last time before smiling at the lady then looking up to Din.
âNo, itâs alright. Letâs go home.â Home. Our home.
He looks at the table and then at you. Heâs not really good at the whole surprise thing (in all fairness heâs never had anyone to surprise) but, he thinks, as Cara always tells him âthereâs a first for everything', he might as well start now.
âYou go ahead, cyarâika. Iâll catch up. I just need to finalize some things with the bounty.â Din passes you the child and the blanket and he pretends he doesnât notice his pulse quicken when you look at him like heâs the kindest person in the galaxy.
Heâs not. But he hopes heâs enough for you.
You touch his shoulder, the same shoulder you healed only weeks ago, then walk away to the loading dock with your child in tow as Din heads back to the market.
v.
You donât think you will ever get used to hyperspace.
Colours, the kind you imagine even the queen of Naboo is envious of, rush past you in a mosaic of light. Your heart drops to your stomach as you lurch forward into what always seems like another dimension. Itâs a visceral experience. Itâs addictive.
The Razor Crest is a big ship, but in hyperspace, itâs weightless. And maybe thatâs why you love it so much because you canât get that kind of weightlessness anywhere else.
Youâre invigorated by it at all.
Unfortunately, not everyone on the ship is having as good of a time as you are.
Below the cockpit, down the stairs, and to the right is where Din paces back and forth. The child watches from the corner, eyes going back and forth, stopping, then going back and forth again as he tracks his dad's nervous movement.
Din then stops and sits beside the kid with his back against the wall. âI donât think Iâve ever given a gift before.â
Mandalorians donât get nervous; theyâre not supposed to. Theyâre supposed to be composed warriors, the soldier everyone relies on. But right now, Din canât even rely on himself.
Itâs really nothing special, simply a necklace. A piece of jewelry that you eyed, but eventually dismissâ
Wait. Did you even want the necklace?
Maybe Din read the situation wrong and you had actually decided you didnât like it. Maybe you were simply looking at it because it was ugly, like how you study something you donât understand.
Great. Now heâs going to give you an ugly necklace that you donât want.
Maybe heâs not as observant as everyone says he is. As he likes to think he is.
âDank farrik.â Din slams the back of his beskar covered head into the metal wall. This wasnât exactly how he planned this to go.
In hindsight, he wasnât exactly sure of how it would play out anyway, but he liked to believe giving you the necklace would lead to you giving him some amount of attention. No matter how little or how much, as long as it came from you heâd do anything for it.
Maybe heâd give it to you and youâd smile in the warm way only you can. The kind of smile that even the most beautiful of moons cry over because theyâre nothing compared to you. Maybe youâd touch his face through his helmet and heâd soak into your embrace the way heâs done thousands of times before. Or maybe youâd laugh, take the gift and never think about it again.
Yeah. That sounds more probable.
âI donât know, buddy⊠Do you think sheâll like it?â He goes to reach for the necklace in his pocket but itâs not there. And quite frankly neither is his kid.
Heâs frantic in his search for the child and the jewelry until his eyes catch him on the ladder.
Since when did heâ
Damn it.
He jumps up, as quickly as his body will allow, but the babyâs already at the top with the necklace in hand.
Your little green child coos. Your turn your head to see him shuffling over to you, a huge grin on his face with something stuck in his mouth.
âUgh,â pushing yourself off the captain's chair, you nab the kid and sit back down with him. âHow do you find this stuff, I swear to Maker, kid.â
His teeth clamp harder on the object as you try to pry it out of his mouth until you finally get your fingers around it and pull it out. Itâs wet from his saliva and he laughs at you as you wipe it on your shirt in disgust. Lifting him up so heâs above eye level you give him a stern look. âStop trying to eat everything. Especially when you donât know where that thing's been.â
Your scolding just makes him giggle harder, forcing you to roll your eyes. You swear youâre going to roll your eyes right out of their sockets one day.
You both then turn your heads to the sound of shoes pounding up the ladder, and then the door opens to the cockpit.
Mando stands there breathing heavily, as his helmet scans the entire room before landing on you two.
âAre youâŠare you doing okay?â
Even under his helmet, you can tell heâs flustered, and then as quickly as he came up the steps, he focuses on you. âSorry, I justâŠhe had a thing in his mouth and I didnât want him to swallow it.â
âOh yeah trust me, I already fought with him over it.â You laugh while picking up the object you set to the side.
You swear you actually hear Mandoâs breath stutter as you finally take a look at the object. At first, you donât recognize it, concern flooding your mind at the thought of your little baby choking on something as dangerous as this.
But then you realize what it is.
Dinâs shifted his weight to his other leg and he can feel his hands flex nervouslyâcompression gloves not enough to stop him from wanting to grab the object right out of your grasp.
But he knows you. He knows you well. And he can see youâve already figured out what youâre holding.
Your eyes meet his through his helmet. âThis isâŠthis is the necklace.â It dangles from your fingertips, and the child swats at itâthe jewelry becoming his newfound obsession. âThe one from the market I was looking atâŠâ
âYes.â He cringes at how he sounds. So quick and robotic and awkward, and so very unprepared. Heâs never felt this nervous before, and yet he canât back away. He has to deal with it. âYou didnât buy it, but, I thought maybe you still wanted it. So I got it for you. AsâŠas a gift.â
You look down at the pendant and smile softly, running your thumb over the cool, smooth stone. âIf you donât want it, I can trade it for something else when we land. Something more desirableââ
âWhatâs that wordâŠ?â You both speak at the same time.
âSorry,â you chuckle out. Youâve caught his attention though, caught him off guard on his needless apology, so you clear your throat. âHow do you say beautiful in Mandoâa?â
Heâs stunned beyond words. Beyond thoughts. And yes, heâs acutely aware of the fact that he knows he probably looks like an idiotâa man who doesnât even know how to talk to the woman he loves, much less surprise her with something so heartfelt. But the way you look at him, sincerity in your eyes as you await a response, his brain short circuits and he somehow gives you one.
âThe word is meshâla.â
âMeshâla,â you repeat softly. He feels his knees buckle at your voice speaking in his mother tongue and he curses every deity for putting him in such a foreign situation.
But then youâre putting the necklace on without a second thought. As though itâs routine and the necklace is already part of your being. And then his nervousness melts away. It de-escalates into something different. Something that propels him further, closer to you.
Youâre a magnet and heâs the piece of metal flying through the air, willed by a force he cannot control. âDo youâŠlike it?â
âI wouldnât be putting it on if I didnât like it, now would I be, Mando?â
âDin.â
ââŠwhat?â
He hadnât even noticed that it slipped out. And heâs surprised his covert havenât already started to beat down the walls of his ship. A confession of a gift is one thing, but Din telling you his name is just purely reckless. He should stop while heâs ahead, but the dam has been cracking beneath the weight of his feelings for a long time. So it seems that itâs time he gives them a chance.
âMy name,â his voice shakes, wavers with each syllable. âMy name, cyarâika, is Din Djarin.â
You stare out, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. But then thereâs a calmness that shines through. You look down at the kid, who has been watching the two of you closely for a while now.
He hears his heart pounding in his ears so loudly heâs positive he's going to pass out. âDinâŠâ You repeat the name slowly, unsure of it as you test out the way it feels as it rolls off your tongue. âDin. I like that name. It suits you.â
âI like your name, too.â You laugh loudly. If it were out of context, he wouldâve panicked at your laughter, but after realizing how ridiculous he sounded, he finds it easy to laugh right along with you.
You hold the kid in the crook of your elbow as you stand in front of the man with a permanent smile on your face. âAnd uh, cyarâikaâŠâ Dinâs heart drops to his stomach and his blood runs cold. âWhat does that mean? I figured it meant friend or something like that butâŠâ youâre hesitant to voice your thoughts, worried that maybe youâre overthinking it; anticipating and expecting something only for it not to be there. Wishful thinking. âIâm just curious.â
Of course, you are. Why wouldnât you be? It was only a matter of time before you were going to ask him. Only a matter of time before you put all the signs together. Before you realized you didnât want him that way.
Cara once told him he wasnât subtle. At first, he had no clue what she meant, but he knows now. And he wishes he didnât.
He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the welling up in the corner of his eyes, but understands that itâs pointless. His time is up.
âCyarâikaâŠâ his tongue swells up his mouth. Heâs never felt this breathless before. âIt means sweetheart.â
Even from behind his helmet he feels exposed. Everything is out in the open and nothing he can do, or say, can fix it. And the fact that this is the first time since he met you that he canât read you? It truly terrifies him.
He tenses up, waiting for the moment in which you say goodbye. When you kiss the forehead of your child, pack up your things, and give your awkward thanks to Din for allowing you to stay with them.
He waits, and waits, and waits. But it never comes. Instead, you slowly bring your hands up to his. He holds his breath, or rather, his breath holds him. Your hands gently glide on his arms until they reach the broad expanse of his shoulders, and then the edges of his helmet.
He hesitates, but you donât stop there. Eventually, your hands stop on the sides of his helmet, where you assume the sides of his face would be if you were to hold him without his armor. He canât help but lean into the contact you provide him. Even through the impenetrable beskar, he can still feel the warmth of your hands on his skin, imagines how it would feel to place his skin on yours. It may be temporary, but if this is all heâll get for the rest of his life, heâd die happy. âWhat should I call you then?â
HeâŠwasnât expecting that. Actually, it was the last thing he expected you to say. You take his silence as a good sign to keep going. âWell, if you call me sweetheartâŠwhat should I call you?â
âIâŠâ Din almost cries. Heâs tired, stressed, and feels like heâs on a tightrope. But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes you arenât running away. Youâre staying here. Touching him through his helmet and looking at him the way heâs wanted you to for what feels like forever. You're looking at him the same way he looks at you. âDin. I just want you to call me Din.â
You smile at that. At him. âDinâŠâ he melts underneath you, relishing in the way his name sounds in your voice. And then you're reaching up to him, hands still holding his helmet firmly as you ever-so-gently pull him to meet you. And thenâŠ
Then you kiss him. You plant a feather-light kiss to his helmet, one that lingers and permanently takes ownership of his breath. You pull away from him before pressing your foreheads together and Din swears he just died.
The two of you stay like that forâŠyou arenât too sure how long. It feels like itâs been both seconds and minutes. Although you really arenât keeping track, the dizzying feeling rattling around in your skull makes your brain feel like mush.
You can feel Dinâs breastplates move slowly, letting you know that heâs calmed down, coming down from the shared high of two friends whoâve finally collided. He inhales deeply and his hands rest over yours. Your fingers intertwine on the sides of his helmet, but then heâs lifting up the beskar, and you panic.
âDin, stop.â You donât realize how breathless youâve become and youâre shocked that even with the lack of oxygen to your brain, youâre still aware of his creed.
But he cuts you off and presses his forehead to yours again. âItâs okay, justâŠjust close your eyes. Please.â It's almost a whimper, and the sound ruins you (you take mental note of that sound for later). So you close your eyes.
Youâre eager to feel him. To touch skin rather than just beskar. You donât know what he looks like, might not know for a long time, but youâll know what he'll feel like. And right now thatâs the only thing keeping you going.
Your hands feel him first. Smooth and warm and a hint of stubble. You begin to map out his face with your hands, all while he holds you. Itâs the most intimate youâve ever been with someoneâŠthe most intimate you think youâll ever be. Then, heâs kissing you. Itâs firm, yet gentle. Soft, yet hard. Itâs everything you both imagined it to be, and more.
Itâs so beautiful it hurts. But at least now you two donât have to deal with the pain on your own.
this fear is a part of me (please don't take my hope away)
this lust is a burden that we both share - series masterlist here
pairing: din djarin x reader (gender neutral, no use of y/n)
length: 1k
genre: hurt/comfort, fluff
warnings: reader has vulnerability issues but it all works out, din is trying so so hard
a/n: new verse ok ok ok lemme know what y'all think
"It's a nice home," you admit, eyeing the house that's been given to Din, refusing to acknowledge the way he's staring at you. Your heart aches in your chest when you think of it, of him and his son and his home. It's a stark contrast to the cold, quiet, solitary metal of your ship that you know is waiting for you. You spin around to face Din fast enough that he lurches back a fraction.
"Well," you begin, chin lifted and face resolute. "It'll be good for the two of you. Reach out if you need anything," is all you say before you move to walk past him, away from him, beyond him.
Din stops you, though, a hand across your hips to pull you back with a gentleness you shouldn't be surprised by anymore.Â
"It's not a home for two," he murmurs, his voice halting. Vulnerability isn't something that comes easily to either of you. "It⊠it doesn't have to be."
"You want me to stay?" you prompt, your voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. Din nods, his arm tightening around your waist. You look at him pointedly. He sighs.
"Yes. I want you to stay."
"You know what that means, don't you?" You step away from him. His fingers twitch as he reels himself in, stopping himself from reaching for you. "This is⊠commitment. This is serious. This is different."
"My loveâŠ" Din begins, a layer of hurt seeping into his voice that makes you dig your nails into your palms. Always hurting, you think to yourself. You will always hurt him. "I understand commitment more than anything else. This is what I want⊠with you. With our son." Din's voice is sombre as he speaks, his words prompting you to glance at where Grogu's chasing frogs in front of his new home - in front of your new home, if you let it be.
"Your son," is what you fire back, though, the panic of having something good clouding your rationality - the fear of having something that can be taken away.
"Our son," Din corrects firmly, stepping towards you. You tense like an animal ready to bolt, but you don't run. Progress, Din supposes. "This is your family as much as it's mine. This is your home, as much as it's mine. I wouldn't say that unless I understood the severity of it."
You sigh, your shoulders dropping as your fists unclench. There's a solidness about him, a resoluteness that turns him into a fixed point for his family to lean on when they need to. He has never stumbled underneath your weight, and you think it might be unfair to expect that he suddenly will now. You look at him through his helmet and let your brows furrow as you try to gauge his reaction to your snapping, to your walls closing up. He seems to take your relaxing posture as a sort of victory, though, because he steps towards you again, reaching forward to brush his gloved fingers against yours. You let your fingers intertwine with his, holding his hand firmly enough to convince yourself that he won't disappear from in front of you - that this good thing is here to stay.
"I'm sorry," you murmur gently, letting your head thump against his shoulder. He relaxes at the feeling of you pressing your face to his neck and breathing him in, squeezing your hand gently in his while his other strokes up and down your back.
"There is nothing to forgive, my love," he assures with a softness that's reserved for you alone. "This isn't easy for either of us. What matters is that we do it together."
"Together," you mumble in agreement, nodding as you keep your face pressed against him. He huffs out what's almost a laugh, letting you take your time in extracting yourself from him. Once you're standing tall again, chin lifted and eyes regaining their confidence, he squeezes your hand once more.
"Where do we go from here?" is all Din asks, gaze fixed on you.
"Home, I suppose," is your airy response as you stare at the little house you can now call yours. Din feels his heart thump in his chest at your declaration of home, of sharing something like that with him. He breathes deeply, steadying himself against the onslaught of emotions that are thrown at him by those simple words.
"I always had a home in the covert," he says, shifting uneasily on his feet. It's rare for him to divulge anything too personal, even this far into your relationship. You look at him earnestly, the breeze settling around the two of you as you watch Grogu chase frogs out of the corner of your eye.
"Even when I was⊠an apostate," Din continues, "then it was about finding a way back to that home. But it was always there - always something to fall back on. You�" He doesn't continue, just stares at you through the slit of his helmet and you know he's giving you an out. You know he won't force you to talk about your past, about where you came from or what you left behind.
"I think it was about⊠finding one," you say eventually. "I never - I didn't a home to fall back to. But I wanted one, even when I couldn't really admit that to myself." You turn back towards your house - your home, now. One that you would share with your family. "Didn't think I'd ever actually get one, though," you add quietly, a confession whispered so softly Din almost doesn't hear it.Â
"You have it now," he assures you, wrapping an arm around your waist and using his other hand to cup your cheek gently, turning you to face him so that he can press the cool beskar of his helmet against your forehead. "You're home now."
summary: youâve seen a lot during your rebellion days & now with the New Republic⊠but working with a mandalorian may just send you into the wildest tailspin yet
word count: 11.9k (iâm sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS â ïž takes place before & during the events of the film, reader has a backstory & family but no physical description, light use of gendered language, slight annoyance to friends to lovers, pining & yearning, budding romance, threats & moments of violence/threat of kidnapping, flying as a love language, reader has instances of drinking and smoking, competency kink, light voice kink, slightly jealous!reader, spicy times in the cockpit (helmet stays on), dry humping, unprotected p in v, one moment of spit, creampie, protective and soft!Din
a/n: so⊠hi lmao I call this my âletâs daydream about being in the new movieâ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs itâs what we deserve lol big thanks to my dear @babynueva for always supporting my din delulu ily bb! Also this is my first official fic of the year & knowing itâs for Din means so much - so thank you for being here ⥠[divider credit & thanks to the ever amazing @saradika-graphics]
When a mandalorian first strides into base camp on Adelphi, you think youâre seeing things.
The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. Itâs like his ancient armor proudly beams of its power and striking force. The mysterious Mandalorian walks with intent, a steady gait that dares anyone to cross him. You canât help but stare at the mysterious warrior.
âIs he⊠imperial?â Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.
âNope, heâs working with us now.â Teva answers simply.
You didnât believe it. But apparently itâs true.
âHeâs set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.â The colonelâs words then officially etch the truth in stone.
Mando comes around basecamp like a ghost. Barely staying put for you to register his presence, yet the whispers about him grow.
âI heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.â Dyana, your closest friend, tells you enthusiastic to catch up on all the rumors.
Then Ward calls for you, and you miss out on any other gossip Dyana and the others had.
âIâll be heading to Coruscant this week to meet with a few higher ups and senators⊠I need you to do all the debriefs with Mando while Iâm away.
Itâs like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.
âWait, me?â You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.
âDo you think youâre not capable of handling this, ranger?â
âNo, colonel.â You quickly reply, and she nods.
âGood, thatâs what I thought.â
When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.
âDonât worry. Heâs not as scary as everyone thinks he is.â Ward reassures, but it doesnât soothe you much.
Especially when the day arrives and you find yourself waiting for him.
Just like before, the mandalorian saunters in and your focus is immediately drawn to him. But then, it gets knocked out of orbit when you find heâs not alone.
A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?
âWhereâs Ward?â A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.
âWent to Coruscant for a meeting.â You reply partly stunned youâre actually talking to him.
âAnd you are?â But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. Heâs the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?
âIâm the person youâre stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.â Your voice whips out sharp.
He doesnât say anything.
âWhat about Teva?â He counters again, and you want to scream. Whatâs this guyâs problem?
âOut on a mission,â your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.
âIf you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why Iâm not satisfactory enough for your debrief. Iâm sure sheâd love that.â Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.
Itâs as if the whole cantina mess hall heard you because it becomes deathly silent.
The mandalorian simply stares you down with his unflinching helmet. Then the warrior turns and strides out not saying another word.
âI think you pissed him off.â Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.
A sense of dread looms as you realize you mightâve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.
Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.
âWhy do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?â She asks calmly over the comms.
âIâm not! He started it!â You canât help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.
The colonel sighs.
âYou have to understand⊠His people donât trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.â
You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you canât argue with Ward.
âDo the whole debrief drunk.â Zeb jokes about it with you the next day, and you scoff.
But by the time sunset arrives you start getting tempted to get a drink because maybe Mando isnât showing up.
Until he does. And again heâs not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.
Itâs awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.
You donât even know if you should say anything
âMweh?â A surprisingly soft little noise floats through the tension and you turn towards it. You blink down to find the mysterious little being staring up at you with sweet wide eyes.
With curious claws, the baby reaches for the loth cat charm dangling off your belt, the one of many trinkets your niece has given you.
Melted by the sight, you grin and scoot closer. Then you unclasp the charm for the baby to examine it more.
âYou like it? Itâs cute right?â
The little one agrees with a chirp sounding so endearing.
Something softly clicks. If a creature so tiny and innocent as this baby confidently travels with the mandalorian, then he couldn't be that much of an ass.
Someone sighs. Then settling back into your seat, you find the mandalorian seated across from you. The baby hops up to sit beside him. Yet his eager eyes remain happily taken with your charm.
âThat imp base on Hoth had no leads.â He speaks first.
Youâre stunned.
Your gut urges you to not make a big deal about this, to simply now see him as another coworker.
So you nod and casually plug in the info on your datapad.
âHoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.â You even add that in.
You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. Itâs an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.
âWhatâs the next order?â Mando asks firm, all business, just like Ward had told you.
You slide him a bounty chip containing info on a possible military officer who could be running a smuggling ring. The mandalorian doesnât say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.
âCome on, kid.â All he does is address the baby, not even sparing you a second glance.
Cute and so politely, the kid hands back your loth cat with a noise that feels like a thank you.
âYouâre welcome, little cutie,â you tell him warmly.
Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad itâs over. Someone barks a laugh, and you arenât even embarrassed about it.
You canât wait till this is over.
Itâs already been a week and a half of being grounded, doing these debriefs with Mando. You miss being in the skies. But all that hope of getting back in the clouds gets squashed.
âI need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa⊠can you continue to do the debrief?â It isnât much of a question but more of an order from Ward.
So you meet with Mando for the rest of the week and into the next. Itâs cordial, barely speaking for more than ten minutes with each other.
You try to be friendly, make a joke about the weather, but he just silently stares at you, obviously annoyed.
And it pisses you off all over again.
But you think of the adorable little baby who eagerly tags along with the terrifying hunter. The kid sweetly waves, and you wave back. You started bringing treats after his guardian chided him for eating some of yours.
The annoyed sigh Mando gave when you brought more snacks to share was worth it.
This time you decided to bring something else along with you.
It was the first charm your sister gave you when you became a pilot. A tradition her daughter, your niece, now does with you.
âLook!â You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the babyâs eyes go wide.
With adorable tiny grabby hands, he reaches for it and you happily hand it over.
You grin pleased seeing how pleased the kid coos.
âWhatâs your name?â The sudden question from Mando surprises you.
A bit stunned, you give it to him.
He nods solemnly, repeating it. Your heart does a strange flip hearing his deep voice say your name.
âThis is Grogu.â He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.
âNice to meet you, Grogu.â You excitedly greet the kid.
Then you turn to Groguâs guardian. This solemn but striking mandalorian now has you curious to who he is. Your mind thinks about the rumors that have spread about him.
âAnd you? Whatâs your name?â You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. Sheâs become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.
âTheyâre private people,â she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. âItâs probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.â
âIâm sorry, forgive me.â You stammer quickly. âYou donât have to give it.â
A moment passes, and you worry youâve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.
âDin⊠Din Djarin.â His full name. Itâs lovely.
âDinâŠâ you repeat it.
âItâs nice to meet you too.â And you mean that.
Mando, Din, nods, and you think itâs worth the few weeks being out of the skies.
When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.
âCome on kid, give it back.â Din urges noticing too.
âNo itâs okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.â You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.
âWhat do you say, kid?â
Grogu chirps a sweet thanks and waddles away content with the plushie in his arms.
The next day, as promised, he brings it back. But you exchange another charm with him. This time itâs a cute cloud with a sweet face. Eager for the new trinket, Grogu ditches the plushie and you laugh.
Work then follows suit. Din explains on the intel heâs slowly gaining on the imp official.
âTaking a bit longer than expected.â Din gruffly admits.
âDonât worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. Itâs not your fault. Then again thatâs probably an insult to rodents.â Youâve been trying to stay professional, channel your inner composed Colonel Ward. But the old rebel pilot comes out.
Suddenly, a chuckle follows.
Din laughed.
You swear you misheard it. But the way Grogu giggles agreeing with his protector, you know you heard correctly.
âA fair statement.â Din agrees.
And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.
Watching the pair leave, you find youâre excited to see them again.
The rest of the debriefs go smoother than ever. You bring new charms for Grogu to play with, and Din seems to settle in more.
âYou have a lot of those.â He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time itâs a fuzzy bantha.
âManaged to gather a small collection.â You explain.
âReally⊠couldnât tell.â Din deadpans.
Thatâs when you realized he just joked with you.
âThink you might like those two,â Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.
âItâs called being civil.â You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.
âCivil? Yeah sure.â He teases further.
You stay stubbornly quiet.
âDonât worry⊠Theyâve a pain in my ass too.â Zeb huffs, and it does soothe your annoyance.
Especially now that something is festered in you, a sort of curious itch to learn more about Din Djarin.
âI heard⊠he really did blow up an entire imperial base. Thatâs how Teva found him.â Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.
âHeâs quiet, doesnât talk much. So I doubt heâd say anything even if he did.â You mutter.
âDoes he really keep a pet around?â Dyana presses for any new info.
The word âpetâ sounds harsh.
âHeâs more like the kidâs guardian.â The word âparentâ instead wants to slip out especially after youâve seen Dinâs fatherly watch over the baby.
âOh thatâs even more interesting! Why didnât you tell me this earlier?!â Dyana shrieks.
âYouâve been busy.â You half lie.
You could argue that itâs because you want to protect Dinâs trust and donât want to disturb that. But the truth is, you donât want to share this little secret bond youâve cultivated with him.
You however rapidly kick those thoughts away.
Ward will be back sometime this week. Your brief time with the Mandalorian would be over soon.
Except that time comes sooner than expected.
The next morning Colonel Ward arrives, an early return. Disappointment arrives just as fast. You knew this was only a temporary thing.
Trying not to feel annoyed, you now work on your x-wing. Deep under the hull, you refuel trying just to keep your mind focused here.
âDidnât know you were a mechanic.â Suddenly, the rich voice of a certain mandalorian echoes in the hanger.
You scramble out from under the ship confused if you heard right.
But standing off to the side are indeed Din and Grogu.
âWhat? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?â You tease.
Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.
âYouâre looking at one of the New Republicâs best pilots!â Dyana.
She perks up emerging from the other side of the ship, and you shoot a glare her way not even knowing where she came from.
âA pilot?â Din questions, curious.
His helmet tilts towards you.
âSometimes,â you shrug.
âAnd I wouldnât say best.â You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.
âOne day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though Iâm sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!â
You want to strangle her.
âYou fought at Endor?â Din asks, helmet fully facing you and voice faintly awed.
It all makes your skin feel heated and tight.
All you can do is shrug again.
Endor seems like so long ago now. You were so much younger then. Wild and ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of protecting everything you loved. A small secret corner of your heart aches for those days of when you flew with such fire.
âWell⊠gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!â Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.
A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.
âSoâŠan x-wing pilot.â Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.
âOn good days I am.â You again shrug with a half smile.
âSo what was Endor like?â He inquires, and youâre surprised heâs curious about that.
âDonât know, never went on planet⊠kinda was busy flying around.â
You donât even need to see his face to know heâs giving you a silent unamused stare. He must not think your joke is as funny as you do.
A surprised giggle does come though. Both you and Din discover Grogu effortlessly climbing up onto the wing of the ship.
âKid.â Din chides.
âHow did you get up there so fast?â You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.
Din sighs, truly parental.
âI take it that you fly?â You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.
âI do.â Din answers, confident.
âMust be why heâs so curious and comfortable around ships. Itâs good when kids get to experience being in the air.â You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.
âMy niece is the same way.â You reveal.
Din hums a noise, acknowledging heâs listening.
âIs she the reason why you have all those charms?â He asks in a tone softer than youâve ever heard.
âExcuse you, they are medals of honor.â You jokingly try to sound offended.
âWith you I wouldnât be surprised.â He replies deadpan, and you snicker.
âBut yeah⊠sheâs the one who gives them to me.â You explain how it was your sister who first started giving you those charms to decorate your x-wing.
They were to remind you to come home safe.
âI was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.â You repeat the same words your sister told you.
A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But itâs then you realize how close youâre now standing next to Din. You didnât even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.
âThatâs⊠sweet.â His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.
You turn and find heâs already looking at you.
Under Dinâs gaze, itâs like youâre caught in a tractor beam unable to speak or move.
Dangerous thoughts have already begun clouding your mind, and they all connect back to this man. Like how youâve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. Whatâs worse is youâve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.
Groguâs little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.
âSo I take it this is your ship?â Din asks.
âNo, I stole it.â You quip back.
âSure you did.â His dry reply makes you snicker.
âItâs how I got to fight at Endor.â You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.
âThought you didnât see Endor.â He uses your dry joke back at you, and you canât help it.
You playfully elbow him.
Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wingâs edge grinning at you and Din.
âLittle troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?â You smile at Grogu.
âMweh!â He squeals.
âI think thatâs a yes,â you tell Din proudly.
âNo.â Din answers back firmly.
âItâs okay Iâll teach you one day,â you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.
âNo.â Din repeats again firmer.
A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.
âStill need to see Ward⊠shouldnât keep her waiting.â Din is smooth about making his exit.
Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.
You havenât been in the air for long, but it feels like youâre floating now.
The moments you see the pair become like scattered stars.
Months settle in, and a routine follows. You sometimes see Din in the mess hall cantina when you return from a mission. Discussing with the colonel, all you can simply do is give your boys quick smiles.
Other times Din stops by the hanger where you linger now more than ever hoping he drops by. You and him talk about work, missions, the various planets visited.
You want to ask what got him to work for the new republic, but you donât want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.
âItâs budding love.â Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.
âItâs not!â You screech over a drink.
âI donât think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.â Another pilot chimes in.
âHe talks to Zeb the most!â You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.
âNot as much as you, kid.â Zeb rebuttals.
âDonât think we havenât seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.â Sash Ketter snickers, and it only ignites the discussion once again.
You dismiss all their words as attempts trying to rile you up.
Because you donât want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.
Itâs just an awful infatuation. Thatâs it.
Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. Itâll hopefully give you time to clear your head.
âIâm heading home to visit family. Iâll be sure to bring back something good.â You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.
âThereâs no need. Just⊠be safe.â Din nods.
His gentle words carry you the entire flight home.
The brief week away provides peaceful moments of relaxation. While you enjoy the time spent with your sisterâs family, you long to return to Adelphi.
âSo, what did you get me this time?â You ask your niece the day before youâre set to head back.
âI got you⊠THIS!â She proudly raises up an odd creature. You canât even tell what it is.
âShe made it herself.â Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.
âWhat?! Why didnât you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!â You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.
âActually before I go⊠Do you think you can help me make one too?â You ask her and your niece's eyes light up.
With eager hands she gathers all her supplies to deposit them on the table ready to craft.
âSo⊠are you going to tell me who youâre making this for?â Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.
âWhat if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?â You deflect.
âYeah sure.â Sheâs not convinced but thankfully doesnât press any further.
As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, youâre thankful to finally be back to your routine.
And of course, the new little charm sitting in your pocket seems to hold so much weight.
Din returns a few days after you. Itâs hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.
âWelcome back.â He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.
Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.
âI miss you too,â you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.
âAnd look, I got something for you.â You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.
Then you hold up the new charm.
âWhat is it supposed to be?â Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.
âItâs a little monster,â you reply lightly insulted.
âMy niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.â You grin towards Grogu now.
âBweh!â He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.
âSee! He likes it, that's what matters.â You huff proudly at Din.
Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Dinâs chuckle too.
âWhat do you say, kid?â Din says.
Grogu however doesnât say anything. Instead he leans up and hugs you. His sweet little arms curl against your neck.
Holding this baby so tight is like holding a little newborn star. Youâre grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.
âYouâre welcome, little troublemaker.â You softly tell him.
The baby then settles into your arms as if itâs the most natural thing in the world.
Worried you might have overstepped, you quickly snap your attention to Din. His helmet stays focused on you.
You wonder what his eyes look like, what color swims within his gaze.
âGlad youâre back safe.â Dinâs voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.
âMe too,â you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.
This infatuation, or whatever itâs mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.
But youâre reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.
The wound isnât looking good.
Youâre more pissed at yourself for getting ambushed by damn pirates. This operation was supposed to be simple, check in on the distress signal intercepted by base. But one pirate ambush later and youâre now stranded trying to stop the bleeding.
You just hope the emergency signal you sent back to camp went through. Leaning against your ship, you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. Youâve dealt with worse. You can handle this.
Until something pierces your back, and a scream of pain escapes you. Electricity courses through your body knocking you to the ground.
Everything stings. You can barely concentrate, but you hear them. Gleeful disgusting laughs swirling all around. The damn piratesâŠ
âThink of the price weâll get for x-wing parts!â One of them muses.
âOr even for the pilot, quite a cute one.â That comment unleashes a panicked feral terror.
Get up, you have to get up. Even though every part of your body stings, screaming to stay still, you have to move.
You slowly try to sit up through the aftershocks, but then a boot comes to slowly step on your chest, pressing you down to the dirt.
âNah uh little pilot, where do ya think youâre going.â A voice snickers.
You clench your jaw hard. This isnât looking good.
A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.
âWhat was that?!â One of them screams.
Then a blaster shot silenced him.
âStep away from her now.â Din.
Or someone sounding like him.
The voice is deadly, terrifying, and you wonder if it even is Din.
Then the pirate towering above you with his boot still pressing on your chest suddenly gets thrown off.
Weakly you cough sitting up. While you do, you witness Din in action and realize heâs truly here.
And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - heâs incredible.
Youâve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. Youâre witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxyâŠ
And heâs here to save you.
A small concerned whimper comes to your side and immediately you glance down. Grogu quickly waddles to your arm and flashes his wide worried eyes up to you.
âIâm okay, I promise.â He must see the wound, and you try smiling reassuringly.
He hums a small noise at you. Then he closes his eyes, laying his little claw against your elbow. Slowly a gentle warmth suddenly crawls up your shoulder.
What is he doing?
The stinging pain vanishes instantly. Reaching up to your shoulder, you find no wound.
âMweh.â Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.
âYou really are something else, little trouble maker⊠thank you.â You fondly stroke his fuzzy little head, and he beams.
Din urgently yells your name and soon rushes to kneel before you. Gloved hands reach out to steady your shoulders.
âIâm fine.â You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.
An exhale escapes Din, relieved.
âIâm sorry you both had to come all the way out here. Iâm sure there are better bounties to hunt.â You half tease.
âDonât apologize.â He immediately snaps.
Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.
âJust glad youâre safe.â So Din gently adds and steadily helps you stand.
Zeb lands moments later with a mechanic to help patch up your ship. The entire time Din stays by your side, letting you lean against him for support. His guiding hand never leaves you.
Youâre given the rest of the week off to recover.
âSo was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?â You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.
He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.
âIs that what you think?â Zeb doesnât elaborate even when you pester him.
Itâs Dyana of course who reveals the truth.
âMando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.â Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.
How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?
âI think itâs romantic.â Dyana thankfully doesnât judge you when you finally admit everything to her.
There was no time for romance during a rebellion, during a war. Even now you almost scoff at the idea. There are other things to do, other things to focus on than get lovesick over someone.
But Din dismantled all those old thoughts in you, leaving you exposed and almost greedy for someone now.
âItâs okay to want that you know⊠romance and companionship.â Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.
You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. Sheâs always been urging you to get out more, maybe try to find someone. Guess you just had to wait for a mandalorian to show up.
But you have to put all those giggles and feelings aside.
Your time resting is done, and immediately youâre thrown back into the rush of work.
A mission and orders arrive a few days later on your datapad.
Raid strike this week, get ready
Itâs not a full strike squadron, but youâre thankful Zeb is tagging along.
âThink your boyfriend might be joining us.â He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.
âI donât have a boyfriend.â You rapidly dismiss.
âHuh uh.â He rolls his eyes.
As if summoned to add to your pain, Din enters the command center. It feels like feral lizard birds were released in your stomach.
Immediately his helmet spots you. Grogu perched on his shoulder chirps upon seeing you. Trying to act relaxed, you give the boys a casual wave and bright grin.
Zeb chuckles, and you silently shush him again under your breath. You walk to meet Din halfway.
âGlad youâre doing better.â He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.
âThanks to my two heroes,â you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.
Din doesnât say anything.
âGuess weâre finally teaming up.â So you speak up first.
âSeems like it,â Din agrees.
This isnât the first time heâs seen you in your pilot gear. Hell, he just rescued you last week. But for some reason, you feel more self aware than ever.
Thankfully Ward enters, drawing the roomâs attention to her.
The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. Heâs apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. Itâs why this strike squadron was called in. Youâre curious why Din is here though.
âWithout the mandalorianâs intel, we wouldnât have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.â She sends her focus to him.
Din simply and silently nods back.
Then he moves to the holo map and gives details about the estate. Hearing how commanding and surefire his voice resounds, the way he walks confidently and without any hesitation, heâs incredible.
But thereâs no time to linger on this warrior.
Itâs time to fly.
âFinally get to see you in action,â you tell Din as he walks out with you.
âGuess you will.â He replies with a hint of something playful, and it only speeds up your racing heart.
All you can do is laugh before parting ways.
âDonât get lost in the clouds.â You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.
You canât see Dinâs eyes, but you hope theyâre amused.
Him and Grogu now trail away from where youâre stationed, and you settle into your ship.
Your x-wing roars alive, and the familiar comms flicker in your ear. Then the call signals electrify the start to battle.
âDelphi squadron, lock in.â Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.
âBlue 9, standing by.â You chime in, readying the flight path.
âStarfighter, standing by.â Then a new voice floats through your helmet.
The tone resonates rich as a stormy ocean sending a shock through your system.
Hearing Din in your helmet does something to you so wild that you feel guilty at how fast your core clenched. You recollect yourself fast.
Thatâs when you notice the ship he joined in with.
A starfighter? Thereâs no way. Those ships donât exist.
But again, youâre proven so wrong.
Among the gunfire and smoke, the sounds of battle, a new gleam of silver catches your attention. The Naboo N-1 fighter is a marvel.
A sleek whisper of a dream, one minute sheâs a simple flicker of light then the next sheâs firing directly in the trenches of the fight.
But as in awe of the ship as you are, itâs the mandalorian who leaves you breathless.
Din flies amazing. The fast maneuvering, the excellent read he makes of the battle, among his readiness to swoop in and out of tight spaces - youâve never seen anyone fly this beautifully.
It inspires you, the type of flying that makes you want to soar higher to catch up.
So you do.
You embrace the rebel pilot you always might be and dive through the canyons chasing after one of the bandits the warlord hired.
Quickly you dispatch the enemy ship then swirl and maneuver your x-wing to return to the open sky.
âTarget on your left.â Dinâs voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.
âGot it.â You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.
âGot him, great shot!â Listening to Dinâs deep fierce voice over your private channel, his voice colored in pride, you have to mute the channel to exhale.
Because a wave of arousal crawled up your spine so fast you had to bite your lip. Now you try settling yourself down again.
You pride yourself on being composed when you fly. There of course have been times when youâve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.
Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.
Itâs a fight you realize you wonât win.
The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. Thatâs the win that matters.
âGreat job,â Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.
âYou too, thanks for the support,â you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.
âCaptain,â you ask Teva on his personal comms.
âBefore we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?â
Teva takes a moment then sighs.
âMake it quick.â
Giddy you quickly chime back onto Dinâs channel.
âWanna go for a run?â A part of you worries he wonât want to join you.
âLead the way.â But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.
The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. Itâs a flight playground. Among the skies, twisting and twirling down through the natural landscape, you and Din soar around each other, with each.
Playful, yet delicately cautious, your x-wing revolves alongside his starfighter. Din keeps up with you every moment. Quietly the image of a dance among the clouds floats into your mind.
âUp for a race?â He suddenly asks.
âOh, you know it.â You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.
But in a flash, he zooms past you.
âWhat the hell?!â You shriek over the comms.
Dinâs husky laugh in your ear is a beautiful reward.
Returning back to Adelphi, you and him fly beside each other. Ward gives everyone the night off, and the cantina already seems to shine extra bright landing in.
Settling into your spot in the hanger, you notice Din lands his starfighter closer than ever.
Sliding off your helmet, for a moment you worry about how bad your hair looks, how messy and sweaty you must be.
But heading down the ladder, Din already walks towards you.
All your worries vanish. You donât even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.
âYou were incredible.â
âYou flew⊠amazing.â
Both you and Din speak at the same time, words jumbling up and getting tangled. It startles you, even his shoulders stiffen a bit.
Then you laugh.
âNo, you were the incredible one.â You tell him first.
âNot compared to you,â he shakes his head.
âGlad I finally got to see one of the Rebellionâs and New Republicâs best pilots in action.â Thereâs a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.
Any words you want to say, heâs stolen them right from you. All youâre reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.
Din doesnât say anything either. Itâs like you and him canât look away from the other standing this close.
âHey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?â Zeb suddenly breaks the spell, and your blood instantly boils.
You hiss foul curses at Zeb, and he only cackles with laughter.
Embarrassed and trying to escape this moment you shake your head heading towards the exit.
âCome on, letâs go celebrate.â You manage to smile at Din hoping to dispel any comments about what Zeb said.
The mandalorian follows you into the mess hall cantina. The lively celebratory air glimmers with joyous laughter. Itâs a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.
âMaybe in a bit,â He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.
âNo pressure, but drinks on me if you want.â You offer.
âIâll pass, but thanks.â He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.
âCome on, letâs see how good of a sabacc player you are.â After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.
âThink you might be dissapointed,â Din chuckles.
Of course heâs a damn natural.
Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.
âOh, so youâre a liar.â You joke good naturedly.
âNever said I was good or bad.â He answers and itâs rather coy, lighter than what youâve heard from him.
âNext time Mando I want you cominâ with me off planet! We could really win big.â Someone suggests and now itâs comforting seeing how much everyone has warmed up to him, how much Din has settled in here too.
Until you realize the baby is missing and immediately turn to Din. Maybe itâs the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.
âWait, whereâs Grogu?â You ask concerned and low.
Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.
âDonât worry, heâs asleep in the barracks.â Dinâs answer comes low, reassuring.
Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. Itâs a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.
You exhale relieved and donât have time to realize what he just did until someone drags Din away to play darts.
He squeezed your hand, and you now fight against a dumb smile just thinking about it.
Even after another round of getting your ass kicked at cards, you donât care. You glance over to Din.
A cluster of pilots surround him. Youâre not surprised. Heâs a marvel, someone truly remarkable. But one of the prettier pilots slides up next to Din, batting her eyelashes so dreamily up at him.
Something fierce, venomous and coated in jealousy, strikes.
Reaching to Wolf, you nudge his shoulder a few times, and he knowingly looks at you. Not saying anything, he discreetly slips you a smoke stick.
You head out of the cantina into the soft warm night and light up. The smoke in your lungs settles you down for a moment and cuts through the alcohol.
Dumb Mandalorian man making you feel this wayâŠ
Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.
âDidnât know you smoked.â Din.
His voice melts into the night like he stepped out of the shadows themselves. As he wanders towards you, you shift to lean against the rail of the patio.
âNot often,â you truthfully answer. Itâs been a long time since you lit up.
A bad habit you picked up during your rebellion days, being as young as you were around seasoned veteran pilots. It became a way to calm yourself down and stop your hands from shaking from the nerves.
You even tell him that.
âWhat made you join?â He asks, tentative and quiet.
A loaded question but one you feel comfortable enough to answer, especially with him.
The empire took so much from you. Youâre grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You werenât lying when you joked about stealing ships. Learning to steal is how you survived for a while as a kid.
Then you accidentally stole from a man named Luthen Rael, and your life changed. Whatever he saw in your eyes that day when he caught you⊠it kept you alive.
Heâs the one who helped get your wings, got you in touch with rebellion once you could fly. Once you joined, you never saw him again.
âNever looked back since.â You tell this all to Din.
You donât regret your choices. Theyâre what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.
âYou did what you had to⊠you should be proud of the life youâve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.â Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.
You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.
âAnd you? What brought you to the New Republic?â Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.
This time heâs sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. Heâs pressed up right beside you.
âBenn a long way to get here as well.â Heâs vague, but explains how he was, and still is a bounty hunter by trade. How that path led him to the kid. How Grogu is by Mandalorian creed his son and apprentice now.
âI couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. Itâs not the life I wanted anymore.â
Itâs admirable seeing how valiant Dinâs spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.
âThere are wars youâve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you donât think you should be.â Maybe itâs the fading alcohol and slow numbness of the smoke stick, but you want more than ever to just hold him.
You go to take another drag to stop yourself from doing anything reckless, but find your smoke stick is burnt to its final end.
âI donât.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.â Dinâs voice is thick, tangled in thorny emotions.
Yet underneath it all, he sounds softer and raw, like a man trying to find comfort in your words.
So you turn and see his striking dark T visor gaze on you.
A moment passes where itâs just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.
âNo matter what path you took, I'm glad youâre here.â You earnestly tell him.
In such a short amount of time this mandalorian has reawakened something in you and takes up such a large part of your heart.
âMe too.â Din mutters, nodding.
Another x-wing lands outside stealing your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.
âAlways been curious to how they fly.â Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.
âYou wanna see?â
He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.
âCome on,â so you challenge him back with a toothy grin.
Immediately Din follows behind you, footsteps quick yet terrifying agile.
The hanger sits in eerie stillness this time of night.
âShould we even be here?â Din asks low, a bit cautious.
âDidnât take you as a âby the booksâ guy, Mando.â You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.
âOnly when it comes to my employer.â He replies unamused.
âTrust me, weâll be fine.â You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.
He doesnât know it, but this place, especially for pilots, is an infamous makeout spot. You try not to think about that too much.
There you arrive at your x-wing.
âHop in,â you nudge him towards the ladder.
âWhat?â Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.
âGet in,â you urge.
Sighing defeated he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and you follow. You look away trying not to stare at his cute ass.
âCan we even fit in this?â
âX-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,â you proudly declare.
The hatch opens, and Din jumps in. The dashboard and control panel light up as he takes a seat in your chair.
Your throat goes dry seeing him sit in the same pilot seat you fly in.
âThrottle, control stick,â he points out immediately.
As much room as you have, it is cramped standing up. So you curl to the side, closer to him, but keep your eyes on the control monitor.
âItâs got a good radar system.â Din comments admiring the monitor too.
You rattle on about how these are the upgraded models everyone got after the war. The original ones you used during the rebellion are classic, but the upgrades were warmly welcomed.
âSorry, this all must sound boring.â You weakly laugh.
âItâs not. Tell me more.â He reassures.
Youâre about to until you hear commotion around the hanger.
So, quickly you scramble up and around to slide into the seat -
Right between the V of Dinâs legs.
You crouch low and drag him down too.
âWhâŠwhat are you-â
âShhâŠâ you shush him. âHave to lie low just in case.â
âSo we should leave.â Din urges urgent.
âWeâre fine.â You reassure him now.
The commotion you thought you heard passes by, and silence returns.
You exhale a bit relieved, moving to sit up. Then you grin at him from over your shoulder.
âSee⊠told you weâd be fine.â
He stays quiet.
It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you arenât fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. Youâre literally between his legs.
You want to apologize, especially now that the courage fades away fast.
But all you can think about is how stunning Din is, how gorgeous he looks here in your ship.
âOne day you should fly it.â You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.
âDonât think Ward would let me.â He stiffly replies.
âI would.â You immediately counter.
âPlus you look good in here...â Then you realize what you just admitted.
So you try to recover fast.
âKnowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you wouldâve fit in just fine. Probably wouldâve even been half as good as me.â You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesnât linger on anything you said before.
You now glance away to check out the window. The hanger is thankfully still empty.
Then Din suddenly softly breathes your name.
Youâve never heard it sound so holy and raw that it rips you wide open. You completely shift around to glance at him in the lowly light cockpit.
âHow inebriated are you?â He asks husky, thick.
âI could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.â You tell him completely wide awake now. Every part of you feels like a live wire completely focused on this man.
His low weak chuckle makes your stomach flip in the best way.
Din exhales, breathy and deep.
You donât want to over step, donât want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.
Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, youâre galvanized.
Immediately you rise and twist around to fully stare down at him. Looking at Din for a moment, here in the cockpit of your ship, you want to burn this image into your memory. Want to consecrate this in a way you never may do with anyone else again.
You rest your legs on either side of his, caging him in then you settle down onto his lap.
The soft low noise Din makes is music to your ears.
He says your name, but it sounds more like a warning.
âI want this⊠I want you.â You tell him, finally admitting the words out loud.
Then, you grind down on his lap, straddling him, and immediately pleasure floods into your system.
Din groans, and it spurs you on instantly.
Frustrated that youâre still in your damn flight suit, you unzip the top, slide off the jacket, and exhale feeling the coolness reach your skin. Sliding your hands up to his shoulders you whisper his name.
Then you grind against the bulge in Dinâs pants pressing into you, and your mind goes foggy.
But not foggy enough that you notice Din remains still.
Everything collides into you with a halting stop. What if he doesnât want this?
âIâm⊠Iâm so sorry.â You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.
âNo I-â Din starts, but then stops himself.
You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.
âDo you⊠not want to do this?â You ask cautiously. âBecause itâs okay if you donât.â
Itâs okay if you donât want me, is what you actually want to say. But youâre not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships youâve shot down.
âNo.â Din noisily exhales frustrated.
His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.
âI want this, want you. Just afraid I wonât be able to stop.â He admits weak.
âYou donât have to stop⊠I donât want you to.â You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.
Here in your ship, you think maybe heâs become your prey, trapped in your spiderweb. But then his helmet ever so slightly tilts up to you. Under the watch of his unflinching visor, you now feel like a prey caught within a hunterâs gaze.
His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.
âDin,â You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.
âI think about you⊠too much.â Din reveals like itâs a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.
âI think about you all the time.â The truth leaves you effortlessly now.
âWonder about what color your eyes are,â You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.
âIf you and the baby are safe, eating well,â you add, and he chuckles breathily.
âI think about how brave you are and how⊠lucky I am to know you,â you continue feeling molten and sentimental now.
Din says your name again, this time tender, and it almost causes you to falter.
So you lean closer to his helmet.
âI think about how handsome you are⊠imagine your cock inside me.â You mutter and hearing the words aloud feels too much.
But then his strong hands dig into your thighs and slide you on his lap fully, dragging you across his clothed cock.
How strong he pulled you, the fast friction draws a whine from you.
âYeah?â He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.
âYeah.â You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.
This time itâs not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you donât care.
Not when you and Din rut against each other and his hands chart a path all over you. One hand slides up to your neck, anchoring you close to him. The other moves to your back, sliding up to bunch your tank top in his grasp.
Itâs too hot now, and youâre wearing too many clothes.
So you weakly draw away from his hold to reach up and yank your top off.
Then you wiggle the last bit of the jump suit off, trying to let your hips and legs be free. But itâs hard.
Din even chuckles at your struggle, and you shoot him a look, annoyed. Patiently, he helps slide the material down until it pools down your legs.
Now youâre simply in your underwear, completely bare before him.
The sensation of his gloved hands running up your stomach, across your back, reverently taking in every inch of your bare soft skin, it melts you.
âBeautiful,â Din breathes in awe.
Then one of his gloved hands crawls up to knead your breast in his grasp, pinching your nipple. Your head falls back, and your hips return to seek relief. Grinding against him without the jumpsuit, the friction is so much stronger, a delicious undercurrent making you want more.
âDin,â You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.
âWant you inside of me,â you whimper quickly getting drunk on him.
He cusses again sharp, dragging you harder against his clothed cock.
A loss comes when his hands leave your body, but wearily your eyes open once you feel him move to his pant buckle. Eagerly you join in to help.
His cock in your hand is warm. Heâs thick, delicious in size. Heâs already leaking, and possessed by something raw you lean down to lightly spit on his cock. Din groans so loud you think it rattles your bones.
Stroking his cock slow, you love feeling his mess mix with your spit.
He quickly hisses your name.
âInside now,â he urges, a desperate man. Clutching at your hips hard, he practically draws you up.
Who are you to deny your mandalorian?
He helps slide off your stick underwear, now fully bare.
Before you sink down on him, you lean closer to his helmet.
You donât have to say anything. You simply look at him, a final reassurance to see if he wants this the way you want him.
A gloved hand curls up to your face, cradling your sweaty face, stroking your cheek. His touch is fond, and it rocks you more than anything.
He nods firm, so sure.
So you sink down on him, guiding him into you. Both you and him moan and the world implodes in the most beautiful way.
When you were younger and around the veteran pilots, they used to share tales of how theyâd christen their ships. Back then, you couldnât imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.
Now you donât want Din to leave it.
A fervid raw desperation has you clinging to him, Din touches you so protectively, keeping you close. His hands clutch you firm, like heâs worried you could fly away from him at any moment.
Needing to be closer, you curl against his neck. You ache to kiss his skin. But the smell of gunpowder, of something beautifully musky, purely Din, floods your mind and makes your mouth water.
His pace grows sloppy, and you feel it coming too.
âWhere?â He slurs urgently.
âInside, got the implant,â you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.
âInside Din please please please.â You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.
âNot until you come first, wanna feel you.â Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.
Your climax knocks you into another realm. Youâre floating. Din follows you over not long after with the deepest groan.
His warmth fills you, even feel it leaking out, causing you to whimper so content.
Exhausted you flop against his chest loving the cool press of his armor against your bare skin. Then a part of you hisses to pull away. Until Dinâs helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.
âSo⊠you ever done that before in here?â Din asks, partially joking but still curious.
You shake your head no.
âYouâre the only one.â You reveal.
His hand tracing across your skin suddenly stops. Then it fully draws across you to draw you closer to him in a soft like embrace.
An aching adoration for this man cements itself into you. Itâs now etched into your heart and now your ship. Maybe the two are the same.
After this night, you find him everywhere now.
Anytime he or you return back from a mission, one seeks the other out.
Din and Grogu now even rest in your quarters.
The lodging here is small, but itâs become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile youâve made for him on the extra cot. And Din sleeps beside you in your bed.
You believed it was something sacred to know a mandalorian, but you realize itâs a true honor to find one seeking rest beside you.
Bathed in the moonlight leaking into your room, you and Din stare at each other lying side by side.
You wish he could relax more, maybe take off his armor.
But remaining helmeted, you understand his creed and donât want to push. Itâs just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.
âWhatâs wrong?â He notices your silence.
âI wish I could make this more comfortable for you.â Is the best way you can tell him.
He chuckles.
âDonât worry, Iâm fine.â
To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.
âNicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.â
You almost laugh. Heâs so endearing sometimes and doesnât even realize it.
But youâre reminded he does have a home.
âWhatâs your place like on Nevarro?â You ask about it.
âItâs good, simple.â Such a boring classic Din answer.
âMaybe⊠one day you can see it.â That addition he makes has your heart racing.
âYeah, Iâd like thatâ you nod, grateful for the offer.
Slowly your eyes close on their own now.
âBrown,â until suddenly he blurts out a random color.
Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.
âMy eyes⊠theyâre brown.â He reveals.
A soft grateful smile warms your face as you thank him.
You fall asleep beside him, wondering about his home, what it would be like to wake up and see his beautiful brown eyes.
But those daydreams get shoved away fast.
Missions begin piling up. The empire trash is getting sneakier, working faster in the shadows. It keeps everyone busy. You barely see Din. When you do the exchanges are brief, simple glances or even short catch ups.
Ward eyes you and Din suspicious but of course aware.
Approaching Din you try avoiding the colonelâs gaze as she leaves.
Thatâs when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.
âYou wanted⊠this hunk of junk?â You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.
âShe flies better than she looks.â Din defends.
Grogu excitedly waddles up the ramp eager to be inside the old ship.
You still eye the gunship worried about how good she can protect the cargo sheâll soon be carrying.
âMight not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.â Din senses your apprehension.
You give him a soft elbow nudge that barely makes his budge. But he playfully nudges you back, and a grin tugs at your lips.
âUgh,â Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.
âYou know, I notice with all the markings⊠this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.â You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.
He barks a laugh.
âWouldnât that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?â Zeb muses.
âI donât knowâŠI think the crest would fight right in.â You shrug, fond.
âYeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?â Zeb adds and Din flat out shuts that down with a hard no.
It makes you and Zeb snicker.
Now you head in to examine the ship yourself and look around. The older metal, the antique design and layout, it really doesnât ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.
âYour beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.â Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.
âShut up.â You practically hiss at him.
But he leaves you and Din alone.
Itâs hard to navigate this strange space lingering between you and him, as if neither you or him know how to move.
So you decide to be brave. You grab his hand and squeeze it.
âBe safe,â you nod to the mandalorian.
He quietly nods back, gathering your hand in his. He squeezes back just as firm.
You head out of the razor crest and into the bright afternoon sun. From the cockpit window you spot your boys. Din nods a farewell, and Grogu spotting you waves down from the control panel. In his grasp is your silly little monster charm.
Not moving from your spot, you keep your eyes on the ship until it fades into the jump of hyperspeed.
You donât hear from Din for half a month.
Itâs nothing new. Youâre had months where missions kept you both busy. And from how displeased she was with the last mission, Ward apparently has him working on something fierce.
Then another week passes, and youâre sent on a protective mission to Chandrilla.
It takes your full attention. But the entire time your mind is on Din. Are he and Grogu safe? Is everything going okay?
âYou must be in love.â The Senator youâre escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.
âIâm sorry?â You ask slightly confused.
He smiles at you kindly.
âYouâve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.â
Shit.
âI apologize. I promised Iâm focused.â You reassure him, and the senator laughs.
âItâs fine, my dear,â he reassures, then leans in eagerly. âSo tell me about the lucky person.â
Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.
âOh, a mandalorian.â He whispers in awe. âTheyâre a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.â
He is. But heâs more than that.
Heâs kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. Thereâs a compassion that walks hand in hand with Dinâs firm courage.
âOh you got it bad,â the Senator laughs.
Itâs unfortunately true.
How fast and quickly this mandalorian has disarmed you, but what else would you have expected from a warrior like him? Maybe you were doomed from the start to fight against feelings for such a fierce conqueror.
The thoughts of him keep you going through the mission.
Arriving at base camp, you instead find thereâs already commotion.
Din has returned, but heâs not alone.
Jabbaâs son, Rotta the Hutt, is with him.
At least Din and the baby are safe.
Standing off overlooking the beach, Din patiently watches Grogu play among the beach waves with the young Hutt.
âSo, looks like youâve been busy.â You say moving to his side.
âTell me about it.â He sighs.
The rundown he gives you is surface level, getting tied up among the Hutt twins while trying to search for the infamous Commander Coin.
âThings might get hairy soon. Iâm heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.â
His somber tone says more looms.
âDinâŠâ you mutter cautiously.
He turns to you.
âIf youâre in any dangerâŠknow that I want to help.â You urge, hoping heâll tell you more.
âI know.â He nods, yet says nothing more.
Please, your heart begs, please let me stay by your side and fight with you.
But you know fighting against this adamant man is a losing battle. So you sigh and reach down to your belt.
The charm you have on today is your favorite, and you hand it to him.
âRemember to bring it back to me.â You canât even look at him because your eyes suddenly feel like they could spill over a river of tears.
His gloved hand cradles your face, letting you fully look at him.
âWeâll be fine.â His voice soothes you steeled with resolution.
You nod, fighting harder against tears.
Then Din leans down. He presses his helmet against your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into the cool beskar.
With a goodbye hug to Grogu, you tell the sweet little soul to keep an eye on his dad.
This time, you donât have the strength to watch them leave.
You throw yourself into any available mission.
Ward must sense why youâre doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.
âMando will be fine,â Teva tries to reassure you.
You hope he will be. Days pass and you try to settle into a routine.
But then a group of Anzellans arrive in a panic. Youâd been working on your ship when they landed.
Currently they rapidly relay a message to Ward. She patiently tries to listen to all of their worried voices.
âWhatâs going on?â You ask Wolf.
âApparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta⊠donât think itâs looking good.â He mutters back somber.
Absolute dread is unleashed in you.
You donât realize youâre moving until youâre standing right before the colonel.
âLet me join the rescue strike.â You urge.
Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.
âAre we really considering not going?!â Your voice raises, shocked and upset.
âItâs not that simple.â Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.
âWhat isnât simple?! Heâs one of us. We have to rescue them.â You argue back harder.
âThere are protocols. And with the intel and alliance weâve tried establishing with the Hutts we canât just strike in, ranger.â Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.
Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.
You donât care if this will get you in trouble, hell even dishonorably discharged. Din needs you. Grogu needs you.
Then you hear a few others arrive in the hangar.
Ward calls out your name. This is it.
Turning towards her, you ready yourself to accept whatever punishment. Yet, you instead see your commander in her flight suit as well. Your eyes canât help but widen.
She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.
âI should sit you out on this mission.â
âI know. Iâve accepted that Iâll be doing reports for the rest of the year.â You sleepily shrug.
Her smirks grows bigger.
âTry two years,â she says heading to her ship.
Youâll happily accept that too.
The twinâs palace is heavily guarded, and itâs a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.
Then Dinâs voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. Heâs alive.
Now you fly harder and faster than you ever have. It reminds you of Endor. That final battle all you thought of was the hope right before your eyes, knowing something precious was so close and needed to be defended.
Thatâs what this feels like.
You manage to knock out a few droid ships, but the main focus is on the palace.
Yet Din remains inside.
And Ward gives the command to light the place up.
âGet out of there. Please.â You whisper out loud or maybe to the force itself.
Then, the stronghold goes under flames.
You and the others circle around, flying out of the line of fire from the explosion. Yet your stomach stays in knots.
âAnyone got eyes on Mando?â Wolf asks before you can.
Out from the smoke, there among the water below, you spot them. Your boys are alive.
A watery relieved laugh escapes you as you blink away the tears.
âGo pick up the trash, Zeb.â Ward jokes, and you canât even be mad.
Knowing theyâre safe is all that matters.
Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zebâs ship hoping to see them.
But Ward of course arrives first.
You instead idle by your x-wing, pretending to be checking your engines. Ward tells him the truth about the Hutts that even you didnât know. So thatâs why she finally agreed to go.
âAnd⊠we donât leave our own behind.â Her words resound within you.
Din deflects, saying how heâs not with the New Republic.
âSure you arenât Mando, sure you arenât.â She says.
âIf you aren't one of us⊠Who do you think helped convince us to come?â
Wardâs insinuating tone shoots a shock up your spine.
You keep your gaze on your ship, refusing to even look their way. Focusing on mindlessly keeping busy, you donât notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.
Heâs here.
Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.
âIâm so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.â You even press a kiss to his fuzzy head, addressing him as the courageous officer he is.
The baby coos back fond, embracing you with his sweet but sturdy little arms.
While heâs still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.
He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.
âWelcome back,â you croak out.
Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.
âHad to bring this back.â
With a watery laugh, you shake your head.
âYour dad is so silly,â you half whisper to Grogu who giggles, agreeing.
A sigh leaves Din but, in a few steps, he walks towards you.
Then you and Grogu are gathered into his embrace. You immediately wrap one of your arms around Din.
âThank you⊠for coming for us.â Dinâs voice is gentle, grateful.
âAlways.â You answer back with a resounding truth.
Your job is tied here, and you might fly for the sake of the New Republic. But you believe your true wings, your heartâs flight navigation, now will always include a path for and to Din Djarin.
Currently he chats with Rotta, from what you heard might be staying here too.
Once you head into the mess hall Ward calls your name. With a patient knowing grin, she holds out the datapad with the promise of the paperwork you knew would be waiting for you.
Logging in with your chain link, a new message suddenly chimes onto the monitor from an unknown contact.
It contains a coordinates location to Nevarro along with a single message attached.
Stop by whenever, weâll be waiting
Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.
After all, there's a flight to Nevarro calling your name.
theartofmadeline
gamechangershow
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