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.
-
You stood beside Obi-Wan making small conversation as you walked into the palace. You weren’t 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.
“ Do they.. Do they know one another? ”
“ They know one another well. ”
Your heart sank deep down into your stomach, a knot formed in your throat. Why wouldn’t 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.
They walked together, side by side, leaving you and Anakin in their dust. Anakin could see your brow furrowed in thought, he wasn’t clueless, he knew of your relationship with Obi-Wan, he could see the way his past was eating at you.
“ Oh.. I forgot my comlink, can you come with me to grab it? ”
You only nodded, turning back to follow after Anakin. He knew you were barely focused, still caught up on what you had just seen.
“ You know Obi-Wan cares for you. ”
“ Yes, I know. ”
“ His past won’t change that. ”
Silence.
You didn’t respond, you simply kept on forward, walking aboard the ship. Your heels clicked against the metal floors as you walked towards Anakin’s 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.
“ Here it is. ”
“ Thank you. ”
-
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 didn’t 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.
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.
“ I apologize, I’ve been rude, this is my padawan Anakin, and my friend Y/n. ”
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.
-
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.
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.
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.
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.
You crept down the hall, slowly turning the knob to Obi-Wan’s door before pushing it open. You peeked just your head in calling out his name. That’s when two pairs of eyes met yours, Obi-Wan’s and Satine’s. They stood together in the center of the room, you didn’t want to know what they were doing, so quickly you yanked the door shut, hurrying back to your room.
-
Now here you lie in your bed, clutching a pillow to your chest, you didn’t know what might’ve been if you had come in a moment later, you didn’t want to know.
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.
“ Let me in, please. ”
His voice came out as a soft plea against the wood, begging you to let him in.
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.
“ Love, talk to me, what is wrong? ”
“ You love her. ”
“ What? ”
“ Anakin told me. ”
At that moment Anakin was the biggest thorn in Obi-Wan’s side. He wanted to throttle Anakin for simply telling you the truth.
“ What did he say? ”
“ It’s not about him! It’s about you and.. And her, and how you acted like she was the breath that filled your lungs. ”
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.
“ I didn’t mean for it to be like that. ”
“ Do.. Do you love her? ”
“ No.. of course not, it’s not like that. ”
“ Did you ever love her? ”
“ There was a time, long before you, when I was only a padawan. ”
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.
“ I am yours, and yours alone to keep, please know that. ”
You once again only managed a weak nod, your face pressed against his neck.
“ I have never loved her the way I loved you, please believe me. ”
You wanted to believe him, you yearned for it, but a part of you deep down couldn’t let it be.
“ Why was she in your room? ”
“ She needed to talk about republic senate decisions. ”
“ Why don’t you ever talk to me about those things? ”
“ Senate decisions? ”
You only nodded against his neck.
“ We can talk about that if you’d like. ”
You didn’t really want to talk about the republic, but you would talk about the grass if it meant speaking to Obi-Wan.
“ Would you like to rest now? ”
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: you’ve 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 (i’m sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS ⚠️ 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 ‘let’s daydream about being in the new movie’ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs it’s 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 it’s 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 you’re seeing things.
The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. It’s 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 can’t help but stare at the mysterious warrior.
“Is he… imperial?” Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.
“Nope, he’s working with us now.” Teva answers simply.
You didn’t believe it. But apparently it’s true.
“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s 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.
“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” 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.
“I’ll 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 I’m away.
It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.
“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.
“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”
“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.
“Good, that’s what I thought.”
When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.
“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t 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 he’s not alone.
A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?
“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.
“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.
“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?
“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.
He doesn’t say anything.
“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?
“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.
“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.
It’s 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.
“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.
A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.
Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.
“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.
“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.
The colonel sighs.
“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”
You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.
“Do the whole debrief drunk.” 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 isn’t showing up.
Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.
It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.
You don’t even know if you should say anything
“Mweh?” 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.
“You like it? It’s cute right?”
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.
“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.
You’re 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.
“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.
You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.
“What’s the next order?” 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 doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.
“Come on, kid.” 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.
“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.
Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.
You can’t wait till this is over.
It’s 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.
“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t 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. It’s 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.
“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s 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.
“What’s your name?” 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.
“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.
“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.
Then you turn to Grogu’s 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.
“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.
“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”
“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”
A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.
“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.
“Din…” you repeat it.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.
Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.
When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.
“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.
“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.
“What do you say, kid?”
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 it’s 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 he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.
“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.
“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve 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.
“A fair statement.” Din agrees.
And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.
Watching the pair leave, you find you’re 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.
“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.
“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.
“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.
That’s when you realized he just joked with you.
“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.
“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.
“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.
You stay stubbornly quiet.
“Don’t worry… They’ve a pain in my ass too.” 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.
“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.
“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.
“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.
The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.
“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.
“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.
“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.
You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve 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.
“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” 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.
“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.
Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.
“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” 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.
“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.
His helmet tilts towards you.
“Sometimes,” you shrug.
“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.
“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”
You want to strangle her.
“You fought at Endor?” 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.
“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.
A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.
“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.
“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.
“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.
“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”
You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s 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.
“Kid.” Din chides.
“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.
Din sighs, truly parental.
“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.
“I do.” Din answers, confident.
“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.
“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.
Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.
“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.
“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.
“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.
“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” 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.
“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.
A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.
“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.
You turn and find he’s already looking at you.
Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re 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 you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.
Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.
“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.
“No, I stole it.” You quip back.
“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.
“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.
“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.
You playfully elbow him.
Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.
“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.
“Mweh!” He squeals.
“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.
“No.” Din answers back firmly.
“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.
“No.” Din repeats again firmer.
A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.
“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.
Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.
You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re 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 don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.
“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.
“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.
“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.
“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.
“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.
“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” 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 don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.
It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.
Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.
“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.
“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” 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 sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.
“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.
“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.
“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.
“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” 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.
“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.
“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.
“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.
As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re 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. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.
“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.
Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.
“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.
“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.
Then you hold up the new charm.
“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.
“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.
“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.
“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.
“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.
Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.
“What do you say, kid?” Din says.
Grogu however doesn’t 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. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.
“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.
The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s 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.
“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.
“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.
This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.
But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.
The wound isn’t looking good.
You’re 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 you’re 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. You’ve 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 pirates…
“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.
“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” 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.
“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.
You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.
A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.
“What was that?!” One of them screams.
Then a blaster shot silenced him.
“Step away from her now.” 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 he’s truly here.
And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.
You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…
And he’s 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.
“I’m okay, I promise.” 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.
“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.
“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” 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.
“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.
An exhale escapes Din, relieved.
“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.
“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.
Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.
“Just glad you’re safe.” 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.
You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.
“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.
He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.
“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.
It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.
“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.
How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?
“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t 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.
“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.
You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s 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 you’re 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
It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.
“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.
“Huh uh.” 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.
“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.
“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.
Din doesn’t say anything.
“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.
“Seems like it,” Din agrees.
This isn’t the first time he’s 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 room’s attention to her.
The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.
“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” 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, he’s incredible.
But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.
It’s time to fly.
“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.
“Guess you will.” 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.
“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.
You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.
Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re 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.
“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.
“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.
“Starfighter, standing by.” 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.
That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.
A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.
But again, you’re 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 she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.
But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s 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 - you’ve 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.
“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.
“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.
“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s 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 you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.
Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.
It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.
The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.
“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.
“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.
“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.
“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”
Teva takes a moment then sighs.
“Make it quick.”
Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.
“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.
“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.
The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s 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.
“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.
“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.
But in a flash, he zooms past you.
“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.
Din’s 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 don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.
“You were incredible.”
“You flew… amazing.”
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.
“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.
“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.
“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.
Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.
Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.
“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” 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.
“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” 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. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.
“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.
“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.
“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.
“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.
“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.
Of course he’s a damn natural.
Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.
“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.
“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.
“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s 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 it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.
“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.
Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.
“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.
Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.
You exhale relieved and don’t 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 don’t care. You glance over to Din.
A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s 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 way…
Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.
“Didn’t know you smoked.” 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.
“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s 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.
“What made you join?” 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. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t 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.
He’s 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.
“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.
You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.
“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.
You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.
“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.
This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.
“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s 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.
“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”
It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.
“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s 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.
“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s 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 it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.
“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” 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.
“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.
Another x-wing lands outside stealing your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.
“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.
“You wanna see?”
He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.
“Come on,” 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.
“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.
“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.
“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.
“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.
He doesn’t 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.
“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.
“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.
“Get in,” 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.
“Can we even fit in this?”
“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” 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.
“Throttle, control stick,” 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.
“It’s got a good radar system.” 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.
“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.
“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.
You’re 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 Din’s legs.
You crouch low and drag him down too.
“Wh…what are you-”
“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”
“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.
“We’re fine.” 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.
“See… told you we’d be fine.”
He stays quiet.
It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re 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.
“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.
“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.
“I would.” You immediately counter.
“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.
So you try to recover fast.
“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t 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.
You’ve 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.
“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.
“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” 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 don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.
Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re 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.
“I want this… I want you.” 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 you’re 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 Din’s 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 doesn’t want this?
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.
“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.
You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.
“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”
It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.
“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.
His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.
“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.
“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.
Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s 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 hunter’s gaze.
His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.
“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.
“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.
“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.
“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.
“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.
“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” 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.
“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” 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.
“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.
“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.
This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t 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.
It’s too hot now, and you’re 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 it’s 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 you’re 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.
“Beautiful,” 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.
“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.
“Want you inside of me,” 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. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s 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.
“Inside now,” 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 don’t 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 they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.
Now you don’t 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 he’s 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.
“Where?” He slurs urgently.
“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.
“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.
“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.
Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re 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 Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.
“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.
You shake your head no.
“You’re the only one.” 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. It’s 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 it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve 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 it’s 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 don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.
“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.
“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.
He chuckles.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.
“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”
You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.
But you’re reminded he does have a home.
“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.
“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.
“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.
“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.
Slowly your eyes close on their own now.
“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.
Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.
“My eyes… they’re brown.” 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 colonel’s gaze as she leaves.
That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.
“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.
“She flies better than she looks.” 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 she’ll soon be carrying.
“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” 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.
“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.
“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.
He barks a laugh.
“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.
“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.
“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” 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 doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.
“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.
“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.
But he leaves you and Din alone.
It’s 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.
“Be safe,” 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 don’t hear from Din for half a month.
It’s nothing new. You’re 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 you’re 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?
“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.
“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.
He smiles at you kindly.
“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”
Shit.
“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.
“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”
Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.
“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”
He is. But he’s more than that.
He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.
“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.
It’s 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 there’s already commotion.
Din has returned, but he’s not alone.
Jabba’s 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.
“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.
“Tell me about it.” 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.
“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”
His somber tone says more looms.
“Din…” you mutter cautiously.
He turns to you.
“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.
“I know.” 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.
“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t 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.
“We’ll be fine.” 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 don’t have the strength to watch them leave.
You throw yourself into any available mission.
Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.
“Mando will be fine,” 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. You’d 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.
“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.
“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.
Absolute dread is unleashed in you.
You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.
“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.
Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.
“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.
“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.
“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.
“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.
Anger burns through your veins.
“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.
“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.
More Delphi officers stand up.
Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.
You don’t 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 can’t help but widen.
She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.
“I should sit you out on this mission.”
“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.
Her smirks grows bigger.
“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.
You’ll happily accept that too.
The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.
Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s 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.
That’s 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.
“Get out of there. Please.” 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.
“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” 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.
“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.
Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.
Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s 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 didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.
“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.
Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.
“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.
“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”
Ward’s 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 don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.
He’s here.
Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.
“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” 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 he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.
He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.
“Welcome back,” you croak out.
Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.
“Had to bring this back.”
With a watery laugh, you shake your head.
“Your dad is so silly,” 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.
“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.
“Always.” 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 heart’s 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, we’ll 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! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰
****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
“What’s he doing here?”
You throw a thumb in Mando’s direction, your tone matching your exasperated expression. Without giving Mando a chance to reply, Colonel Ward smiles wryly.
“I have a mission for you,” she says.
You cross your arms over your chest and your nostrils flare. “Still doesn’t explain why he’s here.”
“For both of you,” 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. “Hear me out.”
Another sigh from Mando, and you throw him the stink eye.
“It’s a rescue mission…”
After she briefs you on the mission you know it’s not something you’ll be able to turn down so you square your shoulders and turn toward Mando.
“I’m in if you are,” you tell him.
“Mando?” Colonel ward asks.
“Fine. It will be done.”
Colonel Ward gives a triumphant smile. “And listen you two,” she adds. “try to make friends.”
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.
“Hey buddy,” you chuckle. “What have you been snacking on?”
He pulls out a handful of the snacks you saw on Colonel Ward’s desk, stuffing some into his mouth before holding out his hand in offering to you.
“Does she know you took those?” you whisper. He just blinks at you, shoving your portion into his mouth. You laugh and rub him between the ears.
“Come on Grogu,” Djarin says as he steps beside you. “Time to get ready.”
Grogu secures himself at your shoulder and you head out to Djarin’s new ship.
“Are you actually going to listen to me this time?” 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.
“Hmm,” you finally answer, drawing his eyes to yours. “Not going to lie, this…” you continue and sweep your hand over his form, now fully weaponized, “is very sexy. So…maybe.”
With that you walk off to the cockpit, leaving him staring after you.
“You know, one day you’re going to have to teach me how to fly this thing,” you say as you start to put on your seatbelt.
“I’m teaching Grogu,” he says and as if summoning him, Grogu hops onto Djarin’s lap.
“No buddy, not now. We have a mission.”
Grogu makes a soft whine, his eyes wide as he looks to you. “Aw come on! What’s the difference?” you say.
Djarin looks down at Grogu. “She wants to learn too,” he says.
Grogu nods, ears perking up as he crawls off Djarin’s lap and into his own seat. His big eyes look at you then at Djarin.
“Oh!” you squeak, eying Djarin’s lap, thick thighs spread wide and inviting. “You think….well, I don’t…I’m not ready.”
Djarin chuckles and you quietly curse him. “You’re just afraid of sitting with me.”
You turn his way, eyes narrowed and glaring. “I’m not afraid of anything. Especially you. But if you want us to get to our destination alive then you better fly this time.”
“Whatever you say sweetheart,” he murmurs.
“Don’t call me that!” 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.
“It’s always extra beautiful from up here,” 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 it’s 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.
“I think this is it,” he whispers, stopping by a doorway that’s 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. “I have cookies,” you explain with a wink. “Don’t worry you’re still his favorite.”
You take a step ahead, passing through the doorway and missing when Djarin says, “yeah, for now.”
The bar you enter is at the far back, quieter than the streets but still filled with life forms. Djarin scans the crowd.
“Follow me,” he says and starts to walk forward without waiting for your agreement.
“Always so bossy,” you mutter.
He approaches a Twi’lek sitting alone at a far table. “Let me do the talking,” 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.
“We’re looking for Rylee Lawson,” Djarin states, his voice more gruff than usual.
“I don’t care who you’re looking for,” the Twi’lek answers before taking a sip of his drink.
“You’ll be greatly rewarded if you can give me the location of where he’s being held.”
The Twi’lek looks at Djarin again, his eyes full of malice. “Get out of my bar.”
You step around Djarin, gun poised and ready to shoot. “You can either tell us or I’ll shoot you.”
Djarin’s 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 Djarin’s as you stay close and expertly shoot anything that moves. He’s 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.
“You just don’t listen!” he chides when he joins your side again.
“And you were taking too long.”
Grogu makes a sound that you’re sure is one of agreement and you smile back at him.
It’s 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.
“It’s ok,” you immediately say. “We’re here to help.”
He looks skeptical but when Mando comes into view his eyes widen.
“You’re the Mandalorian,” he says in awe.
“Yeah, yeah, kid,” you huff. “Don’t stare too long. It’ll go to his head.”
Rylee nods and swallows hard, dropping his eyes to the lock. “How are you gonna…?”
His question never finishes because you blast through the lock, setting off the alarms.
“She’s loves to make things messy,” Djarin says as he ushers Rylee out of the cell. “Come on.”
The three of you race down the hallway, Grogu secured at your back. “Stay behind me kid,” Djarin yells when you round the corner and face several more armed Abyssin’s.
You shoot all four in rapid succession, each shot perfectly aimed until they drop to the floor. Rylee turns his wide eyes to you. “Wow,” he breathes.
You grin. “Mando’s not the only one who can get things done.”
Your escape back to the ship starts out quiet but you quickly gain a following as people realize you’ve ‘kidnapped’ a prized prisoner of the Hutts. With several bounty hunters on your tail it’s making it difficult to escape.
“This wouldn’t have happened if you had some patience,” Djarin grits out as he turns to blast one of the vehicles in hot pursuit.
“Oh please,” you answer, “because you had some magical plan that was better?”
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to listen,” he says back with a growl. “You never do.”
“I think you like it.”
His helmet turns toward you and you know there’s a smirk hidden beneath.
“Are they always like this?” 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. “Buckle up,” he says. You sit but don’t put on your seatbelt, working at the controls you’re familiar with and plugging in the coordinates.
“What are you waiting for?” you ask. “Let’s go.”
Gunfire shakes the ship and you raise your brows.
“Put your seatbelt on.”
Your jaw slackens then your mouth closes into a smirk. “Worried for my safety Mando?”
He huffs and pulls the lever for takeoff. “Just do it. Now…please.”
Your smile widens. “Since you asked so nicely.” 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 Grogu’s favorite cookies.
“He should have dinner first,” Djarin says and you startle.
“And you should be more fun,” you say with a saccharine smile.
You hand Grogu a cookie, laughing as he inhales it and then asks for another.
“Only one more or your dad is going to yell at me again,” you whisper.
“I don’t yell at you!” Djarin says firmly.
You raise a brow. “Ok Mr. Bossy. Whatever you say.”
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.
You walk straight into what you think is the wall but instead look up to meet Djarin’s dark brown eyes.
“Shit,” you quickly say. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know…”
You’ve seen him without his helmet once before…a mission that had gotten very messy…and the image is burned into your brain forever.
“It’s ok,” he answers, gently grabbing your wrist when you start to turn away. “No enemies here.”
You give him a look. “You sure?”
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 doesn’t turn your face, he waits, asking with his soft touch.
You meet his eyes and lean into the cradle of his palm. “How bad is it?” he asks softly.
“How bad is what?” you reply.
“Your injury.”
Your pulse flutters against his touch as you slowly lift the edge of your shirt, revealing the gash at your side. Djarin’s 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.
“We need to clean and dress this. Grogu can close it for you.”
You nod and his frown turns into a smile. “Now you’re listening?” 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 doesn’t 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 he’s too weak to heed.
He leans in, just an inch, waiting for your hesitation. When it doesn’t 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 that’s 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 it’s just another bounty. But the “payment” isn’t credits: it’s a human girl, held in a palace cruiser full of the kind of moral compromises he usually avoids.
When the girl proves she’s 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 should’ve known better.
He’d 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.
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 merchant’s private meeting rooms aboard a hovering palace cruiser, he remembered why he didn’t accept anything from Hutt associates.
“This is only half the credits.” Mando said, his voice steady, trying his best to now show any kind of frustration.
“I know, I know, Mandalorian” the merchant, a Zeltron with deep cerulean skin, replied. “Money’s tight, but I am a creature of my word.”
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 —spiced with the scent of Corellian hibiscus and Coruscant night markets— hit Mando even through his helmet.
Din didn’t move. He didn’t have to; he knew exactly what the “payment” 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 drifted— light, almost musical, melting into the room like the last note of a flute.
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.
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.
“This could easily cover the debt.” 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 merchant’s side, giving him a side hug. “More than enough, in fact.” the merchant continued, wrapping an arm across the girl’s slender waist. “My girls ain’t cheap. I am giving you more than what I had offered in the first place.”
Din’s 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.
Everyone’s eyes, one way or another, landed in Din’s figure. He was used to it, at that point, and he knew the lingering eyes of the girls were curious and not threatening, yet Din’s 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).
Din cleared his throat, ready to demand the credits outright, when that soft, honeyed laugh sounded again. He must’ve reacted in some way, because the merchant raised an eyebrow, and scoffed a dry laugh.
“Oh, I see.” the merchant said, waving the figures back into the shadows. “You have… particular tastes, Mandalorian.”
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 —or hidden dangers. Din followed, every step measured, his hand outstretched and ready to blast off anyone if needed.
Together, the three of them walked towards another room, more secluded. The chamber smelled of spice, smoke, and something faintly metallic —the trace scent of a blaster discharge long past… or perhaps blood. They smelled the same to Din.
He didn’t 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 wouldn’t just be credits lost —it 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 couldn’t 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 —a loose linen tunic, trousers too big for her frame, sleeves rolled to reveal wrists ringed with faint bruises. Restraint marks.
She wasn’t painted in oils or draped in jewels. She wasn’t 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 Mando’s gaze, hidden behind the helmet. Somehow, she managed to stare directly at him.
“This” the merchant said smoothly as he took a few steps towards the girl “is special stock. Rare. Fully human. No augmentations. No pheromone glands. No tricks.” He crouched beside her, fingers brushing her jaw as if inspecting merchandise. She didn’t flinch, but her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Fresh acquisition from a man who owed me a lot of money. Claims she’s from some backwater agri-world. No papers. No family.”
The girl’s gaze never left Din’s visor.
“She’s not trained yet.” the merchant added. “Her 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.”
Din’s hand slowly curled into a fist.
“How old?” he asked, his voice lower than before.
The merchant shrugged. “Youngest you’ll find of her kind in Nal Hutta.”
Din tilted his helmet slightly. “What’s your name?” 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 wasn’t a person anymore. But, before she could even stutter, the merchant interrupted sharply, squeezing her arm. “Property designation L-17.”
Din’s visor turned slowly toward him. “She has a name.” he said, matter of fact.
The Zeltron forced a smile, shaking his head, as he put his hands together. “Names are sentimental. And you see, I manage many girls, it’s useless for the stock to remember names and surnames.”
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. “Give notice at the front desk, L-17 is booked for an hour.”
Din took one deliberate step closer, shaking his hesd. The sound of beskar boots against the metal floor rang heavy in the small room.
“I didn’t agree to this.” he said. “I want the credits.”
“And I am offering you something far more valuable.” the merchant replied, slowly and calm, with a tone as sharp as the blade hidden in his garments.
Din’s hand hovered near his blaster again— 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.
Or—
“An hour?” he asked, moving his fingers to relax his grip, forcing himself to not grab the blaster.
“More would be too much. An hour… I understand it is enough time for humans.” the merchant smiled, clearly satisfied. “Assuming, of course, you are human underneath that helmet. I heard most Mandalorians are.”
Din didn’t reply. The Zeltron bowed shortly, and walked to the door. “We’ll see you in an hour” 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.
He didn’t 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.
He did not look at her. But he knew she was staring, expecting an order. “I won’t touch you” he said at last.
The words sat between them, heavy. To Mando’s surprise, the girl didn’t relax. But she didn’t shrink, either. “You paid for the hour” she said.
“I didn’t pay. The merchant owed me.” Din replied, closing his eyes, though of course she couldn’t see it.
He could feel her gaze on him, studying him. “You’re Mandalorian,” she said carefully. “That means you have a code.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened his eyes, and watched her more closely as she shifted slightly on the windowsill.
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.
“Where’d you get that?” he asked, sitting a bit more straight.
Her chin lifted a fraction. “Get what?” She played fool.
He tilted his helmet toward her closed fist. After a stretch of measured, skin tight silence, where she realised she couldn’t lie to him, the girl opened her hand.
It was nothing but a small magnetic restraint clip, bent at the edge and with rough edges— hacked.
“You’ve been working on that” he observed.
“For three weeks.”
Din nodded, impressed. He imagined most girls, if not all, were held against their will— he had assumed the merchant would’ve 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.
“That won’t open this door” he informed her, expecting to break her illusion, but her reply surprised him.
“I know.” She met his visor without flinching. “It opens the service corridor two decks down.”
Now he turned his head fully toward her, standing from the bed. “That corridor leads to—”
“Hangar access.” She finished the sentence. “Or so I’m told.”
Told.
The way she said that, and the slip of an accent —fine and clear like ceramic— made him realize she wasn’t 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.
She was educated, and raised with a purpose much higher than most humans— and definitely not the one the merchant intended of her.
“You don’t sound like you’re from a backwater agri-world” Din murmured, not sure if he was doing the right thing or not.
She gave the smallest smile. “No, I’m not. And this isn’t my place either— but it’s also no place for a Mandalorian.”
Fair enough.
Din sat down on the edge of the bed, now closer to the windowsill. “You’re waiting for someone” he said.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
She hesitated, for the first time. But that was just a pause to decide her words. “My people.” She replied at last, something twinkling in her eyes.
Not family.
Not father.
Not husband.
People.
That was more than enough to know that she— oh, she was a princess. Or at least nobility. And whatever her heritage was, she was hiding it very well.
“You’re not scared” he said.
She looked at him for a long moment, until she sighed. “I am.” she replied. “I just refuse to perform it.”
Din felt something shift in his chest. It took him a minute to understand it was respect. He hadn’t felt that for someone in a while— truth is, he hadn’t 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.
“Are you going to take me out of here?” she asked, but it wasn’t a plea to be rescued, it was a calculated question, to measure her own plan.
“No”. Mando replied, and that clearly surprised her. She raised her eyebrows, not a single wrinkle on her forehead as she did. “I’m not in the business of stealing what isn’t mine.” he found himself explaining— odd for him.
Her fingers tightened around the clip. “Well, I’m not his property, even if he thinks so.”
Mando swallowed saliva, and nodded. “I know.” He said. She had a point. “I agreed to this” he said finally, voice lower “so I wouldn’t have to kill everyone between here and my ship.” Again, more explanations he wasn’t entirely sure why he was giving— maybe because he hoped she didn’t hate him for not helping her out. “I’ll figure out the credits later. But it was this or bloodshed.”
She studied him, holding herself with her arms. “Then why are you still here?”
“Because if I walk out too soon, they’ll know something’s wrong.”
That earned him the faintest nod. Now she was the one gaining his respect. The Mandalorian was strategic, not hot headed, and didn’t murder for sport. She liked that.
Din shifted slightly on the bed, going back to his relaxed pose, resting his back against the bedframe. “You have how long before your people come?”
“It is unknown.”
That made him huff a small laugh. “Then you don’t have a plan.”
“I do” she said, straightening up, holding the chip tight on her fist. “It’s just… delayed.”
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 would’ve been the one in charge to bend that willpower holding her together.
“You want to get to that service corridor?” Din found himself asking.
She went very still, her breathing caught on her chest before she spoke. “Yes.”
He sat up. “Then when the hour’s up, you follow me. Don’t run unless I tell you.”
Her eyes sharpened, an eyebrow raised once again. “You’re helping me.”
“I’m helping myself.” he corrected, or rather lied. “I don’t want the merchant to think of me as a partner for business.” A beat of silence followed, and then, once again, Din found himself over explaining. “And I don’t like what this place is.”
That was as close to an admission as she’d get out of him, but it was enough. She slid off the windowsill, stepping closer toward him, but still keeping distance.
“For what it’s worth” she said quietly, “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me— you’re Mandalorian, after all.”
He didn’t respond at that, but his shoulders loosened slightly, almost against his will. Across the hall, distant laughter echoed again. Din glanced toward the door. “We wait.”
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. “They’ll expect…” She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “They’ll expect signs.”
“I know.” Din replied, although he hadn’t 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.
“Wrinkle them” he said.
She blinked.
“The sheets.” He clarified.
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.
“Your hair” he added, looking at the pale green glow bouncing off of her curls.
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. “I…” She swallowed, with her fingers still tangled on her locks.
“What?” Din asked, turning around to see her composure flickering for the first time.
“They think I’m untouched.”
He said nothing, but he knew her stomach turned just as much as his.
“If he checks” she continued quietly, more controlled and collected once again, but thinner at the edges, “there won’t be… evidence.”
Silence filled the room again. On his visor, the clock moved a number. Fifty-six.
Din looked at the sheets. Then at her. Then at his gauntlet. The idea came to mind before he could even process it.
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.
“I believe this will be enough” he said.
Before she could ask what he meant, he drew the small vibroblade from his boot. He didn’t 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.
She inhaled sharply, despite herself, as she watched how Din pressed his hand briefly against the rumpled sheets, leaving a small, unmistakable stain. It wasn’t dramatic or excessive. It was… believable enough, hopefully.
He wiped the blade clean against his glove and sealed the minor wound with a small med-seal from his belt. “All right?” he asked.
She stared at the mark on the sheets for a long moment. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Once again, footsteps echoed in the corridor. But this time, they didn’t pass by.
Din put his glove on and resumed his place on the bed, leaning back against the wall exactly as before —except now the sheets bore their story.
She moved instinctively toward the windowsill again. “No.” Din commanded. When she turned, he nodded to the bed.
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 couldn’t 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.
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.
“I trust the hour was… sufficient?”
Din didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he rose slowly from the bed. “It was.” he said.
The merchant’s smile widened. “Excellent. Then our debt—”
“I’m interested in purchasing her.”
Din’s 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.
The merchant blinked for a moment, and then laughed— a short, loud laughter that clearly was the only sound he managed to get out as he processed the request. “I’m afraid she’s not for permanent sale.” The merchant informed.
“I’m offering triple what you owe me.” Din lied.
The Zeltron’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. “You misunderstand. She is an investment.”
Din stepped closer, voice calm, measured. “Everything has a price.”
Now that wasn’t a lie. And yet, the merchant’s pleasant demeanor cooled by a fraction. “Not this one.”
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.
“She’s—“ Din stuttered, not entirely sure of how to continue, but the merchant interrupted his words.
“She is leverage.” He informed the Mandalorian.
Not merchandise, or cargo. Not a gift, or a tool, or a working machine. She wasn’t kept in another room from the other girls because of her price, she was separated… because she wasn’t a girl from the brothel. Hence why the merchant offered her to pay his debt— her abuse didn’t have the goal of a profit for him, but clearly served a function for him.
Leverage.
Din’s helmet angled slightly. “Against who?”
The merchant’s smile returned to his face, but thin this time. “Now that would be telling.” He said as he gestured politely toward the door. “Our arrangement is complete, Mandalorian. I suggest you depart before additional fees are incurred.”
Din didn’t move. The corridor beyond the doorway felt narrower now as guards grew closer, blasters ready.
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.
Lucky for her, though, he wasn’t a coward.
Din moved before the guards did.
The merchant’s smile hadn’t fully faded when Din’s 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 hadn’t been expecting this, and their hesitation cost them their lives.
“Move!” Din said, hoping the girl wasn’t waiting for this moment to become foolish. She stepped past the fallen merchant without looking down, and ran to the left.
Din advanced, firing with measured precision, as he followed her. They reached the first junction before more boots thundered from the far hall. “Left.” she said. “Service access.”
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 metallic— both from blasters and blood.
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.
“Stay behind me.” He shouted.
“I am!” She shouted back.
Finally, they reached the ladder shaft, where two clueless guards awaited. Din didn’t slow, and he blasted before the guards could even draw their weapons.
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. “Hangar is forward.” she said, breathing slightly faster now. “But they’ll lock it.”
“Not before we get there.” Mando shook his head.
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 would’ve killed him if it wasn’t for the girl.
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.
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.
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.
Din dropped into the pilot’s seat and ignited the engines. The hyperdrive couplings screamed in protest, and he silently prayed they cooperated one last time.
“Hangar doors are sealing,” she exclaimed, peering through the viewport.
Din didn’t 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 —one suspended, endless second, longer than the hour they had endured— it felt like the ship wouldn’t make it.
And then, they were flying across Nal Hutta’s murky sky. Din steadied the controls, guiding them into thick green cloud cover, and as far away from the brothel as possible.
That’s when she collapsed.
By the time you awoke, the sounds of screams and blasters were long gone, and the smell of perfume and incense had faded away.
The ship was quiet. Not silent —ships were never silent— 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.
The Mandalorian.
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 didn’t turn, nor moved. He just spoke.
“You’re nobility.”
His voice was calm, and he didn’t say it like an accusation, just like a fact he had assumed back in the brothel and confirmed a moment ago.
You let out a slow breath, as a deep weight sunk onto your chest. “Yes” was all you said.
When he didn’t 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.
“What gave it away?” you asked, resting your head fully against the chair as you watched the stars.
“Your accent, and certain words you use--” 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. “No farmer girl has your vocabulary, and the leverage part… men like the merchant love money more than anything, it didn't make sense he wouldn’t sell you to me. So, I searched databases.”
Your stomach tightened, but not from fear. From inevitability.
“I found inconsistencies.” he continued. “No missing persons report matching your description from any agri-world in the sector. No ransom demand listed through known Hutt channels.” His head tilted slightly. “No public bounty.”
You held his gaze through the visor.
“Yet…” he continued calmly, “three encrypted bulletins were issued through private syndicate networks three weeks ago. Diplomatic bulletins.”
The silence that lingered was deep and rich, and it added more weight to the stone that was oppressing your chest.
“Your father...” the Mandalorian spoke, matter-of-fact. “is the King of Corfai”
“Former King.” you corrected softly, and cleared your throat as you looked away. “He abdicated three years ago, my brother sits on the throne now. But the Hutts don’t care about titles.”
The engines hummed steadily. “The merchant said they took you for leverage” the mandalorian repeated.
“For humiliation.” 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. “They wanted a smuggling corridor across Corfai’s southern hemisphere. A permanent passage with unchecked inspections and protected airspace.”
“For the merchant network.” he said.
“For the Hutt merchant network” 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.
“Corfai’s economy is delicate, especially now with these turbulent political times.” you continued. “They believed my father would bend and convince my brother, but he didn’t.” A faint exhale left your chest, although it didn’t lessen the heavy sensation you felt.
“So they made you disappear” Mando said, but you shook your head. Unconsciously, you found yourself clasping your hands together, behind your pack— an old posture from state briefings.
“I wasn’t 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.”
“And then returned damaged” he finished.
Your jaw tightened. “I don’t believe they would’ve returned me, but yes. Hand me back damaged, stained, violated. No longer a princess, but instead a living proof of the Hutt’s power, of what happens when you say no.”
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 you’d just escaped.
Then he broke the silence. “Are you hurt?”
“Just the shoulder.” You shruggle, holding the injured arm with your hand. “Thanks, for patching me up. And saving me.”
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.
“You’re welcome” he scoffed. “But I meant…” His voice softened, almost low enough to be swallowed by the hum of the ship. “The merchant said you were unclaimed.”
His voice was low, and if he hadn't been wearing that helmet, you would’ve sworn he was blushing as he spoke. “You said you were unclaimed. Is… that true?”
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.
“No.”
You looked out the window, into the stars, as you continued. “I was claimed long ago, by a knight who no longer works at the palace. I’ve had many lovers since then.” You didn’t meet his gaze, but through the corner of your eye you saw the helmet move. “The merchant thinks he can tell when a human is virgin or not, when he barely even knows our anatomy.”
There was a pause, filled only by the quiet clicks of the ship’s machinery. You hoped he didn’t ask more specific details.
“Did the lie help?”
“Yes…” you spoke with the truth again. “But it wasn’t going to last long. You came in time.”
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. “Why did you choose the service corridor instead of the main hall to escape?”
“The main hall cameras record to external Hutt archives. The service corridors are internal.” You explained. The smooth, unyielding tilt of his helmet caught the low light, reflecting stars in tiny, fractured patterns.
“You weren’t planning to be rescued” he said quietly, as though verifying a truth he already suspected.
“No.” you admitted, looking back at him. “I tried to keep a low profile, and flee on my own before things could escalate.”
“And now?”
You looked out the viewport at the velvet expanse of hyperspace, letting the stars draw your focus. “Now I need a ship that can move without attracting attention.”
A slight tilt of the helmet, deliberate, made you turn once more. “You’re in one.” he said.
Your shoulders eased slightly. “You realize that if you return me to Corfai, you will not leave quietly, right?”
“I don’t plan to land publicly.”
“And if my father insists on thanking you?”
“I’ll leave before he can.”
For the first time, a small smile flickered across your face, fragile but real. “You could drop me at a neutral system, and erase yourself from this.”
“I don’t abandon assets mid-transport.”
You almost replied back with something silly, like ‘I'm not an asset’, but you knew it'd be pointless. And a lie. You were an asset, a piece of a game, an object for men’s politics. So you just sat down again.
The ship’s hyperspace hummed deeper, steadying the ship’s path, as if sensing the fragile truce forming between you.
“What happens when we reach Corfai?” the Mandalorian asked.
You inhaled, slow, measured, the faint scent of ozone and oil sharp in your nose. “Officially? I was never gone.”
“And unofficially?”
You bit your cheek. “We’ll 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.”
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 couldn’t sleep.
The Mandalorian had shown you a bed where you could rest more comfortably, the only one in the small ship— his bed.
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 couldn’t sleep.
You stepped from the bed slowly, your bare feet quiet against cold decking. You took a few steps —it wasn’t a large ship by any means— and found the Mandalorian right where you had expected him, still on his pilot seat, even though the ship was in autopilot.
“You don’t trust autopilot” you said softly, hoping to not startle him, but he wasn’t asleep.
“It’s old.” He replied, gloved hands resting on his thighs.
“So are you.” You joked, taking another step closer. And, to your surprise, he joked back.
“I’m older.”
You smiled, and stepped into the cockpit.
The air was unperfumed. Nothing like the brothel’s cloying air. And yet, the echoes of the moans continued to run on your ears. You lowered yourself into the co-pilot seat. “Couldn’t sleep” you explained.
“Nightmares?” The Mandalorian asked, making you chuckle.
“Eh, you could say so” 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.
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.
“Can I be honest now?” you found yourself saying. The Mandalorian nodded, shortly. “You asked if I was… still a maiden. And I said no. I’d rather we keep that between you and me.”
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: “Not my business to tell.”
“Right. But, for nobility, these kinds of things are important.” You replied, perhaps too quickly. You didn’t like the anxiety that was growing on you the closer the ship got to Corfai.
“Why?”
“Huh?”
When you turned your head, you found the beskar helmet staring right at you, your own face reflected on the visor. You didn’t look happy for a princess that was just rescued.
“Why is your maidenhood important for nobility?” The Mandalorian asked.
You had to look away, even if he didn’t. “Well, heritage, I suppose.” 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.
“And… there’s this thing about being… 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.”
“But you aren’t pure.” The Mandalorian said, matter-of-fact.
“No, I’m not” 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.
You didn’t 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 wasn’t one of the castle’s knights, this was a bounty hunter who just so happened to bump into you. A man who could’ve 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.
And when you looked up --to do what? You weren’t sure-- he moved it away, as if he’d gotten a whiplash.
“Sorry. I don’t want to get it wrong.” 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 didn’t sound arrogant, nor controlling.
He was nervous.
You turned fully in your seat to face him, your legs crossed daintily by your ankles.
“Get what wrong?” you asked quietly.
The Mandalorian didn’t 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.
“You” he said after a moment. “I’m a bounty hunter.” he continued, voice careful now, measured in a way that felt more deliberate than before. “You’re a princess.”
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.
“You were taken by Hutt men” he went on. “You were kept somewhere you didn’t choose to be. I’m bringing you home.” His fingers curled once against his thigh. “Wouldn’t be right to...”
“To what?” you pressed, hoping, begging on your mind he’d 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.
“Mistake your kindness” he said.
That surprised you. “Kindness?” you repeated, a bit disappointed.
“You’re grateful I got you out” he said simply. “That can feel like something else, to other bounty hunters.”
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.
“That’s a very cautious way to live.”
“It’s a necessary one.”
You tilted your head. You knew it was necessary-- it was the way you were raised to. But needs were needs.
“For bounty hunters?”
“For men who wear armor.” 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. “You’re assuming my kindness comes from being rescued, or because of my manners.” The cockpit felt smaller, if that was even possible, when he turned again. “I spent weeks in a brothel…” you continued, your voice steady but low, your gaze fixed on the visor. “...listening to men think they were irresistible because someone was paid to moan for them.” You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbow on the armrest of your chair. “Trust me, Mandalorian. I know what false interest sounds like. This isn’t it.”
You could almost feel the way he was listening now and how his body relaxed involuntarily-- shoulders loosening, legs opening up again.
“So, if I were grateful…” you said, standing up, “…it would look like this.”
The pilot seat didn’t move when you slowly lowered yourself to sit on his legs, straddling him.
You didn’t move until you got a sign, of any kind, that he wanted this. Lucky for you, it came rather quickly— 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.
But when he spoke, his words shocked you.
“I’ve never…” He began stuttering. “I’ve never been with anyone.”
There was no embarrassment in his tone. He just said it, stating a fact. It made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
“You don’t owe me that confession” you said gently.
“I wanted you to know.”
“Why?”
“So you don’t expect something I don’t know how to give.”
That made your smile soften, and relax your shoulders, even if you hadn’t 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 didn’t turn your heat off— if anything, it made you feel calmer. And hornier.
“Sex isn’t about giving or taking— that’s prostitution. That’s what happened in the brothel. We aren’t there anymore.” 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. “You’re very brave in battle” you murmured.
“Battle makes sense.”
“And this?”
The Mandalorian took a pause, exhaling.
“This doesn’t.”
It made you smile again. “It will. If you want to” you whispered.
And, to surprise you again, the Mandalorian’s hands tightened around your waist at your words, almost as if he’d been afraid you would’ve stepped away from his lap.
“I do.”
You smirked.
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 —yours hands, your arms, and part of your thighs— felt hot against the cool beskar armour.
But before you could moan, he did.
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.
You would’ve devoured his mouth now, but he kept his helmet on, your own eyes reflected on them. “Does it break any Mandalorian code—?”
“Leave that to me” he interrupted before you could even finish. His voice sounded worked up, and breath taken. “You… you keep moving.”
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.
“You feel anything under your suit?”
“I do.” He growled. That made you speed up just a bit, and rub yourself a bit tighter. The Mandalorian didn’t moan again, but you could tell he was swallowing all the noises down his throat.
“And your gloves?” You continued, pushing the edge a bit. You were eager to be touched by real skin, and to get closer to the scent you’d smelled in his bed— his scent, not the scent of the beskar. “You can touch me”
You didn’t 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.
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.
“You’re not bad at this” you whispered.
“I’m armored” 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. “If we go further” you said, gently “we go slowly. And we stop if you want to.”
“Yes.”
He looked steadier now. Not overwhelmed. Just focused.
“I don’t want to rush you” he said.
“You’re not.” You replied, a bit surprised. You were clearly the one rushing him, not the other way around. But this man, this Mandalorian, you’ve come to learn, was too well mannered.
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.
“You’re choosing this?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
You chuckled a bit, although it was more of a moan than a giggle. “Do I have to explain why I want to sleep with you?”
“Yes.” He replied immediately. “I don’t want you to do it because you feel indebted.”
“I know i'm not”
“Or because you think you should.”
“I know I shouldn’t”
“Then why?”
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.
“Because I need to get off.” You confessed, and looked down at the spot where your hips met his, where the fabrics had faint stains of wetness. “And so do you.”
That seemed to settle it.
He nodded once, sharp, firm, like the knights of the palace when you gave them orders. “Then I’m yours” he said quietly.
It made you bite your lip. You would’ve devoured his mouth right there, but there was one thing standing in between.
“The helmet—?”
“Stays on” he cut you off, immediately.
You sighed, a bit frustrated. “So I can’t kiss you?”
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 wasn’t an order he was happy to follow.
You swallowed saliva, the pool of heat on your thighs now unbearable. “Well, lucky for you I can do other things with my lips” you said, and moved.
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.
The Mandalorian didn’t move— 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.
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.
It was pale, veiny, and you saw a lot of hair at the base. Pretty good length— not too much, not too little. The tip was a soft shade of pink, and you couldn’t help but imagine that was the same color of his lips, hidden beneath the beskar helmet.
The bizarreness of it all made you chuckle a bit. Here you were, holding a man’s length in all its glory, and yet you were not allowed to see his face as you lowered your lips, and gently sucked off.
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.
You took your time blowing him. He was a virgin, but you weren’t sure if he had ever been given pleasure like this before, so you made the experience worth remembering.
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.
“I—“ 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 happening— he was about to come, all the cum gathered right on the tip, waiting for release.
“Bed?” You asked as you slowly rose. He nodded, and you almost swore you saw him tremble.
Smiling, licking his taste off of your lips, you took his hand and guided him to his bed, as if this wasn’t his ship and not yours.
You would’ve loved to ask about the helmet once again, but you knew you couldn’t 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.
You didn’t 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 in— and even though you were wet, the friction made you flinch a bit.
“Spit on it, and go slow” you told him. You couldn’t help but moan when, after a pause, a wet and cold spat landed right on your ass, sliding down to your core. “That’s it.”
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 sensation— the first time a cock slides into your womanhood— 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 weren’t sure if you needed to give him any more guidance than this, but he seemed like he didn’t need it.
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. That’s why he took you by surprise when he spoke, voice a bit trembling, but holding together.
“You said let it slide”
“Huh?”
“Your kidnapping.” He huffed, hips in and out. “Why wouldn't you want to--?
“Take revenge?” You finished the sentence as he drowned in a moan.
He swallowed. “Claim justice”
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. “Some battles are not worth the fight. My planet isn't in the right position, politically and economically, to face the Hutt cartel” you explained as your hand reached down to rub yourself, immediately tightening around the bounty hunter’s cock. It made him hiss.
“Aren’t you mad?” He asked.
“I’m—“ 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. “I’m close”
The political conversation ended right the same way it had started— 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.
You turned your head, your lips partially open, holding in the tune of the moans, and saw him naked— all except the helmet, of course.
His torso was lean, strong, covered in hair. Some spots didn’t 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.
You knew he was making eye contact through the beskar, because he thrusted harder when you turned to face him. “Would you let me do this back in the brothel if I had wanted to?” He asked.
“No, definitely" you said, although you didn’t sound that convincing as he pounded you in all fours.
“Then why you let me now?”
You rolled your eyes. You knew this was important to him— to know that this wasn’t a mistake, that he wasn’t breaking codes, nor your trust. You knew that he, bless his heart, had never done this, and wasn’t totally aware of the subtle, gentle, swift dance around sex. “Consent, reward“ you moaned, feeling your cunt get tighter.
“Shit” the Mandalorian cursed, loud, as he suddenly pulled his cock out. You hissed at the sudden loss of contact. “Stop that” he said.
You shook your head— asshole didn’t 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.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” You apologized, but raised an eyebrow as you saw him kneel right on your core. “What you what are you--?”
“Close your eyes.” 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 know— he’d removed his helmet.
“I’ve never done this before” he said, voice raggedy but more clear now that he didn’t cover his head anymore.
“Remove your helmet or go down on a girl?”
He huffed. “The latter”
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. “Give it a long lick, all across the folds first.” You explained.
It took a second but then you felt it— 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.
“Now part them apart, and work your way in with your tongue.” You continued explaining, and he obeyed to perfection. His lips sucked on you, drinking in your fluids. “Once you reach the clit you suck— fuck!”
He’d found it, and he had sucked.
“You alright?” He asked, parting his lips from your cunt as your knees shook.
“Don’t stop.”
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 would’ve loved to ask him to lick it too, but you didn’t want to push him too much— besides, your cunt was tilting by this point.
“I need a finger” you murmured, nose buried on his pillow as you inhaled his scent.
“Huh?”
“In me.” You clarified. “Do it slow, lick it first.”
You couldn’t help but giggle a bit when, suddenly, his hand was right next to your face. He wanted you to lick his fingers.
You moved your head a bit to do so, and through the corner of your eye, you saw a glance of him— small ears, and brunette short hair with curls stuck by his sweat onto his skull. But that was about it.
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 you’ve lied about your virginity. And now here you were, sucking on it, helping him claim his own.
The Mandalorian removed his hand, now sloppy with your saliva, and you smirked. “You’re naughty, Mandalorian”
“Din. call me Din.” He corrected, but he didn’t pause to let you process the information. “Now what?”
“Insert them, slow, and when you reach the top, hook them up and move them towards you, like you're calling me” you explained.
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.
“Now?”
“Keep eating me too.” You sighed, and moaned louder when his fingers moved faster and his tongue went back to your clit. “Oh my—“
It didn’t 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.
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. “Keep your eyes closed” he commanded as he flipped you to lay on your back.
He barely gave you a second to obey, but he was ahead of it— 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 didn’t have to give him any indications.
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.
“Don’t stop” you begged.
“Wasn’t gonna” 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.
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.
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 cock— so lost, in fact, that you didn’t even realize he’d 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.
But his hand returned to cover your vision at the same time he broke the kiss apart in raggedy breaths. “I need to—“
“Come? Pull out, then”
You felt it all, but didn’t see it— 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.
“Keep your eyes closed” he murmured as he softly stood up, removing his hand from your face, and walking away.
Of course, you didn’t obey.
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.
You couldn’t explore it much before you heard footsteps, and closed your eyes shut again.
“You can open them” you heard Din speak, his voice a bit drowned now— he’d 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.
He did it slowly, and you knew he was admiring it under the helmet, taking in the scene in front of him.
“How you feeling?” You asked.
He sighed, and dropped the towel aside as he put his hands on his hips. “Tired” was all he said, and then moved to pull his pants up.
You smiled, and moved to the side, to leave him room. “Sleep with me.” You said, and chuckled when his helmet suddenly snapped up. “We already fucked, we might as well”
He didn’t move, not speak, but his shoulders relaxed. He crawled to your side, and laid on his back, stiff like a board.
Rolling your eyes and smiling, you moved to cuddle him. “This is part of the sex too, Din” you explained, and that made him loosen up, loosely draping an arm around your waist as you drifted off.
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, it’s 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 it’s Din doing it. also, did I include a Princess Bride reference? yes, cause I’m trash, but I thought it fit (sidenote this may just be my most favourite thing I’ve 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)
🪐
i.
“Stop. Moving.” You spit through gritted teeth as you try to wipe at the bloody mess before you.
Mando flinches beneath the wet rag. “Just-“ he groans as you swipe rather harshly at the wound that traces his entire bicep. “Just use the bacta spray, dank farrik!”
“It’s called cleaning the wound first. Maker, Mando, how you made it this long is kriffing beyond me.” 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 gash—deep, bloody, and very infected.
Usually, you had a weak stomach and weren’t 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. “I’m going to have to cut the rest of the fabric around the wound so that way the bacta can reach the surrounding areas—“
“No, I—that’s enough—“
“Mando…” you warn lowly, attracting his attention to you. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”
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. It’s a nasty cut, but far more manageable when it’s not covered in blood and scabs.
He flinched again at the cool contact but quickly settled into you. “You need to even out your breathing. You're gonna make yourself light-headed.” You say nonchalantly, making sure you are focused on getting bacta to every exposed area possible.
He doesn’t respond, but you do hear him pause, then inhale and exhale deeply through his modulator. You’re grateful for the way it calms you down—hands cease shaking, allowing you to start wrapping his arm in bandages. “You gotta keep this on. You can take it off in a couple days, but until then…” 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. “Until then don’t do anything to aggravate it.”
He huffs, but you can tell he tries to hide it as a cough when you shoot him a sour look. “I’m serious, Mando. I see that thing come off before it’s supposed to and you’re a dead man. You hear me? I’ll beat your ass so hard even the New Republic officers won’t be able to find you.”
He groans as he sits up slowly. “They already can’t find me.”
His quip elicits a harsh look from you. He raises his non-injured arm up in defense. “Alright, I get it. I won’t take it off.”
You keep the glare on him until you’re 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. “Hi, little guy!” 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 doesn’t 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.
“You wanna see your dad?” His mouth falls open in a silent laugh when you reposition him against your chest. “Yeah, he’s alright. A little stupid, but he’s okay.”
You look up to Mando mid-laugh only to see that he’s already looking at you and the kid.
Typically, it’s 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 isn’t like that. It’s…different, somehow.
Instead of the sharp lines of his visor being pointed down, they’re slightly titled upward—an 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.
“Tell me again why you waited almost two days to treat that?”
He shrugs, head lolling to the side as the kid plays with his gloved fingers. “You’re better at patching me up, I guess.”
You feel your face quirk up. “Well, you’re not wrong. I am an amazing medic.”
He lets out a soft laugh, picking the green child up and sitting him in his lap. “An amazing medic who passed out after seeing a blaster burn for the first time.”
“Oh, c’mon, that was one time. I didn’t have any experience yet!” You lean into him unconsciously as you both play with your adopted child. “Besides…you don’t seem to be complaining. I mean who else is gonna patch you up? Certainly, not him,” a pair of big brown eyes meets yours. “The kids smart, but he’d definitely try eating at least half of what’s in that med kit.”
He laughs harder this time. The sound reverberates off the walls of the Razor Crest and rattles your ribs.
He’s 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 baby’s soft humming.
“Y/N…?” 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… “thank you.”
"Anytime."
ii.
“Y/N, this is Cobb Vanth. A frien—“
“The Marshal,” you say in awe. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
The man in question shoots you a friendly smile: wide and toothy. He’s 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. “All good things I hope.”
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.
“Mando,” he muses. “You didn’t tell me how pretty your uh, friend here was. Would’ve liked to freshen up a bit, ya know.”
“No need.” Mando’s voice is low and dark and sends chills down your spine. “We’re just visiting. But we should go, it’s getting dark.” 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 he’s restraining himself. It makes you nervous.
What he's restraining himself for? You don’t 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.
“Now wait just a second.” Cobb places a friendly hand on the man’s shoulder and points to the closest—and quite frankly, the only—cantina in Mos Pelgo. “You two just arrived. Take a break for once Mando, yeah? You’re all work and no play, it’s not healthy. Lemme buy you and the lady a drink.”
Somehow, your Mandalorian bristles even more at that notion, and before anything can escalate, you choose to interject.
“That sounds wonderful, Cobb, thank you.” 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. It’s subtle, hardly noticeable if you’re a stranger—but all too familiar to you. He’s retreating. “You, you want to stay?” His voice is softer than usual and you swear you catch a hint of sadness.
It’s like a punch in the gut.
“Well, we’re 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.” 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. “…As you wish.”
“Great!” 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. You’re both extremely exposed, but that thought doesn’t concern you right now. As a matter of fact, not much does. The only thing that concerns you is him.
It’s always been him.
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. The air is thick and heavy but it’s not from the Tatooine heat, rather, the sudden coldness between two friends. You don’t know what to say to him, but you can’t leave it like this. You can’t pretend that something didn’t just happen, regardless of the fact that you don’t know what that something is. But he waits. He patiently stands there, but he never looks at you. You realize you can’t look at him either.
It can’t just be you…
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. “Are you okay?” 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 can’t rule out fear either.
“I don’t know what you mean,” is his response.
Your heart drops…maybe it is just you.
He’s 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 you’re not hallucinating, but he remains relaxed. There’s still something wrong. Something feels off with his words, and it hurts to analyze. To worry. To hope that everything’s okay when it definitely feels like it isn’t. “Look,” he sighs and goes to reach for your arm in a way he’s 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. “You’re right. We need a break and Cobb’s good company. Seems to like you a lot. Let’s just enjoy ourselves.”
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 iris’; 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 doesn’t 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 weren’t 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 didn’t have to worry about anyone sneaking up on him. It also allowed him to see everyone in a more subtle way; one where he wasn’t 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 that’s not the case right now.
He could have a group of raiders walk right up to him and he would never notice. Not when he’s staring at you. It isn’t that this is a rare thing he does because it happens more often than he’d care to admit—when his attention drifts to the one thing, the one person, that somehow constantly invades his mind.
He tells himself that it’s for safety. He’s keeping an eye on you, making sure you’re alright and that no one’s bothering you (although he’s the first one to say anything whenever anyone does). But even he knows that’s a lie.
It’s 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, he’s at peace when it comes to you. But he wasn’t anticipating Cobb to invite the two of you for a drink. He wasn’t 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 you’re more than capable. But out of all the surprises he’s 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. You’re smiling at him and he’s smiling right back, and you’re doing that thing where when you get excited you talk with your hands.
Din finds it endearing, but right now it’s different. Because he’s just watching. He’s not the one you’re excited about. So, he can’t bring himself to join you two. He knows that he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing you look at him like he’s 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 he’d get to keep you. You’d choose him after realizing that he’s always chosen you.
He forces himself to look away at that. Why would you choose someone who you can’t even see return your smile?
He’d never disobey his Creed. It’s a part of him, it’s what he stands for. And yet, he can’t count the number of times he’s second-guessed himself just to show you that he does in fact smile, that he’s alive, that he needs you more than anything. He’s a breathing man with a bleeding heart that wasn’t made for you but can’t live without you. And he hates it.
“Here we go,” 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. “Oh, we forgot his broth.”
Cobb, in what Din sees as a chance to impress you, is already up before you can ask. “I got it. You sit tight little guy.”
The man saunters off and when he’s out of earshot, you turn to look at him. Din feels himself start to sweat. “So, I know you said everything’s okay, but I call bullshit.”
Din’s eyes widen at the blunt statement. Not that she can see, but he’s very aware of his reactions to her (maybe the fact that she can't see is for the best). “Mando, what’s going on?” She lifts the baby up so that he can see him clearer. “We’re both worried.”
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 she’d be back with him and their kid on the Razor Crest. But he realizes that’s selfish of him and she’d be even angrier with him…possibly 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 he’s just having an off-day. It wouldn’t be the first time, and if he was convincing enough she’d probably believe him. But then he thinks of something different. He considers, for a very brief moment, what it’d be like if he just told her. He could tell her everything. How she’s all he can think about most days and nights, how he imagines what it’d 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 he’s longed to do since the first week of having her stay with them.
She doesn’t long for you, though.
He realizes she’s still looking at him and so he makes his decision. “It’s just an off-day for me, cyar’ika. I’ll be alright. I’m sorry if I worried you and the little one.”
She pauses, her face turned downward in sadness. His heart twists painfully. But soon she smiles. It’s faint and fake and nothing like her usual self, but it’s something.
“Okay.”
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.
“Oh, Mando look at this!”
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. “It’s beautiful.”
You smile widely and lift it up to properly look it over. “It reminds me of him.” 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. “He likes it,” you say. “We should get it for him. It can be his new blanket.”
“He has lots of blankets, cyar’ika.” 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 cyar’ika and his ad’ika happy, he figures it can’t be all that bad.
It seems though you’ve already beat him to that realization. “Yeah, and who gets him all those blankets? Us. ‘Cause, we’re the best parents in this kriffing galaxy.”
His parents. Din preens at your words. “I’ll buy it. You go look around some more, we’re gonna have to leave soon.”
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. It’s then his turn to follow the kid’s line of sight before it clicks. “No. Not happening,” 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. “Find anything you like?”
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.
“No, it’s alright. Let’s go home.” Home. Our home.
He looks at the table and then at you. He’s not really good at the whole surprise thing (in all fairness he’s never had anyone to surprise) but, he thinks, as Cara always tells him ‘there’s a first for everything', he might as well start now.
“You go ahead, cyar’ika. I’ll catch up. I just need to finalize some things with the bounty.” Din passes you the child and the blanket and he pretends he doesn’t notice his pulse quicken when you look at him like he’s the kindest person in the galaxy.
He’s not. But he hopes he’s 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 don’t 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. It’s a visceral experience. It’s addictive.
The Razor Crest is a big ship, but in hyperspace, it’s weightless. And maybe that’s why you love it so much because you can’t get that kind of weightlessness anywhere else.
You’re 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. “I don’t think I’ve ever given a gift before.”
Mandalorians don’t get nervous; they’re not supposed to. They’re supposed to be composed warriors, the soldier everyone relies on. But right now, Din can’t even rely on himself.
It’s really nothing special, simply a necklace. A piece of jewelry that you eyed, but eventually dismiss—
Wait. Did you even want the necklace?
Maybe Din read the situation wrong and you had actually decided you didn’t like it. Maybe you were simply looking at it because it was ugly, like how you study something you don’t understand.
Great. Now he’s going to give you an ugly necklace that you don’t want.
Maybe he’s not as observant as everyone says he is. As he likes to think he is.
“Dank farrik.” Din slams the back of his beskar covered head into the metal wall. This wasn’t exactly how he planned this to go.
In hindsight, he wasn’t 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 he’d do anything for it.
Maybe he’d give it to you and you’d smile in the warm way only you can. The kind of smile that even the most beautiful of moons cry over because they’re nothing compared to you. Maybe you’d touch his face through his helmet and he’d soak into your embrace the way he’s done thousands of times before. Or maybe you’d laugh, take the gift and never think about it again.
Yeah. That sounds more probable.
“I don’t know, buddy… Do you think she’ll like it?” He goes to reach for the necklace in his pocket but it’s not there. And quite frankly neither is his kid.
He’s frantic in his search for the child and the jewelry until his eyes catch him on the ladder.
Since when did he—
Damn it.
He jumps up, as quickly as his body will allow, but the baby’s 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.
“Ugh,” pushing yourself off the captain's chair, you nab the kid and sit back down with him. “How do you find this stuff, I swear to Maker, kid.”
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. It’s wet from his saliva and he laughs at you as you wipe it on your shirt in disgust. Lifting him up so he’s above eye level you give him a stern look. “Stop trying to eat everything. Especially when you don’t know where that thing's been.”
Your scolding just makes him giggle harder, forcing you to roll your eyes. You swear you’re 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.
“Are you…are you doing okay?”
Even under his helmet, you can tell he’s flustered, and then as quickly as he came up the steps, he focuses on you. “Sorry, I just…he had a thing in his mouth and I didn’t want him to swallow it.”
“Oh yeah trust me, I already fought with him over it.” You laugh while picking up the object you set to the side.
You swear you actually hear Mando’s breath stutter as you finally take a look at the object. At first, you don’t 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.
Din’s shifted his weight to his other leg and he can feel his hands flex nervously—compression 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 you’ve already figured out what you’re holding.
Your eyes meet his through his helmet. “This is…this is the necklace.” It dangles from your fingertips, and the child swats at it—the jewelry becoming his newfound obsession. “The one from the market I was looking at…”
“Yes.” He cringes at how he sounds. So quick and robotic and awkward, and so very unprepared. He’s never felt this nervous before, and yet he can’t back away. He has to deal with it. “You didn’t buy it, but, I thought maybe you still wanted it. So I got it for you. As…as a gift.”
You look down at the pendant and smile softly, running your thumb over the cool, smooth stone. “If you don’t want it, I can trade it for something else when we land. Something more desirable—“
“What’s that word…?” You both speak at the same time.
“Sorry,” you chuckle out. You’ve caught his attention though, caught him off guard on his needless apology, so you clear your throat. “How do you say beautiful in Mando’a?”
He’s stunned beyond words. Beyond thoughts. And yes, he’s acutely aware of the fact that he knows he probably looks like an idiot—a man who doesn’t 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.
“The word is mesh’la.”
“Mesh’la,” 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 you’re putting the necklace on without a second thought. As though it’s 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.
You’re a magnet and he’s the piece of metal flying through the air, willed by a force he cannot control. “Do you…like it?”
“I wouldn’t be putting it on if I didn’t like it, now would I be, Mando?”
“Din.”
“…what?”
He hadn’t even noticed that it slipped out. And he’s surprised his covert haven’t 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 he’s ahead, but the dam has been cracking beneath the weight of his feelings for a long time. So it seems that it’s time he gives them a chance.
“My name,” his voice shakes, wavers with each syllable. “My name, cyar’ika, is Din Djarin.”
You stare out, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. But then there’s 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 he’s positive he's going to pass out. “Din…” You repeat the name slowly, unsure of it as you test out the way it feels as it rolls off your tongue. “Din. I like that name. It suits you.”
“I like your name, too.” You laugh loudly. If it were out of context, he would’ve 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. “And uh, cyar’ika…” Din’s heart drops to his stomach and his blood runs cold. “What does that mean? I figured it meant friend or something like that but…” you’re hesitant to voice your thoughts, worried that maybe you’re overthinking it; anticipating and expecting something only for it not to be there. Wishful thinking. “I’m just curious.”
Of course, you are. Why wouldn’t 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 didn’t want him that way.
Cara once told him he wasn’t subtle. At first, he had no clue what she meant, but he knows now. And he wishes he didn’t.
He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the welling up in the corner of his eyes, but understands that it’s pointless. His time is up.
“Cyar’ika…” his tongue swells up his mouth. He’s never felt this breathless before. “It means sweetheart.”
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 can’t 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 don’t 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 can’t 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 he’ll get for the rest of his life, he’d die happy. “What should I call you then?”
He…wasn’t expecting that. Actually, it was the last thing he expected you to say. You take his silence as a good sign to keep going. “Well, if you call me sweetheart…what should I call you?”
“I…” Din almost cries. He’s tired, stressed, and feels like he’s on a tightrope. But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes you aren’t running away. You’re staying here. Touching him through his helmet and looking at him the way he’s wanted you to for what feels like forever. You're looking at him the same way he looks at you. “Din. I just want you to call me Din.”
You smile at that. At him. “Din…” 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 then…
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 for…you aren’t too sure how long. It feels like it’s been both seconds and minutes. Although you really aren’t keeping track, the dizzying feeling rattling around in your skull makes your brain feel like mush.
You can feel Din’s breastplates move slowly, letting you know that he’s calmed down, coming down from the shared high of two friends who’ve finally collided. He inhales deeply and his hands rest over yours. Your fingers intertwine on the sides of his helmet, but then he’s lifting up the beskar, and you panic.
“Din, stop.” You don’t realize how breathless you’ve become and you’re shocked that even with the lack of oxygen to your brain, you’re still aware of his creed.
But he cuts you off and presses his forehead to yours again. “It’s okay, just…just close your eyes. Please.” It's almost a whimper, and the sound ruins you (you take mental note of that sound for later). So you close your eyes.
You’re eager to feel him. To touch skin rather than just beskar. You don’t know what he looks like, might not know for a long time, but you’ll know what he'll feel like. And right now that’s 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. It’s the most intimate you’ve ever been with someone…the most intimate you think you’ll ever be. Then, he’s kissing you. It’s firm, yet gentle. Soft, yet hard. It’s everything you both imagined it to be, and more.
It’s so beautiful it hurts. But at least now you two don’t 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.
"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 love…" 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.
"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: you’ve 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 (i’m sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS ⚠️ 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 ‘let’s daydream about being in the new movie’ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs it’s 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 it’s 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 you’re seeing things.
The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. It’s 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 can’t help but stare at the mysterious warrior.
“Is he… imperial?” Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.
“Nope, he’s working with us now.” Teva answers simply.
You didn’t believe it. But apparently it’s true.
“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s 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.
“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” 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.
“I’ll 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 I’m away.
It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.
“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.
“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”
“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.
“Good, that’s what I thought.”
When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.
“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t 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 he’s not alone.
A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?
“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.
“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.
“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?
“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.
He doesn’t say anything.
“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?
“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.
“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.
It’s 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.
“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.
A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.
Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.
“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.
“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.
The colonel sighs.
“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”
You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.
“Do the whole debrief drunk.” 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 isn’t showing up.
Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.
It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.
You don’t even know if you should say anything
“Mweh?” 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.
“You like it? It’s cute right?”
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.
“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.
You’re 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.
“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.
You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.
“What’s the next order?” 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 doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.
“Come on, kid.” 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.
“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.
Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.
You can’t wait till this is over.
It’s 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.
“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t 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. It’s 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.
“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s 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.
“What’s your name?” 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.
“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.
“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.
Then you turn to Grogu’s 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.
“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.
“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”
“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”
A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.
“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.
“Din…” you repeat it.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.
Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.
When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.
“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.
“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.
“What do you say, kid?”
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 it’s 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 he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.
“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.
“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve 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.
“A fair statement.” Din agrees.
And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.
Watching the pair leave, you find you’re 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.
“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.
“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.
“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.
That’s when you realized he just joked with you.
“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.
“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.
“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.
You stay stubbornly quiet.
“Don’t worry… They’ve a pain in my ass too.” 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.
“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.
“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.
“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.
The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.
“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.
“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.
“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.
You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve 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.
“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” 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.
“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.
Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.
“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” 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.
“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.
His helmet tilts towards you.
“Sometimes,” you shrug.
“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.
“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”
You want to strangle her.
“You fought at Endor?” 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.
“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.
A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.
“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.
“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.
“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.
“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”
You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s 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.
“Kid.” Din chides.
“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.
Din sighs, truly parental.
“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.
“I do.” Din answers, confident.
“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.
“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.
Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.
“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.
“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.
“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.
“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” 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.
“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.
A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.
“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.
You turn and find he’s already looking at you.
Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re 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 you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.
Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.
“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.
“No, I stole it.” You quip back.
“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.
“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.
“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.
You playfully elbow him.
Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.
“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.
“Mweh!” He squeals.
“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.
“No.” Din answers back firmly.
“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.
“No.” Din repeats again firmer.
A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.
“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.
Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.
You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re 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 don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.
“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.
“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.
“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.
“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.
“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.
“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” 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 don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.
It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.
Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.
“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.
“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” 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 sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.
“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.
“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.
“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.
“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” 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.
“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.
“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.
“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.
As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re 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. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.
“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.
Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.
“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.
“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.
Then you hold up the new charm.
“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.
“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.
“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.
“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.
“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.
Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.
“What do you say, kid?” Din says.
Grogu however doesn’t 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. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.
“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.
The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s 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.
“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.
“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.
This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.
But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.
The wound isn’t looking good.
You’re 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 you’re 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. You’ve 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 pirates…
“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.
“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” 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.
“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.
You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.
A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.
“What was that?!” One of them screams.
Then a blaster shot silenced him.
“Step away from her now.” 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 he’s truly here.
And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.
You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…
And he’s 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.
“I’m okay, I promise.” 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.
“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.
“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” 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.
“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.
An exhale escapes Din, relieved.
“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.
“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.
Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.
“Just glad you’re safe.” 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.
You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.
“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.
He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.
“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.
It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.
“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.
How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?
“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t 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.
“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.
You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s 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 you’re 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
It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.
“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.
“Huh uh.” 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.
“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.
“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.
Din doesn’t say anything.
“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.
“Seems like it,” Din agrees.
This isn’t the first time he’s 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 room’s attention to her.
The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.
“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” 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, he’s incredible.
But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.
It’s time to fly.
“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.
“Guess you will.” 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.
“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.
You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.
Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re 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.
“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.
“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.
“Starfighter, standing by.” 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.
That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.
A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.
But again, you’re 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 she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.
But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s 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 - you’ve 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.
“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.
“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.
“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s 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 you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.
Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.
It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.
The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.
“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.
“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.
“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.
“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”
Teva takes a moment then sighs.
“Make it quick.”
Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.
“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.
“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.
The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s 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.
“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.
“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.
But in a flash, he zooms past you.
“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.
Din’s 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 don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.
“You were incredible.”
“You flew… amazing.”
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.
“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.
“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.
“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.
Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.
Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.
“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” 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.
“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” 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. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.
“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.
“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.
“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.
“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.
“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.
Of course he’s a damn natural.
Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.
“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.
“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.
“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s 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 it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.
“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.
Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.
“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.
Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.
You exhale relieved and don’t 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 don’t care. You glance over to Din.
A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s 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 way…
Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.
“Didn’t know you smoked.” 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.
“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s 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.
“What made you join?” 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. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t 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.
He’s 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.
“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.
You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.
“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.
You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.
“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.
This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.
“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s 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.
“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”
It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.
“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s 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.
“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s 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 it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.
“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” 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.
“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.
Another x-wing lands outside stealing your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.
“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.
“You wanna see?”
He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.
“Come on,” 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.
“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.
“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.
“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.
“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.
He doesn’t 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.
“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.
“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.
“Get in,” 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.
“Can we even fit in this?”
“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” 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.
“Throttle, control stick,” 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.
“It’s got a good radar system.” 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.
“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.
“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.
You’re 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 Din’s legs.
You crouch low and drag him down too.
“Wh…what are you-”
“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”
“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.
“We’re fine.” 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.
“See… told you we’d be fine.”
He stays quiet.
It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re 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.
“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.
“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.
“I would.” You immediately counter.
“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.
So you try to recover fast.
“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t 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.
You’ve 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.
“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.
“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” 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 don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.
Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re 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.
“I want this… I want you.” 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 you’re 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 Din’s 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 doesn’t want this?
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.
“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.
You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.
“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”
It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.
“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.
His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.
“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.
“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.
Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s 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 hunter’s gaze.
His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.
“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.
“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.
“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.
“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.
“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.
“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” 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.
“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” 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.
“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.
“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.
This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t 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.
It’s too hot now, and you’re 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 it’s 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 you’re 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.
“Beautiful,” 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.
“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.
“Want you inside of me,” 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. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s 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.
“Inside now,” 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 don’t 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 they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.
Now you don’t 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 he’s 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.
“Where?” He slurs urgently.
“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.
“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.
“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.
Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re 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 Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.
“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.
You shake your head no.
“You’re the only one.” 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. It’s 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 it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve 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 it’s 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 don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.
“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.
“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.
He chuckles.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.
“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”
You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.
But you’re reminded he does have a home.
“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.
“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.
“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.
“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.
Slowly your eyes close on their own now.
“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.
Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.
“My eyes… they’re brown.” 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 colonel’s gaze as she leaves.
That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.
“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.
“She flies better than she looks.” 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 she’ll soon be carrying.
“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” 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.
“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.
“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.
He barks a laugh.
“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.
“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.
“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” 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 doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.
“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.
“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.
But he leaves you and Din alone.
It’s 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.
“Be safe,” 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 don’t hear from Din for half a month.
It’s nothing new. You’re 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 you’re 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?
“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.
“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.
He smiles at you kindly.
“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”
Shit.
“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.
“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”
Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.
“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”
He is. But he’s more than that.
He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.
“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.
It’s 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 there’s already commotion.
Din has returned, but he’s not alone.
Jabba’s 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.
“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.
“Tell me about it.” 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.
“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”
His somber tone says more looms.
“Din…” you mutter cautiously.
He turns to you.
“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.
“I know.” 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.
“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t 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.
“We’ll be fine.” 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 don’t have the strength to watch them leave.
You throw yourself into any available mission.
Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.
“Mando will be fine,” 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. You’d 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.
“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.
“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.
Absolute dread is unleashed in you.
You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.
“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.
Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.
“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.
“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.
“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.
“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.
Anger burns through your veins.
“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.
“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.
More Delphi officers stand up.
Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.
You don’t 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 can’t help but widen.
She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.
“I should sit you out on this mission.”
“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.
Her smirks grows bigger.
“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.
You’ll happily accept that too.
The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.
Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s 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.
That’s 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.
“Get out of there. Please.” 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.
“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” 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.
“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.
Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.
Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s 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 didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.
“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.
Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.
“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.
“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”
Ward’s 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 don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.
He’s here.
Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.
“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” 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 he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.
He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.
“Welcome back,” you croak out.
Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.
“Had to bring this back.”
With a watery laugh, you shake your head.
“Your dad is so silly,” 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.
“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.
“Always.” 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 heart’s 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, we’ll be waiting
Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.
After all, there's a flight to Nevarro calling your name.
Summary: What happens after you, a Mandalorian, use the Force to save an unconscious Din Djarin?
Pairing: Din Djarin x Mandalorian!Force-Sensitve!Reader
Words: 5,477
Warning(s): Mention of injuries to Din (like broken bones/concussions)
Notes: I tried my best to keep this consistent with the lore of Star Wars! Clan Ordo is actually really cool!! I kept the Razor Crest for the sake of the story. This isn't beta read, so sorry if this isn't like the rest of my works!
The first time you realized Din Djarin had stopped asking where you learned to move so quietly, you were already three systems past the last honest answer you had given him.
By then, the habit of omission had settled into your bones so deeply it barely felt like deception anymore. Just survival. Another layer of armor beneath the beskar.
The Razor Crest groaned softly around you as it cut through hyperspace, every loose panel and aging bolt singing its familiar complaints through the hull. Blue light from the cockpit washed faintly down the corridor, catching against scratched metal walls and the polished edges of Din’s armor where he sat forward in the pilot’s chair, silent as always. Grogu slept in his pram nearby, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of engine oil and the sweet broth Din always managed to find for him no matter how poor the planet.
And somewhere along the journey, Din had stopped asking questions.
He never pried. That was one of the things that made traveling with him easier than it should have been.
Din was the kind of man who let silence do the work of a conversation. He asked only what he needed to know.
You noticed it in the way his helmet would angle slightly toward you whenever your instincts reacted before his scanners did. The tiny shift of black visor tracking you after you paused outside a corridor seconds before an ambush emerged from it. The way his hand sometimes drifted nearer to his blaster when you suddenly went still, because he had learned that your stillness usually meant danger. If he caught the strange rhythm of your awareness- the way you seemed to feel ships before they docked, violence before it erupted, fear before it reached someone’s face- he buried the observation beneath the same quiet restraint he buried everything else under.
Then there was Grogu.
The child watched you differently.
Not suspiciously. Not even curiously.
Knowingly.
Sometimes you would look up and find those enormous dark eyes fixed on you with unnerving focus, his little head tilted slightly to one side as if he were listening to something beyond sound. Those moments always made heat crawl beneath your plating. It felt less like being observed and more like being recognized.
As though some part of him already knew.
Every time it happened, Din would simply reach down and adjust Grogu’s blanket or rest a gloved hand briefly against the edge of the pram, patient and calm, seemingly unaware of the tension tightening in your shoulders.
Or maybe aware of it, and choosing not to corner you with it.
So you kept your silence. It was not a lie exactly, not entirely, just a door left shut. A hand braced firmly against the frame whenever anyone came too close to opening it.
You told Din enough to make the shape of your life believable.
You were Mandalorian. That much required no explanation. It lived in everything you did.
In the way you entered a room already cataloguing exits.
In the instinctive checks of your vambraces before sleep.
In the habitual awareness of weight at your hips where weapons rested.
In the economy of your movements: efficient, deliberate, never wasting energy where precision would suffice.
Armor was another language to you. You understood beskar the way mechanics understood engines or smugglers understood hyperspace lanes. Every dent told a story. Every scorch mark carried memory. You knew how to tighten weakened straps by touch alone, how to recognize imbalance in a chest plate before it restricted movement, and how to hear when a jetpack’s ignition cycle sounded wrong.
That part of yourself was easy to share. People saw beskar and blasters and the steady discipline in your movements, and they knew where to place you in their minds. Mandalorian. Warrior. Survivor. The galaxy understood those things. It knew what boxes to put them in.
It was the rest of yourself that stayed buried beneath layers of steel and silence.
Because Mandalorians had long memories.
And so did the Jedi.
History lingered in both cultures like old scar tissue- never fully healed, only endured. Stories of wars fought centuries ago still lived in training chants and cautionary tales. Children on both sides were raised hearing different versions of the same battles. Different villains. Different martyrs.
The Jedi spoke of Mandalorians as fierce, dangerous, stubborn people forever flirting with violence.
Mandalorians spoke of Jedi as arrogant mystics who thought the Force gave them the right to decide the fate of everyone around them.
And somewhere between those histories sat your family, Clan Ordo.
Even now, the name still existed in old archives and older grudges. Buried in war records. Mentioned in fading stories traded between surviving clans around campfires and ship holds. A bloodline remembered not for conquering Jedi, but for standing beside them when the rest of Mandalore sharpened blades for war.
A clan that had once looked at centuries of hatred and decided alliance was not weakness.
To some Mandalorians, that history made your family honorable. Proof that strength meant choosing your own path instead of inheriting old hatred unquestioned. Your clan’s name was spoken with rough respect in certain circles, especially among older warriors tired of endless wars that only left more ghosts behind.
But to others, Ordo was a stain. A family that had allowed outsiders too close to the heart of Mandalore.
You remembered the looks sometimes. The subtle shift in posture when someone learned what blood ran through your veins. The slight narrowing of eyes behind helmets. Questions that sounded polite but carried sharpened edges underneath.
Your father was a Jedi?
As if the word itself explained something dangerous about you.
And the Jedi had not been much different.
Some had viewed your Mandalorian heritage with fascination, others with quiet concern. Your armor, your training, your anger- they looked at those things as if waiting for them to prove an old fear correct. As though violence lived in your bones more naturally than peace ever could.
You had learned very young that people loved contradictions only when they remained distant enough to feel poetic. But stories became far less comforting when they turned into a living person standing directly in front of them.
You learned quickly how uncomfortable that made people: too Jedi for some Mandalorians, too Mandalorian for some Jedi. It lived in hesitation more than hatred. In the tiny pauses between words. In the way conversations subtly shifted around you once someone understood what you were. The realization settling into their expression like a door quietly locking.
You could feel the divide every time a Mandalorian’s posture stiffened after hearing your family name, every time the word Jedi entered the conversation and eyes flicked instinctively toward you afterward.
As though they were checking for signs of corruption.
Or betrayal.
Or weakness.
You remembered one old warrior staring at you across a fire when you were young, helmet resting beside his boots while sparks drifted into the dark between you.
“Can’t serve two creeds,” he had said flatly.
Then there were the Jedi who watched your hands too carefully whenever you got emotional. The ones who noticed how naturally your stance shifted toward defense. The ones who spoke gently, but always with the faint concern of people handling something unstable.
And so you became careful. You learned to ration pieces of yourself out in ways people could digest without recoiling from them.
The Mandalorian side was easier. The galaxy understood armor. Understood blasters and discipline and scars. People trusted visible danger more than invisible power, so you leaned into that, let others see the warrior first.
And then there was the thing you never said at all.
You were Force-sensitive.
Even thinking the words sometimes made something tighten painfully in your chest.
Not because you hated that part of yourself, but because of what the galaxy had taught you those words meant. People heard Force-sensitive and imagined legends. They imagined towering Jedi in flowing robes deflecting blaster fire without effort. Sith with burning eyes tearing ships from the sky. Holovid dramatizations filled with screaming lightning, impossible acrobatics, and destinies so large they crushed everything around them.
That was never what it felt like for you.
For you, the Force had always been quieter. It lived in small things.
A pressure at the back of your thoughts moments before someone spoke your name. A strange pull in your chest before a door opened. The instinctive certainty that a room had changed somehow before anyone else noticed the shift in atmosphere.
Sometimes it felt like standing in shallow water and sensing distant movement before the wave actually reached you. Other times it was almost unbearable- an invisible static humming constantly beneath the surface of the world, brushing against your nerves until sleep became difficult.
You noticed things other people missed.
The tremor in someone’s breathing before they reached for a hidden weapon. The emotional shape of a crowd before panic spread through it. The subtle wrongness in places where violence had happened recently, as if suffering left fingerprints on the air.
The Force did not make you feel larger than other people.
It made you feel open.
Too open.
As though the galaxy was always speaking just beneath hearing range and your mind could never fully tune it out. Like existing with a second pulse layered beneath your own heartbeat: something ancient and immense brushing constantly against the edges of your awareness.
Some days it was beautiful.
You remembered sitting beside your father as a child aboard a quiet transport drifting through hyperspace, eyes closed while he taught you how to listen instead of resist. The Force had flowed around you then like warm current through dark water. Vast. Alive. Connected.
You remembered feeling the life aboard the ship all at once- the steady concentration of the pilot, the restless dreams of sleeping passengers, your mother’s calm presence nearby sharpening a blade with rhythmic precision. For one brief moment, the entire galaxy had felt impossibly close.
And then there were the other days.
Days where crowded cities became suffocating because emotion pressed against your senses from every direction. Fear. Rage. Hunger. Grief. Desperation. So many people carrying pain through the galaxy that sometimes it felt impossible to breathe beneath the weight of it.
And then there was the day you learned the worst part of betrayal was how ordinary the moment looked right before it happened. Just another evening beneath the cold iron sky of Kalevala Station while fuel lines hissed overhead and half-drunk warriors traded stories around burn barrels in the loading district. Armor gleamed orange in the firelight. Someone nearby was sharpening a beskar blade against stone with slow metallic strokes. The air smelled like engine smoke, rain, and overheated circuitry.
You had been younger then. Younger enough to still believe honesty could earn understanding if it was offered carefully.
Your father had warned you otherwise.
“Some truths,” he told you once, “change shape after they leave your mouth. You may speak them with peace and still watch them become weapons in someone else’s hands.”
At the time, you thought he sounded paranoid. Now you understood he had simply survived longer than you had.
The warrior who attacked you had eaten beside your family before.
That was the part your memory returned to most often.
Not the fight itself.
Not even the blood.
It was the memory of him laughing hours earlier beside the fire. The kind of Mandalorian children naturally gravitated toward because he told loud stories and exaggerated victories until everyone around him laughed.
The friendly warmth in his posture was gone now, replaced by something harder. Older.
“You hid this.”
Your father answered before you could.
“They’re still Mandalorian.”
Rav’s helmet tilted slightly.
“That’s exactly the problem.”
The next few seconds lived in your memory with brutal clarity.
Your father stepping forward, your mother reaching for her weapon. And then Rav drew his blaster. Fast.
The Force surged through you violently, raw and uncontrolled, and the blaster bolt twisted sideways in midair with a scream of displaced heat. It slammed into metal behind you instead. The entire station suddenly felt alive with danger. You could feel adrenaline surging through every body nearby. Fear spreading. Rage igniting. Ancient history clawing its way into the present through the simple reality of what they had just witnessed.
Your mother slammed into Rav before he could fire again, driving him backward into the barrel fire hard enough to scatter sparks into the night. And your family fled.
The memory still followed you sometimes when Grogu stared too knowingly at your face from inside his pram. Or when Din’s visor lingered on you a second too long after your instincts reacted before his scanners. So you learned to bury your connection to the Force beneath competence and caution. Learned to pass unusual instincts off as experience, impossible timing as sharp reflexes. Learned to keep your hands still when fear threatened to move objects around you unintentionally.
Tonight, Din stayed in the pilot’s seat a moment longer than necessary, one gloved hand steady on the controls. Grogu stirred in his pram at the change, blinking sleep from his eyes and making a small, questioning sound.
You turned toward the cockpit.
“Are we here?”
Din’s helmet angled, a curt acknowledgment.
“Near enough.”
Always near enough with him. Never a word wasted.
You moved closer, your boots quiet on the worn deck. Beyond the viewport, the planet below looked dry and broken, its surface marked by pale ridges and deep scars where old riverbeds had once cut through the earth. Not a place that welcomed anyone. That made it sound, in your experience, exactly like the sort of place someone had a reason to choose.
Din’s voice came after a pause.
“Local contact says a cache was moved through the settlement two days ago. Could be Imperial. Could be raiders. Could be both.”
“Could be trouble,” you said.
“That is usually what it means.”
Grogu gave a soft little chirp, lifting both hands as if in agreement. Din reached back without looking and touched the edge of the pram with two fingers, an absent gesture so familiar now it made something in your chest ache.
You watched the two of them in the reflection of the viewport glass. The Mandalorian in his armor, all hard lines and silence. The foundling in his floating crib, round-eared and wide-eyed and too perceptive for his own good. There were moments when traveling with them felt strangely like standing at the edge of something safe and impossible at the same time. A place where you could almost imagine being ordinary.
Almost.
The settlement was smaller than the last three you had passed through with them, a scatter of low buildings pressed into red dust and wind-carved stone. No dome. No grand landing pad. Just a rough field cleared of rocks and marked by old fire pits, and a handful of villagers watching the Razor Crest touch down with the exhausted caution of people who had already learned to expect the worst.
Din had not even removed his gloved hands from the controls before one of them approached.
The woman was broad-shouldered, sun-worn, and tired in a way that seemed older than her face. Her eyes flicked to Din’s armor, then to you, then to Grogu, lingering on the Child with a look that was careful and frightened all at once.
“You’re late,” she said.
Din gave her the sort of stare that made lesser people apologize for things they had not done.
“We were told we were expected.”
“We expected someone less obvious.”
You almost smiled at that, almost. Din most likely did not.
He only said, “Then you were given poor information.”
The woman looked at you again.
“You the one they said was quiet?”
Your instincts went still. “Depends who’s asking.”
She exhaled through her nose, which might have been amusement if her shoulders were not so tight.
“Name’s Sera. We’ve got a problem in the western cisterns. Something took up residence there two nights ago. Took two workers already. Maybe more.”
“Took?” you repeated.
She nodded once.
“Nobody saw it clearly. Just shadows. Screaming. A smell like burned metal.”
Din’s helmet turned toward the distant ridge line.
“And the cache?”
“Still down there.”
That was when you felt it. Not the smell she described, not the worry in her voice, not even the tension that spread through the gathered villagers like a slow crack in ice.
The wrongness.
It touched the back of your neck first, then settled deeper, a cold seam opening in the air itself. Your breath caught before you could stop it. The world did that sometimes- shifted, sharpened, as if some unseen hand had tilted it just slightly off balance.
You looked toward the western side of the settlement.
A cistern opening half-hidden between jagged rocks.
Dark.
Too dark.
The feeling pressed harder.
Din noticed your stillness immediately. He always did.
“What?”
You could have lied. Could have said nothing. Could have let the instinct pass as unease over a dangerous mission.
Instead you heard yourself say, quiet and certain, “We should not go down there first.”
Sera frowned.
“Why not?”
You stared at the cistern entrance, every muscle in your body braced against the pull of what waited below.
“Because it knows we’re here.”
Din was silent. That silence was worse than any question.
Grogu made a low, worried sound from the pram as his little fingers curled against the blanket. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward the cistern too, as if he had heard the same thing you had.
That made your stomach drop.
Din’s posture changed almost imperceptibly.
“You sensed something.”
It was not a question.
You looked away before he could read too much in your face, despite it being concealed under your helmet.
“Old instinct.”
“From what?”
You should have had an answer ready. You had spent your entire life making answers ready. But the air seemed to press tighter around your ribs, and Grogu was still watching you with that unnerving, knowing stillness, and Din had gone very, very quiet in the way he always did when he had already begun to piece something together.
So you said nothing.
That was answer enough.
The descent into the cistern was a narrow stair of cut stone, damp at the edges, the air growing colder with each step. Din took point, blaster low, armor barely making a sound despite the tight confines. You followed close behind, one hand near your sidearm, the other hovering in unconscious readiness. Grogu stayed at the top with Sera until Din ordered otherwise, which did nothing to ease the pressure in your chest.
Below, the tunnel widened into a chamber lined with old water channels. Most of them were dry now, cracked and lined with mineral crust. The flashlight mounted on Din’s vambrace cut through the dark in a narrow beam, revealing broken crates, torn cloth, and dragged marks in the dust.
Signs of a struggle.
Signs of something much larger than a person.
The Force pressed against your awareness in uneven pulses, brushing the inside of your skull hard enough to make your jaw tighten beneath your helmet. You focused on your breathing instead. On the sound of Din’s boots against stone. On the weight of your blaster at your hip.
The tunnel finally widened into a massive underground reservoir, the ceiling vanishing high above into darkness. Ancient support pillars rose from black water below like the trunks of petrified trees, their reflections trembling faintly across the surface. Most of the cistern had dried long ago, leaving only scattered pools and deep channels winding through cracked stone.
The Force screamed at you.
“Din-”
The water of the closest pool exploded upward.
The creature emerged so suddenly and violently that your mind refused to understand its scale at first. Black water crashed across the stone floor as something enormous unfolded itself from the reservoir depths, towering high enough that its back nearly scraped the ceiling above.
It was massive.
Long-limbed and malformed, covered in slick armored hide that reflected Din’s flashlight in fractured glints. Its front limbs ended in hooked claws the size of vibroblades, while its lower body dragged through the water with terrible weight. Its head was eyeless, split open down the center by a circular maw lined with rotating teeth that flexed and churned as it roared.
Din fired instantly.
Blaster bolts slammed into the creature’s chest in bursts of red light, but the thing barely recoiled. One blast scorched its hide. Another disappeared into layers of armor-like flesh.
Then it moved. Far too fast for something that size.
One enormous limb crashed sideways into a support pillar, shattering stone apart like brittle glass. The next swing came directly toward you both.
“Move!”
You threw yourself sideways as Din fired his grappling line toward a higher ledge. The claw smashed into the ground where you had stood a heartbeat earlier, the impact splitting stone and sending debris exploding through the chamber.
The entire cistern trembled.
Din landed hard atop the ledge and kept firing, drawing the creature’s attention upward while you scrambled for cover below. Red bolts lit the darkness in rapid flashes, illuminating glimpses of the monster’s body twisting through the chamber. You barely had time to shout before one gigantic claw slammed directly into the ledge beneath Din.
Stone ruptured, and the platform collapsed.
Din hit the ground hard enough to crack duracrete. His helmet struck stone with a sharp metallic crack that echoed through the chamber.
Then he stopped moving.
Everything inside you went cold.
“Din!”
The creature turned toward him, toward the still shape sprawled beneath broken stone.
Your thoughts vanished.
Not strategically. Not calmly. Every lesson about restraint and concealment and survival disappeared in one instant beneath a single overwhelming certainty: if it reached him, he would die.
The Force crashed through your senses in a sudden brutal wave—flashes of movement, claws, blood against beskar, Din hitting the floor hard enough not to get back up afterward. Not prophecy. Not certainty. Just possibility screaming loud enough to drown thought beneath it.
And underneath all of that, him.
The shape of his presence in the Force had become painfully familiar to you over time. Steady. Controlled. Quiet in a way that hid exhaustion instead of peace. You had learned the emotional rhythm of him without meaning to. The constant vigilance. The buried grief. The stubborn refusal to let himself break even when every part of him was splintering beneath pressure.
You knew the sound of his footsteps on the Crest.
Knew the slight tilt of his helmet when he was listening instead of speaking.
Knew the tiny pauses before he answered difficult questions.
Knew the warmth of his gloved hand against your shoulder after nightmares he pretended not to notice.
And somewhere along the way, without permission and without safety and without any tactical wisdom whatsoever, your entire nervous system had begun treating Din Djarin’s continued existence as something essential.
The Force erupted through you before you could stop it.
Loose debris lifted from the ground around your boots as invisible pressure exploded outward from your body in a violent wave. The creature roared as something unseen seized it mid-motion.
For one impossible second, the gigantic beast actually stopped moving.
Then it lifted.
Stone cracked beneath its weight as the Force hauled the creature sideways across the chamber with catastrophic force. The monster slammed into one of the massive support pillars hard enough to splinter ancient rock apart.
The creature screamed in rage, claws tearing through stone as it fought against the invisible pressure crushing it backward. You could feel its weight straining against your mind like trying to hold a crashing ship in place with your bare hands.
Pain ripped behind your eyes.
Your knees nearly buckled.
But the creature was still moving.
Still trying to reach Din.
“No,” you heard yourself snarl.
You raised one shaking hand instinctively.
The Force answered. The broken remains of the shattered pillar tore free from the ceiling above and crashed downward onto the creature in a thunderous avalanche of stone.
Din.
You turned instantly and dropped beside him.
He still lay motionless where he had fallen, partially buried beneath broken stone. Panic clawed up your throat as you reached for him, hands trembling despite every effort to steady them.
“Din-”
Your voice sounded wrong. Thin. Fractured.
You pressed gloved fingers against the side of his neck beneath the helmet seal, desperately searching for a pulse.
There. Weak, but there.
Relief nearly made your vision blur.
“You idiot,” you whispered shakily, though your chest ached so hard with fear the words barely held together. “You absolute idiot…”
Your hands hovered uncertainly over him, checking for injuries you could not fully see beneath the armor. The cracked stone around his body suggested bruised ribs at minimum. Possibly worse.
The creature remained buried beneath the collapsed pillar across the chamber, though every instinct in your body warned you not to trust that stillness. Something that large did not die easily. You could still feel it faintly through the Force: a dim, furious pulse buried beneath rubble and broken stone.
You looked down at Din again. The sight of him lying there unnaturally still sent another cold spike of fear through your chest. The crack of his helmet against the stone replayed viciously in your memory. You had seen armored warriors die from impacts like that before. Beskar protected against many things, but bodies inside armor were still flesh.
You hooked one arm beneath his shoulders and hauled him upright with effort. Din was heavy even without the armor damage. With it, dragging him through collapsing tunnels felt nearly impossible.
“You owe me for this,” you muttered breathlessly.
No response.
You tried not to think about that.
The climb back toward the surface became a blur of strain and noise. Several times you had to stop to brace Din’s weight against the wall while dizziness clawed behind your eyes. Using the Force like that had drained you more than you wanted to admit.
Not just physically.
Emotionally.
You could still feel the echo of it roaring through your nervous system. The terrible instinctive release of power after years spent locking every door inside yourself shut as tightly as possible.
You reached the surface level just as another deep tremor shook the settlement. Villagers shouted nearby. Somewhere behind you, deeper underground, part of the cistern collapsed with a thunderous roar.
Sera turned sharply the moment she saw you emerge carrying Din.
“What happened?”
“No time,” you snapped.
The words came harsher than intended. Fear was making everything sharp-edged.
“Ship. Now.”
Her eyes widened at the condition of the armor. “Is he-”
“He’s alive.”
You hoped.
Grogu was already racing toward you before you fully crossed the landing field, tiny hands gripping the edge of his pram so hard the fabric bunched beneath his claws. The child made a distressed noise the moment he saw Din hanging unconscious against your side.
“I know,” you said quietly.
Grogu looked up at you then.
Really looked.
And for the first time since you had met him, there was no uncertainty left in his expression at all.
Only recognition.
The Force brushed softly against your awareness from him, warm and worried and heartbreakingly gentle. You swallowed hard and looked away first.
The Razor Crest lifted from the settlement only minutes later, engines screaming against the storm of dust now rolling across the desert. You strapped Din into one of the rear bunks as carefully as you could manage, removing damaged sections of armor where the impact had warped the beskar inward.
Bruised ribs.
A dislocated shoulder.
Possibly a concussion.
Your chest loosened slightly once you confirmed he was breathing steadily beneath the helmet.
Grogu sat beside the bunk the entire time, tiny ears lowered anxiously while you worked. He watched your hands with intense focus, following every movement as you adjusted medical patches and tightened stabilizers around Din’s side.
The trip to Tatooine took longer than you liked.
Din regained consciousness exactly once during the journey. You were in the cockpit trying to keep the Crest together through another wave of turbulence when you heard movement behind you. You turned instantly, hand already near your blaster out of instinct.
Din sat partially upright on the bunk, one gloved hand pressed against his ribs.
“You should be unconscious,” you said.
“Tried.” his voice came out rough through the modulator.
You exhaled shakily before you could stop yourself. His visor tilted toward you.
“Tatooine?” he asked.
“Figured your friend owed you enough favors not to ask questions.”
“Boba Fett asks many questions.”
The Razor Crest touched down outside the palace near dusk beneath Tatooine’s endless burning sky. Heat rolled across the sand in visible waves while the old fortress loomed above the dunes like the skeleton of something ancient and territorial.
Before the ramp had fully lowered, you heard blaster safeties disengaging outside.
Reasonable, honestly.
You stepped carefully down the ramp first with your hands visible.
Immediately, a rifle pointed directly at your chest.
“You look terrible,” said Fennec Shand from beneath the shade of the palace entrance.
“You should see the other guy,” you answered.
Her gaze flicked past you toward the ship interior.
“Djarin alive?”
“Currently.”
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. Heavy footsteps sounded behind her a moment later as Boba Fett emerged into the sunlight wearing his weathered green armor.
His attention landed on you first.
Then on Din being half-carried down the ramp moments later.
Then finally on Grogu hovering anxiously nearby in his pram.
Boba sighed deeply through his helmet.
“What happened now?”
For a moment, nobody answered him.
Hot desert wind rolled through the landing platform, tugging faintly at cloaks and carrying sand against metal with a dry hiss. The palace loomed behind Boba Fett like something watching the exchange with ancient patience.
You adjusted Din’s weight slightly against your shoulder.
“He got hit hard in a cistern collapse,” you said. “There was a creature.”
“That explains the damage.” Boba’s helmet tilted toward the dented beskar plating along Din’s side.
Before you could answer, Din shifted slightly beside you with a low sound of restrained pain. Instantly, Grogu chirped anxiously and floated closer in his pram.
“I’m fine,” Din muttered.
“You are absolutely not fine,” you shot back automatically.
Fennec snorted softly somewhere to your right.
You swallowed once. Then slowly lowered Din’s arm from your shoulder as Boba stepped forward to take his weight instead.
Din stiffened slightly from the movement but didn’t resist.
The sudden absence of him beside you felt strangely cold.
“I need a favor.” Your voice came quieter than intended.
Boba crossed his arms as best he could under Din’s weight.
“That depends heavily on the favor.”
“A ship.”
“Hangar three,” Boba Fett said gruffly. “Old Firespray patrol craft. Needs work, but it flies.”
Fennec turned toward him. “You’re just giving them a ship?”
“They saved Djarin.”
You stared for a second before nodding once.
“Thank you.”
Then you moved. Fast.
Because if you stopped long enough to think about this, you were not sure you would actually go through with it.
Grogu chirped sharply behind you.
Your boots rang against metal walkways as you crossed deeper into the palace hangars. The sounds behind you blurred together beneath the pounding of your pulse. Someone called your name once- Din, maybe- but you kept moving anyway.
This was the right choice.
It had to be.
You had seen the way people looked at you your entire life once they learned what you were. Eventually there was always distance afterward. Carefulness. Hesitation. Even among good people. Especially among good people.
Because good people tried to reconcile compassion with fear, and sometimes that process hurt more than outright hatred ever did.
You couldn’t do that to Din.
Not after everything he had already survived.
Not after the covert.
Not after Mandalore.
Not after a lifetime spent inheriting stories about Jedi and wars and betrayal.
Your hands shook while entering the launch sequence.
Not from fear. From grief.
Because somewhere along the way, the Razor Crest had started feeling like home.
And Din Djarin and Grogu had started feeling dangerously close to family.
The realization hollowed your chest out from the inside. Because you spent your entire life being the contradiction that made people uncomfortable and you could not survive watching that realization settle into Din’s silence too.
A moment later, the stars stretched into hyperspace lines with the familiar violent lurch that always made your stomach tighten no matter how many years you spent traveling between systems.
summary: you’ve 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 (i’m sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS ⚠️ 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 ‘let’s daydream about being in the new movie’ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs it’s 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 it’s 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 you’re seeing things.
The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. It’s 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 can’t help but stare at the mysterious warrior.
“Is he… imperial?” Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.
“Nope, he’s working with us now.” Teva answers simply.
You didn’t believe it. But apparently it’s true.
“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s 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.
“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” 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.
“I’ll 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 I’m away.
It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.
“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.
“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”
“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.
“Good, that’s what I thought.”
When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.
“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t 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 he’s not alone.
A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?
“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.
“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.
“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?
“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.
He doesn’t say anything.
“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?
“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.
“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.
It’s 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.
“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.
A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.
Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.
“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.
“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.
The colonel sighs.
“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”
You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.
“Do the whole debrief drunk.” 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 isn’t showing up.
Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.
It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.
You don’t even know if you should say anything
“Mweh?” 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.
“You like it? It’s cute right?”
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.
“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.
You’re 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.
“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.
You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.
“What’s the next order?” 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 doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.
“Come on, kid.” 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.
“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.
Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.
You can’t wait till this is over.
It’s 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.
“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t 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. It’s 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.
“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s 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.
“What’s your name?” 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.
“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.
“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.
Then you turn to Grogu’s 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.
“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.
“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”
“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”
A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.
“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.
“Din…” you repeat it.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.
Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.
When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.
“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.
“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.
“What do you say, kid?”
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 it’s 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 he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.
“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.
“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve 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.
“A fair statement.” Din agrees.
And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.
Watching the pair leave, you find you’re 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.
“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.
“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.
“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.
That’s when you realized he just joked with you.
“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.
“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.
“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.
You stay stubbornly quiet.
“Don’t worry… They’ve a pain in my ass too.” 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.
“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.
“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.
“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.
The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.
“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.
“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.
“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.
You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve 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.
“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” 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.
“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.
Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.
“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” 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.
“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.
His helmet tilts towards you.
“Sometimes,” you shrug.
“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.
“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”
You want to strangle her.
“You fought at Endor?” 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.
“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.
A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.
“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.
“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.
“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.
“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”
You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s 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.
“Kid.” Din chides.
“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.
Din sighs, truly parental.
“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.
“I do.” Din answers, confident.
“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.
“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.
Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.
“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.
“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.
“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.
“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” 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.
“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.
A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.
“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.
You turn and find he’s already looking at you.
Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re 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 you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.
Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.
“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.
“No, I stole it.” You quip back.
“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.
“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.
“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.
You playfully elbow him.
Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.
“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.
“Mweh!” He squeals.
“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.
“No.” Din answers back firmly.
“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.
“No.” Din repeats again firmer.
A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.
“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.
Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.
You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re 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 don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.
“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.
“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.
“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.
“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.
“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.
“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” 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 don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.
It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.
Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.
“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.
“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” 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 sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.
“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.
“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.
“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.
“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” 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.
“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.
“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.
“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.
As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re 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. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.
“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.
Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.
“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.
“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.
Then you hold up the new charm.
“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.
“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.
“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.
“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.
“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.
Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.
“What do you say, kid?” Din says.
Grogu however doesn’t 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. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.
“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.
The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s 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.
“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.
“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.
This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.
But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.
The wound isn’t looking good.
You’re 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 you’re 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. You’ve 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 pirates…
“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.
“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” 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.
“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.
You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.
A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.
“What was that?!” One of them screams.
Then a blaster shot silenced him.
“Step away from her now.” 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 he’s truly here.
And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.
You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…
And he’s 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.
“I’m okay, I promise.” 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.
“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.
“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” 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.
“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.
An exhale escapes Din, relieved.
“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.
“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.
Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.
“Just glad you’re safe.” 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.
You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.
“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.
He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.
“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.
It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.
“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.
How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?
“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t 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.
“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.
You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s 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 you’re 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
It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.
“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.
“Huh uh.” 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.
“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.
“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.
Din doesn’t say anything.
“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.
“Seems like it,” Din agrees.
This isn’t the first time he’s 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 room’s attention to her.
The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.
“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” 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, he’s incredible.
But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.
It’s time to fly.
“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.
“Guess you will.” 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.
“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.
You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.
Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re 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.
“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.
“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.
“Starfighter, standing by.” 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.
That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.
A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.
But again, you’re 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 she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.
But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s 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 - you’ve 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.
“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.
“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.
“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s 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 you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.
Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.
It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.
The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.
“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.
“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.
“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.
“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”
Teva takes a moment then sighs.
“Make it quick.”
Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.
“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.
“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.
The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s 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.
“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.
“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.
But in a flash, he zooms past you.
“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.
Din’s 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 don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.
“You were incredible.”
“You flew… amazing.”
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.
“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.
“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.
“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.
Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.
Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.
“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” 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.
“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” 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. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.
“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.
“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.
“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.
“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.
“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.
Of course he’s a damn natural.
Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.
“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.
“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.
“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s 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 it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.
“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.
Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.
“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.
Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.
You exhale relieved and don’t 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 don’t care. You glance over to Din.
A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s 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 way…
Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.
“Didn’t know you smoked.” 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.
“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s 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.
“What made you join?” 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. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t 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.
He’s 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.
“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.
You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.
“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.
You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.
“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.
This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.
“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s 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.
“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”
It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.
“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s 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.
“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s 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 it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.
“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” 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.
“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.
Another x-wing lands outside stealing your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.
“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.
“You wanna see?”
He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.
“Come on,” 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.
“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.
“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.
“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.
“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.
He doesn’t 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.
“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.
“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.
“Get in,” 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.
“Can we even fit in this?”
“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” 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.
“Throttle, control stick,” 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.
“It’s got a good radar system.” 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.
“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.
“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.
You’re 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 Din’s legs.
You crouch low and drag him down too.
“Wh…what are you-”
“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”
“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.
“We’re fine.” 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.
“See… told you we’d be fine.”
He stays quiet.
It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re 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.
“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.
“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.
“I would.” You immediately counter.
“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.
So you try to recover fast.
“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t 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.
You’ve 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.
“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.
“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” 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 don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.
Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re 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.
“I want this… I want you.” 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 you’re 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 Din’s 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 doesn’t want this?
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.
“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.
You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.
“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”
It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.
“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.
His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.
“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.
“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.
Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s 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 hunter’s gaze.
His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.
“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.
“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.
“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.
“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.
“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.
“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” 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.
“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” 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.
“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.
“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.
This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t 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.
It’s too hot now, and you’re 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 it’s 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 you’re 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.
“Beautiful,” 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.
“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.
“Want you inside of me,” 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. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s 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.
“Inside now,” 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 don’t 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 they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.
Now you don’t 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 he’s 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.
“Where?” He slurs urgently.
“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.
“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.
“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.
Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re 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 Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.
“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.
You shake your head no.
“You’re the only one.” 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. It’s 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 it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve 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 it’s 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 don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.
“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.
“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.
He chuckles.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.
“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”
You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.
But you’re reminded he does have a home.
“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.
“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.
“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.
“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.
Slowly your eyes close on their own now.
“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.
Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.
“My eyes… they’re brown.” 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 colonel’s gaze as she leaves.
That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.
“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.
“She flies better than she looks.” 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 she’ll soon be carrying.
“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” 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.
“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.
“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.
He barks a laugh.
“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.
“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.
“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” 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 doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.
“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.
“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.
But he leaves you and Din alone.
It’s 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.
“Be safe,” 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 don’t hear from Din for half a month.
It’s nothing new. You’re 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 you’re 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?
“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.
“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.
He smiles at you kindly.
“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”
Shit.
“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.
“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”
Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.
“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”
He is. But he’s more than that.
He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.
“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.
It’s 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 there’s already commotion.
Din has returned, but he’s not alone.
Jabba’s 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.
“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.
“Tell me about it.” 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.
“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”
His somber tone says more looms.
“Din…” you mutter cautiously.
He turns to you.
“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.
“I know.” 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.
“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t 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.
“We’ll be fine.” 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 don’t have the strength to watch them leave.
You throw yourself into any available mission.
Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.
“Mando will be fine,” 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. You’d 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.
“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.
“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.
Absolute dread is unleashed in you.
You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.
“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.
Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.
“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.
“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.
“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.
“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.
Anger burns through your veins.
“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.
“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.
More Delphi officers stand up.
Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.
You don’t 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 can’t help but widen.
She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.
“I should sit you out on this mission.”
“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.
Her smirks grows bigger.
“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.
You’ll happily accept that too.
The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.
Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s 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.
That’s 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.
“Get out of there. Please.” 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.
“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” 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.
“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.
Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.
Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s 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 didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.
“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.
Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.
“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.
“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”
Ward’s 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 don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.
He’s here.
Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.
“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” 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 he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.
He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.
“Welcome back,” you croak out.
Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.
“Had to bring this back.”
With a watery laugh, you shake your head.
“Your dad is so silly,” 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.
“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.
“Always.” 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 heart’s 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, we’ll 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! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰
****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
“What’s he doing here?”
You throw a thumb in Mando’s direction, your tone matching your exasperated expression. Without giving Mando a chance to reply, Colonel Ward smiles wryly.
“I have a mission for you,” she says.
You cross your arms over your chest and your nostrils flare. “Still doesn’t explain why he’s here.”
“For both of you,” 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. “Hear me out.”
Another sigh from Mando, and you throw him the stink eye.
“It’s a rescue mission…”
After she briefs you on the mission you know it’s not something you’ll be able to turn down so you square your shoulders and turn toward Mando.
“I’m in if you are,” you tell him.
“Mando?” Colonel ward asks.
“Fine. It will be done.”
Colonel Ward gives a triumphant smile. “And listen you two,” she adds. “try to make friends.”
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.
“Hey buddy,” you chuckle. “What have you been snacking on?”
He pulls out a handful of the snacks you saw on Colonel Ward’s desk, stuffing some into his mouth before holding out his hand in offering to you.
“Does she know you took those?” you whisper. He just blinks at you, shoving your portion into his mouth. You laugh and rub him between the ears.
“Come on Grogu,” Djarin says as he steps beside you. “Time to get ready.”
Grogu secures himself at your shoulder and you head out to Djarin’s new ship.
“Are you actually going to listen to me this time?” 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.
“Hmm,” you finally answer, drawing his eyes to yours. “Not going to lie, this…” you continue and sweep your hand over his form, now fully weaponized, “is very sexy. So…maybe.”
With that you walk off to the cockpit, leaving him staring after you.
“You know, one day you’re going to have to teach me how to fly this thing,” you say as you start to put on your seatbelt.
“I’m teaching Grogu,” he says and as if summoning him, Grogu hops onto Djarin’s lap.
“No buddy, not now. We have a mission.”
Grogu makes a soft whine, his eyes wide as he looks to you. “Aw come on! What’s the difference?” you say.
Djarin looks down at Grogu. “She wants to learn too,” he says.
Grogu nods, ears perking up as he crawls off Djarin’s lap and into his own seat. His big eyes look at you then at Djarin.
“Oh!” you squeak, eying Djarin’s lap, thick thighs spread wide and inviting. “You think….well, I don’t…I’m not ready.”
Djarin chuckles and you quietly curse him. “You’re just afraid of sitting with me.”
You turn his way, eyes narrowed and glaring. “I’m not afraid of anything. Especially you. But if you want us to get to our destination alive then you better fly this time.”
“Whatever you say sweetheart,” he murmurs.
“Don’t call me that!” 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.
“It’s always extra beautiful from up here,” 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 it’s 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.
“I think this is it,” he whispers, stopping by a doorway that’s 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. “I have cookies,” you explain with a wink. “Don’t worry you’re still his favorite.”
You take a step ahead, passing through the doorway and missing when Djarin says, “yeah, for now.”
The bar you enter is at the far back, quieter than the streets but still filled with life forms. Djarin scans the crowd.
“Follow me,” he says and starts to walk forward without waiting for your agreement.
“Always so bossy,” you mutter.
He approaches a Twi’lek sitting alone at a far table. “Let me do the talking,” 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.
“We’re looking for Rylee Lawson,” Djarin states, his voice more gruff than usual.
“I don’t care who you’re looking for,” the Twi’lek answers before taking a sip of his drink.
“You’ll be greatly rewarded if you can give me the location of where he’s being held.”
The Twi’lek looks at Djarin again, his eyes full of malice. “Get out of my bar.”
You step around Djarin, gun poised and ready to shoot. “You can either tell us or I’ll shoot you.”
Djarin’s 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 Djarin’s as you stay close and expertly shoot anything that moves. He’s 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.
“You just don’t listen!” he chides when he joins your side again.
“And you were taking too long.”
Grogu makes a sound that you’re sure is one of agreement and you smile back at him.
It’s 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.
“It’s ok,” you immediately say. “We’re here to help.”
He looks skeptical but when Mando comes into view his eyes widen.
“You’re the Mandalorian,” he says in awe.
“Yeah, yeah, kid,” you huff. “Don’t stare too long. It’ll go to his head.”
Rylee nods and swallows hard, dropping his eyes to the lock. “How are you gonna…?”
His question never finishes because you blast through the lock, setting off the alarms.
“She’s loves to make things messy,” Djarin says as he ushers Rylee out of the cell. “Come on.”
The three of you race down the hallway, Grogu secured at your back. “Stay behind me kid,” Djarin yells when you round the corner and face several more armed Abyssin’s.
You shoot all four in rapid succession, each shot perfectly aimed until they drop to the floor. Rylee turns his wide eyes to you. “Wow,” he breathes.
You grin. “Mando’s not the only one who can get things done.”
Your escape back to the ship starts out quiet but you quickly gain a following as people realize you’ve ‘kidnapped’ a prized prisoner of the Hutts. With several bounty hunters on your tail it’s making it difficult to escape.
“This wouldn’t have happened if you had some patience,” Djarin grits out as he turns to blast one of the vehicles in hot pursuit.
“Oh please,” you answer, “because you had some magical plan that was better?”
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to listen,” he says back with a growl. “You never do.”
“I think you like it.”
His helmet turns toward you and you know there’s a smirk hidden beneath.
“Are they always like this?” 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. “Buckle up,” he says. You sit but don’t put on your seatbelt, working at the controls you’re familiar with and plugging in the coordinates.
“What are you waiting for?” you ask. “Let’s go.”
Gunfire shakes the ship and you raise your brows.
“Put your seatbelt on.”
Your jaw slackens then your mouth closes into a smirk. “Worried for my safety Mando?”
He huffs and pulls the lever for takeoff. “Just do it. Now…please.”
Your smile widens. “Since you asked so nicely.” 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 Grogu’s favorite cookies.
“He should have dinner first,” Djarin says and you startle.
“And you should be more fun,” you say with a saccharine smile.
You hand Grogu a cookie, laughing as he inhales it and then asks for another.
“Only one more or your dad is going to yell at me again,” you whisper.
“I don’t yell at you!” Djarin says firmly.
You raise a brow. “Ok Mr. Bossy. Whatever you say.”
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.
You walk straight into what you think is the wall but instead look up to meet Djarin’s dark brown eyes.
“Shit,” you quickly say. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know…”
You’ve seen him without his helmet once before…a mission that had gotten very messy…and the image is burned into your brain forever.
“It’s ok,” he answers, gently grabbing your wrist when you start to turn away. “No enemies here.”
You give him a look. “You sure?”
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 doesn’t turn your face, he waits, asking with his soft touch.
You meet his eyes and lean into the cradle of his palm. “How bad is it?” he asks softly.
“How bad is what?” you reply.
“Your injury.”
Your pulse flutters against his touch as you slowly lift the edge of your shirt, revealing the gash at your side. Djarin’s 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.
“We need to clean and dress this. Grogu can close it for you.”
You nod and his frown turns into a smile. “Now you’re listening?” 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 doesn’t 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 he’s too weak to heed.
He leans in, just an inch, waiting for your hesitation. When it doesn’t 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 that’s left between you is the pressure, friction, and taste of him.
Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Summary: You’re not sure how it happens, how you two end up on the ground, sliding in the mud, clutching at each other. His big hands lock your wrists above your head, pinning you to the moss and mud. You could slip out from under him easily, but you let him scan you, checking to make sure you’re okay, helmet tilting when he sees your racing heart in your chest.
Warnings: Smut, mud, rain, Din uses that line from the movie, helmet stays on, gloves stay on, we only get Din dick glimpse, author used Wookieepedia. Not beta read because it just needs to be released so I can move along with my day.
Words: 1,600
A/N: 🤷🏼♀️ I saw Mandalorian & Grogu while ovulating. I've had this idea half written in my docs with Joel, but once I figured out how good this would be for Din, well, I had to change it. This is partially based from my favorite sex scene (Emmanuelle IV nation, rise) that I've shared with some of you. Titles from the Marías song "Care For You" which is the hottest song/video in the world. Uhhh. Enjoy?
Masterlist
It hasn’t stopped raining since you set foot on this planet. It’s a sheet of water, unforgiving and smothering, hammering down so hard you can hardly breathe, let alone see in front of you. The storm soaks you all the way through, your boots dipping deeper into the muddy ground.
You couldn’t move, even if you wanted to. The throaty and deep growl that told you “stay put” keeps you planted in the forest. You’re out, in the open, the clearing barely wrapping you in any sort of protection. You’re shivering, arms shaking, blaster held up as if your measly little pistol’s going to do anything to protect you.
Far away shots radiate through the tall trunks of the trees, coming closer with every sway of the foliage. Your breathing rattles when you gasp a wet, rapid suck of air. You want to call out for him, but you stay quiet and armed. Just how he likes you.
Another blast of shots echoes out into the air. Then a weird silence that seems to mute the cacophony of raindrops and thunder.
If he doesn’t come back, what the fuck do you do next? Do you even know where the ship is? And how the hell are you going to pilot the thing? You still feel like the bounty hunter’s little charity case, proving herself to the big, strong Mandalorian after you were left all alone when the Hutts ran your crew to the ground on Nar Shaddaa and your captain ditched you to save his own skin.
Your feet are growing numb, water trickles down your whole body, and you’re too anxious to get mad at yourself for not bringing your poncho. He told you to wait. So you do. Body quaking, teeth grinding. Every shadow looks like an enemy hiding in the bushes. You thought you’d have more courage with Din, that you’d be brave like him. And yet… all you want to do is get back to the safety of the ship.
A hunched shape breaks through the dense foliage. Tall, looming, broad, shiny.
Din.
Your blaster drops to the ground, and he says your name, speakers crackling just loud enough to hear over the rain. You slip in the muck as you cross the clearing.
“Din,” you whisper.
He bounds towards you, gloved hands gripping your arms, his armored shoulders rising and falling. The metal of his helmet clunks against your forehead, and he takes a moment.
“Are we okay?” you ask.
“We are.”
That unlocks you, and you choke on relief, collapsing against the Beskar wall of him. “I was scared,” you blurt to the dark T of the visor.
You’re not sure how it happens, how you two end up on the ground, sliding in the mud, clutching at each other. His big hands lock your wrists above your head, pinning you to the moss and mud. You could slip out from under him easily, but you let him scan you, checking to make sure you’re okay, helmet tilting when he sees your racing heart in your chest.
“Don’t be scared, I’ll protect you,” he thunders above you, pressing his body down, full heavy weight against you, the edge of his thigh armor digging between your legs. Lightning strobes and thunder cracks, and you’re flailing, greedy, grinding yourself against the hard edge of his armor. The rain still sheets down, droplets of it leaking down his helmet, tasting like precious metal and need.
He’s repeating your name, barking it almost, over the tinny speaker in his helmet, gasping it out. You clutch at his pauldrons, trying to bring him closer and closer to you. He’s heavy, but you’re slippery.
The world turns when he rolls, and you’re straddling his hips. The clasp of your soaked tunic is ripped open by Din, cold rain hitting your bare skin, and you welcome it to cool your burning skin.
His hands slide up your thighs, leather gripping hard, and he groans, that low, mechanical sound you crave. His visor is fixed on your breasts, the rain making your skin glisten in the flashes of lightning.
“This is dangerous,” you say, and yet Din’s hands pull you harder against him
“I’ll take care of whoever comes.”
He sits up, holding you against him, your legs twining around his waist. You grind, the soaked seams of your pants and the scrape of his flight suit sparking warm friction along your needy cunt. It’s almost primitive in the way you rub and moan, head tipped back, rain filling your mouth as his big, meaty hands grip your ass, moving you sweeter and deeper along him.
The mud squelches beneath you when he presses you back down into the ground, his helmet knocking against your forehead again. “Your heart,” he growls. “I can hear it.”
There’s a desperation shared between you, it’s been there from the first moment the dark T of his visor met your eyes. You tug at his flight suit, needy for his skin, but he stops you with his hand on your wrist. Instead, he slides his hand down your stomach, under the waistband of your pants, and you gasp when the leather finds your clit, thick finger pressing against it and circling. The rain continues to pour and pelt, washing the mud from your skin only for your writhing body to replace it with more, but you don’t care about the mess, not when Mando has you captured like this. You don’t care about anything now, just the way he watches you through that impassive visor.
“I want you,” you beg.
He tugs your pants low, exposes your pussy to the rain, to the unknown planet, and to him, not even pausing before grinding himself against you.
You wonder what he looks like when he sees you like this, naked body offered to him amongst the dirt and mud of the planet he landed on just a few hours ago. Are his eyes greedy? Does he lick his lips, craving the taste of you? You want to see his face, want to see his eyes, but you know you can’t… and it only makes you want him more. He groans and grunts, desperation through the speakers, and he rips down his flight suit, just enough to give you a quick glimpse of his golden cock.
The thick tip of Din nudges at your slick entrance, and when he pushes in, you see a galaxy behind your eyes. You moan, loud, an almost primal scream, and he answers it with a growl of “good girl,” like he always does.
He gives you all of him at once, shrouding himself in your wet heat, he doesn’t take it slow. There’s no time for savoring. It can’t take long out here in the middle of the forest. Later, after you’ve scrubbed yourself in the tiny shower of the ship, he’ll lay you down on the metallic floor and take his time… maybe even wrap a blindfold over your eyes and bestow the precious gift of his tongue between your legs, but for now, you have to be fast.
He presses you deeper and deeper into the forest floor, hands bracing on your shoulders, using you as leverage as his cock spears you. The Mandalorian overpowers you, makes you ache in the way he fills you, thrusting into you with the same rhythm as the quick thunderclaps overhead. Din’s breathing hard, fingers gripping you so hard you welcome the ache across your skin.
“Look at me,” he rasps, visor locked on your face, and you do, all soaked, crumpled, and ruined by his big cock.
Your back bows in the mud, mouth open to the rain, and his helmet presses into your forehead in the way you know he’s thinking about feeling your skin against his. Every tattered breath he takes through the speakers vibrates through your body, his tremors meeting yours as your cunt clenches around him. You wonder if he’s sweating under there, if his sweat tastes metallic.
You cum first, noisy and shameless and writhing, out in the middle of the forest. Your pulsing pussy drags him with you, and you can hear the panic of his own orgasm in the flatline of his breathing. He pulls out and gives you what you crave, the sight of his big, gloved hand wrapping around his fat cock, stroking his release out of him.
Thick white webs of the Mandalorian land across your wet body, the rain instantly washing away the cum he’s bathed you in. You’re panting, curses you’ve gathered from far-off planets escaping from your mouth as you come down, and for a split second you pretend he could take off the helmet, feel his plush lips against yours outside the privacy of his ship… but the moment never comes.
He rolls off, grunting, tucking himself back into his flight suit, all of the Mandaloian now shrouded and protected, while you lie splayed amongst the forest naked and shivering. He drags you over to him, gathers you in his arms, gauntlets pressing against your skin. He cradles your head against his throat, your face mashed up against the pulse point under his helmet, pressing into the scratchy flight suit.
You savor it, shaky and sated, his body heat radiating through the panels of armor. He traces the line of your spine with his hand, full of softness not many people know the bounty hunter is capable of.
“I care for you,” he finally says, hushed and flattened by the rain.
Your eyes close, and you memorize the sound, pulse slowing when you realize you're safe for once, because of the impossibly big, shiny bounty hunter.
“And, I care for you,” you tell him, his arms answering your confession when they bound you tighter against him.
summary: personal space is hard to maintain on a shuttle that's less than 650 sq ft
note: i make a lot of assumptions about the layout of this spaceship so you'll have to forgive me. i also probably fudge the timeline in every way- that being how long or how quickly the plot actually moves. love dragging things out, sorry about that. also i should note, i do very much enjoy aroace grace. like a LOT. but… i also wish to personally smooch the man so i am also conflicted. this fic contains not many if not ANY sexual notes, just general attraction and affection because again, i wish to kiss the man on the cheeks — bye!!!
warnings (TW): swearing i think
tags: angst-slight-comfort?, affection, amnesia
word count: 5.5k
The topic of gender didn't arise until their little curious stowaway made himself rather comfortable in their medical bay.
Though, it was something Ryland considered… later. But in their general confusion they attracted and repelled back and forth around each other for several hours after he shook her awake all those days ago.
He was relieved, and wasn't afraid to admit that he shed a couple tears too, when he realized he at the very least wouldn't have to bury his other crew-mates completely alone. Or that he wouldn't have to eat ramen alone also, or figure out who he was either. Something in him sunk though, when he realized she woke much in the same condition he did several days prior—completely and utterly confused.
Luckily he was able to supply her with her own name, but not much else. Her belongings were the only one's he couldn't bring himself to crack open yet, something about her name scrawled on the baggage tag made him stutter. Something about her living and breathing still, eased something in him. He figured it was the loneliness that made him so eager for her to wake, and that it was deep, instilled, manners that stopped him from ripping open his only-living crew-mates belongings'.
She awoke confused, but clung to him for a good thirty minutes despite that. While he didn't struggle at all initially to move up and down the sleep-compartment ladder or through the cockpit, she seemed to struggle with the centrifugal fake-gravity the ship created. She had decided to wake while he excessively took stock of the laboratory for the upteenth time in his confusion and withering panic.
Her feet pained her, her muscles slightly atrophied from the years-long coma, but she insisted on taking meticulous inventory of each nook-and-cranny of the ship, like she knew it better than she knew herself. Which, ironically, she seemed to. As she made careful inspections of the interior of the craft from ceiling to floor (or was it just floor to floor?). She listed insightful information regarding the storage of the craft, limping all the while as he took in the sound of someone else for the first time in days.
But, her hunched form had him concerned, even if her warm-hands along his right arm and shoulder were world-shatteringly reassuring at the moment. She probably already knew of the feature on the ship, seeing as it seems she had her own hand in building Mary, but he figured she'd still get a kick out of it. She had yet to even acknowledge their fake-gravity at the moment, probably too caught up in being awake for the first time in years. That or, she wasn't an astronaut. Something he had an itching suspicion that he wasn't either.
He brought her to the cockpit and watched her face crack into something entirely human. The fascination was palpable. She grew even giddier when he flipped those switches and turned off the nauseating spinning.
She flew from space to space in the ship then, her spine elongating and her unkept hair flying. He wished he could have been as awe-struck as she was when he awoke, but he swallowed his jealousy in favor of living a little in between his usual dread.
They were stuck like glue, for about two-hours. Until that same dread caught up to her also. Confirming his hypothesis about her. She was no astronaut. Neither was he.
He had knowledge of space, an aptitude for it really. Knew of star-chasing and planet atmospheric chemical-make-ups. Knew biological systems and micro-chemistry like the back of his hand. He was… okay at math. Mediocre, at best. He always needed to write it down.
She was great at math, knew physics better than most. Or what he believed to be… "most". What's a good point-of-reference when you don't remember much of anything?
So, she was better at physics than him. Math too. She knew molecular material-science, but strayed when it came to the biological. She was a builder, knew electronics and metals and everything in-between. She knew of space travel, of projectile maps and time-dilation.
Decidedly though, neither of them were astronauts.
They couldn't place why they would be here though. Which was the real mystery.
They separated after, like a town-hall meeting commenced and completed. She fled to the holo-room, her luggage banging along the walls as she floated to the compartment. She was going to take stock of who she was, and he didn't invite himself along. Just brought himself back to his white board, scrawling out her name and a question mark somewhere along the margins of the growing list of questions he had about himself.
Because the stranger in the other room was oddly familiar to him. Though he could not place the significance yet.
Ryland was embarrassed by the half-hazard living he was doing until she awoke. He tried to hide the more erratic parts of himself from her, and thanked some god every day she couldn't hear the ever-cycling chaotic dialogue of his mind day in-and-out.
She was tidier than him, which he could admit. He took to taking her orders like someone who was used to them.
She dictated food, dictated the time, dictated the organization of what they had labeled "common" spaces between them also. She found solace towards to front of the ship, by the medical bay and cockpit. He felt most comfortable in the lab, and dragged his mattress to the back room quickly after she set guidelines on space. Something she took seriously, and something he nodded along in agreement to.
Because she was rather distracting.
It all went belly-up when Rocky invited himself in and she didn't have the heart to protest. They had been back and forth for days, communicating and building a relationship with the arthropod-like alien in hopes of finding an answer to the ever pressing mystery of a darkening space. When somewhere during week two their new friend became their new roommate.
And so the lines she had hastily drawn were skewed in favor of making room for their pushy new friend.
"Why sleep here. Question." Echoed behind him as Rocky observed his spotty whiteboard math.
"What?"
"Why sleep here. Why not sleep next to each other. Question."
"I sleep back here, and she sleeps closer to the cockpit. Just in-case something happens, she knows the controls better than me." He answers, tapping his marker against the board.
"Does not explain. Why back here, why not up by her. Question." How can a computer sound so judgemental?
He sighs, hands finding his waist. "Humans don't… sleep close together. Like you guys do."
"Oh." Rocky isn't quiet for long. "Why not. Question. Eridians protect each other when sleep. Why don't you protect. Question."
Ryland flings his hands out, Rocky copies. Almost like he's mocking him.
"Because, she doesn't want to sleep near me."
Rocky jumps at that, something excited in his computerized voice as he scampers through his tunneling system to the front of the ship.
"I ask why." The Eridian replies, from rooms away. Grace doesn't have the energy to follow. She could entertain him for a while, at least until he's done with this projectile math needed to get closer to their destination.
She stomps in within what he presumes is thirty minutes. Something he can sparse from the clock she stuck to the wall in the laboratory. An arbitrary time chosen by her and the ship system. It's almost dinner-time.
She's wearing something casual, which always upsets his chest. A sense of domesticity to it almost. Like the gray sweats and big sweater don't swallow her whole. Her hair is mused on one side, evidence of her dozing off at the med-bay desk again. Something he caught her doing from time to time when he snuck into her space. It took real willpower to not tuck her frizzy hair behind her ear.
Her eyes narrowed at him, something unserious about the whole situation had him giggling at her rather than trembling. It only brought her further into the room, her hand smacking against the table next to him as she found balance in front of him again.
She still struggled with the gravity, from time to time. Long-term affects they both figured.
His hand reaches forward, long fingers curling around her back as he continues to sit in his stool. His eyes find hers, his glasses crooked at the bottom of his nose. Giggling still, he tries to ignore the bashful look she sends his way.
"What is Rocky nagging me about?"
Her hand finds his, uncurling his fingers from her warm hitched-waist he pushes his stool a little bit back. Folding his arms across his chest he shakes his head.
"He's going on about how I sleep back here. He had a billion questions about it."
"Why?"
Grace sighs, standing to level with her. "The hell if I know?" He shrugs, shooting a smile towards her. She reaches to rub the sleep from her eyes.
Rocky interrupts, rolling into the room rather sloppily in his makeshift hamster ball that he still has yet to get the hang of.
"Why run. Question."
She scoffs, eyebrows raising as she turns to crouch in front of the curious alien.
"I did not run!"
"You did. Statement."
"Rude."
"Don't understand. Ignore questions. Why no let Grace protect. Question."
She stands, cocking her head to face him again. "What is he talking about? I think I'm missing at least half of a conversation."
He turns away from her, looking back to the whiteboard again. She was too distracting with the look on her face. He hides his smile behind a hand, and pretends to be busy with the not-so-complex math scrawled on his board.
"It's about the sleeping arrangements, I told you." He laughs, his shoulders shaking.
She crouches in front of the alien again, "Rocky, I sleep up front so I'm closer to the cockpit. I explained what the cockpit was, remember? It's like your ships control-room. Just in case we need to move the ship."
Rocky gets frustrated, running around in his ball, his computerized voice unable to translate the aliens hemming and hawing. She sighs, settling on the floor to ease the weight off her hips. Rocky settles in front of her again, but quickly makes his way over to excessively ram himself into his shins. He makes his way over to her, settling on the floor next to her to be lectured at by the alien.
"You no answer. Know why she sleep by control-room. Safety of ship. Why not safety of her. Question."
"What?" Her brows furrow, and she groans as she unfolds her legs out in front of her, rubbing at her knees. He doesn't think much of it as he reaches over to soothe the ache in her joints, his fingers rubbing above her knee.
"Eridians watch over each other when they sleep. They are very vulnerable when they sleep, so they take shifts."
She sighs, her shoulders drooping as she hums out a sound of relief. "I've not seen Rocky sleep?"
"No sleep as often as humans." Rocky interrupts. "Not as squishy." He reasons, nodding his head.
Her hand meets his along her knees, fingers frozen over his forearm. "But what does that have to do with us, Rocky?"
"Protect." Rocky answers. She cocks her head again, turning her gaze to Grace again. He's unsure when he became the Rocky-whisper-er, but her curiosity may kill him. So will that damn look.
Ryland sighs. "Rocky… watches us sleep."
She seems less confused by this, "Okay?"
"Okay. Statement." He interrupts again. "Lot of work!" The Eridian exaggerates, running around the room in his ball. "Not close. Be closer. Less work for Rocky."
Her shoulders sag. She levels a look back at him, deep eyes-exhausted, but utterly amused by the alien. She seemed more alive, to him, when she gave-way to the pushiness of their new roommate. She didn't seem the type to usually bend to another commands, but she usually did for Rocky.
It was endearing, at the very least.
She nodded her head up, and he shot to his feet, quickly extending his hands to help her to her own. Hands trailing from her forearms to her back to steady her. Her hands curling around his biceps, trails of warmth left in their wake.
She's laughing almost the entire time, her shoulders stuttering and that amused breathy-laugh escaping her distracting mouth. She's the first to step out of his loose-embrace, turning to face their roommate again.
"Alight Rocky." She hums, trailing a hand along the top of his enclosure, like a pat on the head. Not that Rocky understood the intricacies of human contact. Not that Grace was jealous.
She meanders to his white board, examining his work. Corrects a calculation and plants herself back in front of him to hand off the whiteboard marker.
"Dinner is soon, okay?" She hums again, smile crinkling the edges of her eyes. "When you're done with the pathway go ahead and bring it upfront, I'll need it for charting."
He nods, bringing his hands to his pockets. Hiding away fingers that wish to creep along the edge-line of her hair.
Her face flushes, that bashful look again. He balls up his hands inside his pockets.
"And bring your bed back to the med-bay."
She leaves quickly, her voice ringing as she calls for Rocky.
"Need your help with something!" She calls, and is gone from site in the next. Her warmth taken with her.
Rocky seems almost cocky as he turns to Grace.
"I help." He nods his head, arms waving around him, before pointing at him. "You're welcome, Grace."
How can a computer sound so smug?
After Rocky's insistence on sharing at least a bedroom, a lot more of their things seemed to become jumbled together.
They both of course seemed to have come with very minimal things. A box of mismatched shirts and pants each, along with minimal pictures and knick-knacks. Their previous crew-mates seemed to have packed more.
Grace remembers his lodgings back on Earth, from before. Remembers the crampt space on that research boat, remembers Stratt and the mismatched quilt his mother made him that followed him all the way out to that desolate boat and his minimal quarters.
The quilt came with him to space, also. He must have dictated it as important enough to shove in the small storage compartiment they alloted for each person onboard. It took up the majority of his space, along with several t-shirts that followed him from his teaching days to now. And several pairs of beloved lounge-pants he brought from the research ship to here also.
He must not have had a lot of time to decide what to bring, so most of his luggage was clothing.
It seemed she had the opposite problem. He has seen her cycle through approximately three pairs of shirts, two sweaters, and two pairs of pants- in their time together. It seems he shoved his entire closet in his compartment.
She spent a lot of time half-in half-out of their orange maintenance suits. Something that caught him off-guard the first time he saw her bent and working at a bench with the suit on, like he had seen her dressed similarly before.
There are little things, little blips of his memory that resurfaces from time to time, and he makes an effort to log it.
He is a teacher— middle school. He has a doctorate, a well-worn bike, and an empty apartment in Cleveland. He remembers Stratt and the research and, obviously, what their mission is. He remembers meeting Olyesya and Yao, but not many details of the people individually.
And he remembers her, her intrusion into his laboratory from time to time, how she made space on the back bench to work on odd PCB's she would shrug off and never explain. How she usually brought along random books to read, and how he would chatter the day away, and how he never really expected her to respond.
He remembers enjoying the company.
He remembers he knew her, knew her well. Knew about her, knew the overarching picture of her. Her mothers name, an old friends picture hung on her rooms' wall. The old watch her father gave her loose on her wrist.
He can't quite remember if they ever inhabited the same room to sleep together, though.
The med-bay spaces had overhanging beds—like bunk beds. To conserve space they built up rather than out. Or she built it up rather than out.
Now though, Rocky protested the ladders, and had once again bruised his shins with his insistence that they both ensure they were on what was dictated as the "ground level" when the gravity was activated. She took the ground bunk, and he put his badly-padded twin mattress on the floor somewhat close to her. Chivalrous of him, and he had boasted as such to her also. It at least amused her.
She slept rather erratically, but hard. A slight snore caught in the back of her throat at times. He would adjust a pillow below her neck and pretend he didn't thread his fingers through her hair about every other night.
Again, heavy sleeper.
In sharing closer quarters, his intrusive self finally discovered what was in her luggage he didn't have the heart to break into before. Minimal pieces of clothing, a scattering of pictures, and lots of books.
She seemed to not have a favorite genre either. He's spotted her with classics— Charles Dickens and Jane Austen. Seen her with romance novels he couldn't place past the questionable covers they had. Mysteries and crime novels. Two huge textbooks with huge citation sections. She guarded each, and rarely went a day without cracking one open. She tended to read before bed. Something to settle her mind and heart, and she would doze off with them still folded open on her chest.
It was incredibly cute.
Rocky had his usual list of questions when it came to "books". He understood the logging of history, although it seemed his language was best translated by pictures rather than an alphabet, as he emphasized with his markings etched upon his limbs. They had oral stories and songs for entertainment, so a whole textbook with knowledge of complex subjects excited the alien. She'd read to him often, when things came into a lull, and then would answer his questions along the way. She in turn would inquire about some of Rocky's cultural stories also, asking for more details along the way. Speaking of their own respective homes soothed everyone.
Grace thinks she would have made a good teacher. If she was one.
He remembers her being around, but not who or what she did at the research facility. He figures it must have been important if she was here with him. He remembers her coming to him, but never him to her. So it was hard to place her, when she simply etched herself into his day to day. Hard to remember much about her, when all of his memories simply seemed to include her. He'd turn, and she'd be there.
She did the same now, wandering from her own space back into his lab from time to time. It became more frequent as of recent, especially with their proximity and boundary lines interweaving now.
He made an observation as of recent. A hypothesis— a scientific jump in conclusion, really. That she tended to linger longer when his arms were exposed.
He tested it out, wore his shirts with jackets some days, and would change things up midday by discarding his jacket and claiming he simply became too warm. Even though at times it was freezing.
He set a control, testing out the longevity of her prescense at the edge of the room when he has his cardigan on. The frumpy thing hides all of him, but he has a growing feeling that she used to steal it from him. When she could.
She enters and exits the lab for no real reason, just like she always used to. But she doesn't linger like she used to in those fractured memories he carries around of her. Something sad and wistful in her furrowed brow. Like she knows something, but is always wondering if he may still be there when she turns and leaves again. So she darts around the ship, exercising her weary muscles and hovering for approximately four minutes and forty three seconds— on average. When he's wearing that stupid cardigan.
When he isn't she stays for much longer, which he prefers. He's always performed best with a student leering over his shoulder, like he has something to prove. Rocky is said student, of course, but she's the principal perched in back of his classroom. A checklist in hand and an easy observation on her tongue. She settles the class and disrupts every nerve he can even begin to grasp. But he's reminded of some distinct part of his humanity when she's there. He feel more him.
So, yes, he is essentially selling himself out for a smidge of some comfort. A hint of his past that must have excited him at some point. The excitment being her, of course. She feels like the orbital point in every room.
She changes the tide of this silent war one random "morning". His shirt found it's way into her limited rotation, and it sent him stuttering.
"Uhhhh…" Short-circuiting, reeling really, he full on faces her as she meanders in through the door-way.
She seems self-assured, her face gets all fixed and calculated as she cocks an eyebrow at him. Her hips naturally falling in that crooked way as she stands before him. A question in her eyes, that he knows if he answers she'll… win. Whatever this turned into.
He can't think of anything intelligent, though he feels he rarely does when she enters his stratosphere. Just extends his hand, almost to bridge the distance, only to rethink it as nothing but nonsense flies through his head.
"Mine…", he finally concludes.
It has her face blooming, cracking into that so-human way that reminds him of sunrise. Unassuming and beautiful.
Unfortunatly, dusk quickly follows, as she flies back out of the room in the direction she entered.
Rocky chirps, his language not translating with the current minimal words he has entered into the computer-translator. He sighs, positioning himself back infront of the computer to translate Rocky's words in to a concise translation in the program.
Idiot.
"Get over here Grace."
"Why the hell are we even out here."
The lanky, accident-ridden scientist she had become close with was stumbling behind her, the gravel path wet beneath them. They didn't usually take walks for lunch, tending to find themselves at the edge of every room. The brisk air shocked her as she tugged the scientist outside, quickly concluding she would need at least one of the many layers Grace seemed to always have on.
His cardigan sleeves hang from her arms, her boots slipping on her feet as she makes her way from the path into a wet, green field. The research center crests into view as she makes her way back to it.
"Did we come out just for a walk? It's a little cold for that." Grace questions behind her, his breath heavy in the cool air.
"You needed a break." She answers. He had been bent over calculations and test-tubes and gadgets for so long now, she didn't know him to do much else. As the clock dwindled down to launch-day her doctor had become quieter in the last few weeks, more contemplative. It scared her, as she had never known him to be quiet— ever. She figured he came out the womb with a full vocabulary, the way he ran through lectures on the daily.
She didn't mind at first, and then quickly came to crave his voice. Though she would never admit that to him. Unsure if he would become cocky concerning her admission, or if he may flush in that confrontational way he does when he has to speak during meetings. She didn't want to chance it, even if she figured it was a 50/50 shot.
He was quiet now, quiet during meals, and quiet during work. Quiet when she would visit, and gave rather clipped answers to her questions these days. It unsettled her.
"I do not." Grace interjects, his hand shooting out to pull her arm. She turned to face the man now. His face flushed from the walk and the air, his hair a mess from the costal wind.
"You do." She answers again, something final in her. He accepts this with ease, his fingers finding her own now. He nods, pulling her closer.
He sighs again, his shoulders drooping, his glasses slipping. She reaches forward, pressing the heavy spectacles back up his arched nose.
"I'm just." He pauses, considering. "Just having a hard time wrapping my head around…"
"Around?"
"Around this." He throws his hands up, emphasizing where they stand. "Around this mission. Around this deadline. Around…" He points his hands again, his gaze coming back to her. "Around all of it."
She knew what he meant. Upon her first introduction to Grace he had protested the… finality… of the mission. Although the name was fitting, he struggled to accept the "one-way-ness" of the mission they both had their hands in creating.
He felt a real moral obligation to prove himself to the colleagues that did not believe in him, of course. But he also wanted to truly help Earth, something Stratt had emphasized every time Grace teetered on the edge of hesitation.
But death was death, even if everyone but him could see the benefits outweighed the costs.
Meeting the astronauts didn't help him, nor did the doom of a two-week impending timeline they were currently locked into. Mary would launch in less than fourteen days, and Grace felt a genuine sense of distress when it came to the technical end of three people's lives.
Partially, she figured, because they had a hand in doing it.
She never thought of the moral-ness of it. Never considered anything but the time left on this ticking Earth coming to a tragic and frightful end— unless she helped. So she did.
She appreciated Grace's opposition, none the less. Enjoyed his softness, his contemplative consideration for others. Something she felt she lacked at the best of times. But she had some real contention with the way it sat on his shoulders and dug into his mind every day now. She wished he knew how important he was, how brave it was despite everything, to go against what his heart may be telling him at the moment.
She wished he knew.
She stops, squeezing his hand in her own. She reaches into her pants pockets, pulling out a compact digital camera. There was a reason she pulled him out here. To immortalize this time together with him, even if he didn't think what they were doing should ever see the light of day. It could take years for all their work to unfold and prove fruitful, that is, if this half-hazard mission garnered any success to begin with.
She wanted to remember this, for what it was at the time. Capture them in the moment in hopes they could one day look back on it fondly.
Or at least, so she could.
"For the history books." She hummed, a glint in her eyes. Something hidden between her intent.
He sighs, flinging his arm casually behind her back and pulling her closer. His yellow coat crumpling under her hand as she fixes her face to the camera held out in front of her.
The only room that she could escape to from time to time now was the holo-room. Projections of Earth cycle through a loop— a never ending feeling of nostalgia hits her when she enters here, now.
The pictures of Earth hurt her much less than the memories folded and crumpled into her hands now. Pictures of a life gone, one she catches in glimpses.
All the best parts seem to be at the end, anyways.
There is a peace in the growing doom of it all, and she can tell it upsets Grace more. Not that she could ever fault anyone for being fearful of an end.
She remembers his apprehension well, his furrowed brow and the wind in his hair. He had been frightful then, of other's impending doom. Afraid of the hand they both played in it, and the consquences if their last-ditch-effort proved for naught.
She remembers breakfasts and lunches and dinners. Remembers his close-quarters and his students drawings strewn along his desktop. Remembers their bickering, his reluctance and quick acceptance, and his wind-kissed lips.
He had been everything of Earth to her, wrapped into one. She had found comfort in their shared crime to help humanity, and imagined making herself comfortable in any corner of the world her doctor decided to flee too. She'd follow him anywhere.
Even to space, it seems. Even though she doesn't remember him ever volunteering for the task to begin with.
It's the last memory to the puzzle of them, in her mind. Even though her doctor lagged behind, she knew he'd soon remember her jumbled figure in all of his memories leading up to now. Didn't feel like overwhelming the man as they both scrambled to make peace in their floating casket she had conviently made for them.
Her memory is most hazzy in the last moments, flashes of Stratt plague her mind, of meetings she passes notes with Grace at, of kicking her feet upon his lap as they lounge about in his room. A quick flash of an explosion, edging along that foggy horizon-line.
She can't reason it out, can't see her doctor every willingly stepping foot off of Earth. His eyes blurry in her memory, his shaking hands reaching for her as he pled— pled for something.
No, he wouldn't have. Can't imagine, can't reason his death. Even now it seems to be the hardest thing to swallow.
He better not have been chasing after her, of all people.
"Rocky help. Question."
The alien surprises her, mainly because he's never been this quiet before. The little transporter-communicator she has tapped into the translator computer crackles on her belt. The aliens computerlized voice has her shoulders drooping.
Sniffling, she rearranges her face to look at her new friend. "Hello, pal."
"Rocky help. Why wet. Question."
She sniffles again, reaching out to the creatures hamster-like enclosure. Her hand runs around it's edges, centering her mind back to the present.
"I'm just upset is all, Rocky. I'm sorry, but I don't think theres anything you can do."
"Rocky try." She giggles, facing the alien now.
Their new roommate was admittidly the best part of their one-way trip. His insightfulness and knowledge was of course a plus, but his prescense was also a balm on her growing uneasiness. Everyday they got closer to a solution, they got closer to the end.
And she was selfish. She wanted more time. More time with Rocky, and more time with her doctor.
"Rocky doesn't need to," she interrupts the aliens melodic humming, "him being here is enough."
The alien seems relieved by this, his curious nature taking hold.
"What that. Question." His ball rolls forward, nudging her thigh and hands.
Her hands uncrumple, the photo lined and folded several times. Well loved and traveled, she had kept the photo close since opening her luggage in this very room. The significance escaped her, but it made her breath hitch then. Just as it does now.
"It's us, pal." A picture of her and Grace unfolds in her hands, the research facility blurry in the backround.
The alien chirps again, the translator unable to decipher the deeper meaning of her friends words. She imagines it to be a word, one untranslatable. Like those languages on Earth that have those very distinct feelings tied to one big word.
She hums then too, looking back at the photo she wishes she could go back in time to adjust.
Because her doctor is never positioned quite how she wants, his handsome face veered to the side, his eyes forever fixated on her.
Author's Note: Oh ho ho. I hurt my own feelings today, guys
Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!
"So why'd you become a teacher?" She asks as she walks into his little lab on the naval ship.
Ryland pulls back from the microscope, adjusting his glasses to look up at her. Immediately, he flushes when he sees her. She's wearing his shirt —the one he gave her —and holding two coffees in her hands. She's wearing shorts, with the hem of the shirt tucked into the band of them, and Ryland can't stop his eyes from following the length of her legs to the floor. She has an anklet on one leg —just a little string tied in a knot with a little star charm —and two tattoos on each knee.
That's what his eyes really focus on —two little bees, bright yellow and shaded in.
"Because I'm the bees knees," she provides, and he blushes even more when he realizes he's been caught.
"Oh —I'm sorry —I wasn't —," but he cuts himself off, looking back up at her face. She's smiling at him, and he realizes he…doesn't really need to be awkward with her. Easier said than done, of course. "You are," he confirms, then clarifies. "The bees knees, I mean."
She smiles a little wider at that, like she's genuinely happy that he thinks so.
"I know," she says easily, crossing the room and holding out one of the coffees to him. "But I'm glad you think so too."
Ryland takes it, fingers brushing against hers as he does. Their eyes meet for a moment, and everything sort of short-circuits in his mind. He clears his throat, stepping back from her and bumping into the table and nearly knocking over the vials next to the microscope.
"You asked about teaching," he says, like he's trying to remember how conversations are supposed to work.
"I did," she confirms, leaning her hip against the edge of the table. She takes a sip of her coffee, watching him over the rim of the cup in a way that is…not subtle. Not anymore, at least.
It makes him a little nervous, honestly. Not in a bad way; just in a very noticeable way.
He nods, turning back to the microscope for a second before realizing he can't focus on anything with her standing there like that. Ryland straightens again, slipping his glasses under his chin.
"Uh —yeah. Teaching," he repeats. "It's…loud. Very loud. Kinda overstimulating, honestly. And there's always at least one kid asking a question that has nothing to do with anything. And at least one kid that absolutely understands everything and is deeply bored about it."
She hums softly, like she's filing it away. "I was the deeply bored kid —which were you?"
He huffs out a quiet laugh. "Oh, I was definitely the annoying question kid. No one wanted me in their group."
"I find that hard to believe," she says, shifting her weight from one leg to another.
He glances at her, a little skeptical. "You've known me for what? Two months?"
"Long enough."
That does something to him again —that same quiet, steady warmth that spreads from his chest to the rest of his body. He's still not sure how to handle it.
He looks down at his coffee for a second, then back up at her.
"I like it," he says, softer now. "Teaching, I mean. It's…messy. And unpredictable. But when it works —when a kid gets it —it's…," he trails off, searching for the word. Then he shakes his head slightly. "It's what I was meant to do."
She watches him the whole time he talks, focused. She doesn't interrupt, she doesn't tease him. She just…listens, and softens the more he speaks. It makes him a little self-concious, but not enough to stop.
"You'd be good at it," he adds, almost as an afterthought.
That catches her off guard, and he can see it. "Teaching?"
He nods, taking a sip of his coffee. "Yeah. You've got the patience for it. And the way you explain things —you don't just say them. You…you wait. Like you expect people to process and actually understand you."
She considers that for a second, looking down at her coffee. "I don't think I have the patience for children," she admits.
"You have the patience for me," he points out.
That earns him a look. A very specific look —with a teasing grin on her face as she says, "Barely."
He smiles a little more at that, ducking his head. There's a pause then as she pushes herself off the table, stepping a little closer. Her gaze drifts down to his desk briefly before returning to him.
"You like it," she says, more to herself than to him. "The chaos and the noise."
He nods. "I do, yeah."
"And you chose that," she continues, studying him again in that way she always does. "You could have stayed in research."
"I couldn't," He shrugs lightly. "Anyway, I'm better with middle schoolers than I am with professional scientists."
That earns a small but genuine laugh from her. "Yeah, I've noticed that."
He smiles at the sound, committing it to memory. It softens quickly, something quieter slipping in around the edges.
"It's fun, too," he concludes. "I just…genuinely enjoy it."
Her expression shifts at that —nothing dramatic, but enough for him to feel the shift in the air. Because they both know what she's about to do —she's about to help the world in the biggest way possible. Committed her life to it. And for a moment, something unspoken seems to pass between them —something heavier than the easy teasing that's carried most of their conversations so far.
Ryland feels it, even if he doesn't fully understand it.
So he does what he always does when things get too big —he tries to make it smaller.
"Well," he says, clearing his throat slightly, gesturing vaguely toward her. "You're definitely not helping my ability to focus today."
Her brow lifts, amused. "Oh yeah?"
"Oh yeah," he says, nodding seriously. "The shirt is very distracting. It's hard to focus when I want to correct it so much."
She glances down at herself, then back up at him, a slow smile forming. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely," he continues, stepping closer. Feeling a little more confident than before. "Maybe I need to take it back."
She takes a step closer now too. "No," she says simply.
He exhales a quiet laugh, but it catches a little in his chest.
"Yeah, no —I uh…I like seeing you wear it," he admits.
There's a beat, then her hand lifts again. Her fingers brush lightly against the fabric of her shirt —his shirt, their shirt —before settling against his chest. She's not pushing him, or pulling him. But she's just touching him, and Ryland knows that she can feel his heart racing against her palm.
"You didn't answer my question," she says finally.
He blinks, brow furrowing. "What question?"
"Why you became a teacher," she clarifies.
Ryland hesitates a moment, and the truth settles in his chest.
"I…I wanted to matter to someone," he admits.
It's a sad thing to admit, he thinks. No immediate family, no partner, not even a dog. But he has his students, and those are his kids. And he loves them dearly, and misses them the longer he's away.
But his words hang in the air, heavier than anything else he's said. Her gaze turns a little sad, fingers curling into the fabric of the shirt he's wearing. It makes his breath hitch in his throat, the way she's looking at him.
"You do," she promises him. "You matter to me."
And then she kisses him again, less careful than the first. And he kisses her back almost immediately, because he knows now that this is what they both want.
He leans into it this time without hesitation, his hand coming up to her waist more naturally now. Like he's learned something since the last time she kissed him. And the world narrows around them —down to her, to her warmth. To the quiet and nearly impossible reality that this is happening at all.
Ryland tries not to focus on the fact that she's going to leave him, and it's going to devastate him. He can't let that ruin what he has in front of him now, because he needs to hold onto this —to her —as long as he can.
When she pulls back, she stays close, forehead pressed against his. His lips chase hers, refusing to let go of her just yet, and he kisses her again. When he pulls back, he has his arms wrapped around her waist and he refuses to let her go.
That's when he feels the tears on his cheeks —but they're not his.
They're hers.
He whispers her name softly, pulling back to take her face in his hands. She lets out a watery laugh, shaking her head as she tries to pull back from him. But Ryland doesn't let her get far.
"I'm sorry," she breathes out, wiping her eyes, trying to push his hands away. But he won't let her.
"You don't need to apologize," he reassures her, thumbs wiping away the tears that keep falling. "It's —it's normal to cry. It's okay, I promise. I cry, like, all the time."
Another shakey laugh escapes her lips and soon, her arms are wrapped around his middle, hugging him tight. Ryland doesn't hesitate to hold her close to his chest, pressing his lips to the top of her head.
"I wish we'd met before this," she mumbles into his shirt, shoulders trembling now.
"I do too." Ryland feels his own tears start fog up his glasses. He wants to say it. He can feel it bubbling up in his chest, and it wants to break through his ribs. Tell her. "I —,"
"Dr. Grace, I need you to —,"
Stratt's voice freezes in the doorway, and the two doctors reluctantly pull away from her each other. Stratt narrows her eyes for a fraction of a second, and Ryland wants to tell her to leave so they can have a moment. But he knows well enough that whatever she's here for, she'll get.
"Dr. Grace," Stratt starts again. She greets the other doctor with the same sharpness. "You are needed for this next meeting, Dr. Grace. If you'd gather your findings and join me."
Say it. Turn around and say it, he keeps telling himself. But instead, Ryland simply nods and smiles softly down at the doctor beside him.
"I'll see you at dinner," he promises, and he does press a kiss to the top of her head one more time.
Ryland doesn't catch the look the doctor and Stratt share as he gathers his research. If he had, he would have seen Stratt's edges soften just barely —almost apologetically. A look that is the warmest she's been since they'd gotten on the ship.
A look that says Stratt may have let the doctor change her mind if she had asked.
*****
"Hi, Grace. Hi, doc."
Ryland and her share a glance before looking back down at Rocky again. Ryland leans against the hatch of their ship.
"You're…in a ball."
"So Rocky no die in Grace atmosphere," Rocky explains, rolling between the two doctors and into the ship. "I come up."
"Rocky —," she starts, side stepping out of his way because Rocky is absolutely going to run her down if she doesn't.
"Grace and Rocky and doc. Big science!"
Ryland chases after Rocky as he speeds through the ship, knocking into walls and tables as he goes. She's mostly just watching the chaos, following a few steps behind with her arms crossed and amusement etched on her face. The Eridian is babbling as he goes, talking about wanting to see human technology and understanding human spaces.
"Science. Save Earth. Save Erid. Good plan," he's saying, bursting through the mental health wing of the ship. "This room boring."
"Rocky!" Ryland calls, but he's ignored.
"What is down here, question?" Rocky asks, bursting into the lab now. "Amaze, amaze, amaze. Rocky want to see human technology."
"This is the lab," she calls after the two, staying as out of Rocky's way as she can. "This is where we work."
"Dirty," Rocky says, rolling over piles of clothing that she and Ryland have tried to clean and leave around to dry. "Dirty, dirty, dirty. Why room so MESSY, question?"
"Well, I wasn't expecting company, was I?!" Ryland defends, throwing his hands in the air.
"Grace dirty mate. Doc deserve clean mate."
"Grace is a very dirty mate," she teases, and Ryland gives her an exasperated look. "What? You are."
"Stop that, don't encourage him," he chides, putting his hand up. "Rocky, my hand is up."
Rocky comes to a halt, looking up at Ryland expectantly. She's leaning against a table with the same amused grin as usual.
"You cannot just show up in a space ball unannounced and move into someone else's space ship. There has to be…boundaries."
"Boundaries," Rocky repeats.
"We have one mission," Ryland continues, gesturing to them all. Rocky is mimicking his movements, and she's just watching, brow raised. "But we are three seperate individuals, with our own distinct parts of the the mission. Separate."
"Separate," Rocky confirms. But then he takes off again. "Where my bedroom?"
"Bedroom!" Ryland groans, running after him again.
"Rocky take this room."
"No, no —this is her room," Ryland corrects, pointing back at her as she follows silently. "You can't just claim someone else's room."
"Doc not sleep with Grace, question?"
Ryland stops dead, floundering for a moment for an answer. Behind him, she chokes on a laugh. And she's not even subtle about it anymore. She has to press her hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking as she tries to contain the laughter.
Rocky tilts sllightly in his ball, like he's evaluating the reaction. "Grace and doc mates, but no share room. Inconsistent."
"This is —," Ryland starts, then stops, because he doesn't even know how to respond to this conversation. "That's not how —no, that's not —,"
"Not efficient," Rocky concludes.
"Not your business," Ryland shookts back immediately.
That only seems to make Rocky more curious. Meanwhile, she's given up entirely on pretending to be composed. She's leaning back against the wall now, openly laughing, and Ryland can feel the heat creeping up his neck.
"This isn't funny," he insists, pointing at her.
"It's actually very funny," she counters, still smiling at him.
"It's not —we are not having this conversation with him," he continues, gesturing wildly at Rocky, who is now very clearly paying attention to both of them. Clearly collecting data on human interaction, no doubt.
"Grace and doc still mate, question?"
"Oh my god," Ryland mutters, dragging his hands down his face. "That's not —we haven't —,"
Rocky turns, very deliberately, toward her. "Doc, question?"
She straightens slightly, still smiling, but there's something questioning in her eyes now. Ryland risks a glance at her, but it's mistake; she's looking at him. Not amused, or teasing. She's not even laughing anymore. She's just…waiting. Which is new.
And significantly more dangerous.
"I think," she begins, eyes still on Ryland. "That's something Grace should answer."
He blinks —once. Twice. Rocky turns back to him again.
"Grace, answer."
"This is —this is a hostile environment," Ryland manages to say, but it's not as joking as he needs it to be.
"Grace," Rocky prompts.
He exhales sharply, looking anywhere but at either of them for second. But then, inevitably, he looks back at her. There she is, still waiting. Still watching him a curious smile, like she's waiting for him to decide their fate.
And suddenly, this feels a lot less like Rocky being instrusive and a lot more like something he's been avoiding getting handed back to him.
"Okay," he says, pushing his glasses back up like that might help him think better. It doesn't. "First of all, the sleeping arrangements are…irrelevant. That's not what…defines anything."
"Define what, question?"
Ryland pauses for a second, looking between the alien and the doctor. For once, he decides, he doesn't want to deflect this into something easier. He looks at her again.
"It doesn't decide anything about our relationship," he says finally, a little quieter now. "It's just…," he hesitates, searching for the words so he doesn't say the wrong thing. "Sleeping in the same room isn't the same as…choosing the same person. Over and over. Even when things get…weird. Or hard. Or —," he gestures vaguely to the ship around them. "This."
Rocky is very still now, and Ryland wonders if he's looking at the two humans like they're crazy. But he doesn't take his eyes off her now.
"And I do," he says. Promises, really.
There's a moment of silence in the ship. Then Rocky moves some, knocking into the table.
"Rocky understand. Grace choose doc."
"Grace chooses doc, yeah," he confirms. "And doc…?"
She smiles again, stepping towards him with her hand out. "Doc chooses Grace."
Ryland takes her hand. And for the first time in weeks, he's found something not complicated. Something that makes this entire, chaotic situation they're in feel —briefly —like the easiest thing in the world.
"I am not an astronaut!" He yells, banging his hands on the table. "I put the NOT in astronaut!"
Across the table, Stratt watches him as he spirals. Beside him, she is giving Stratt a look that could melt the icecaps.
"You can't force a civilian into this," she states, but that earns her a narrowed eyed look from Stratt and the people at the table. "Glare at me all you want —you know I'm right."
"I think that you are biased, doctor," Yao points out, and the rest seem to nod in agreement.
Her nostrils flare, and she shoves up from her chair, pointing at Stratt now. "If I was biased, I'd be selfish. I'd be thrilled to have him with me up there. But I am not biased and I am not selfish."
The room stills at this. Ryland, specifically, stops fidgeting in his seat as he looks up at her. Not because she raised her voice —she hasn't. But because there's something sharp and sincere in how she says it; something that hits him so hard in the chest that he realizes what she means.
Thrilled to have him with me.
She doesn't want to leave him. She wants to be with him.
But she can't be —and she's standing up for him in a way no one has in a long time.
"I am not interested in your emotional assessment of the situation," Stratt says flatly. "I am interested in whether Dr. Grace can complete the mission."
"He can't," she fires back immediately. "Not like this. Not when you're trying to force his hand. Not when he doesn't want to do it."
"I don't," Ryland jumps in, because that feels important to clarify for himself. "I super don't, actually."
Stratt doesn't even look at him. No one does, actually, and that somehow makes it worse.
Yao folds his hands on the table, calm in a wau that feels forced. "Willingness is not always prerequisite for necessity."
Ryland gives him an incredulous look, but she snaps at the commander before a coherent argument can form.
"That is not how consent works."
"That's not how survival works," Stratt counters, just as quickly.
The words land heavy, finality spreading through the room. Ryland feels like he's standing just slightly outside of his own body, watching the conversation happen around him instead of being in it. Like this is some kind of simulation and he's waiting for someone to break character and tell him it's not real.
It doesn't happen.
She turns back to him then, and the shift is immediate. The sharpness she had for Stratt softens —it's not gone, but it's not directed at him.
"Ryland," she says, quieter now. It's the first time anyone in this room has addressed by his first name and not his title. Like he's not the solution to the problem, but just…him.
He looks up at her, a little helplessly.
"I don't want you to do this because they're telling you that you have to," she continues. "Or because you think you owe anyone anything. You are nobody's soldier."
Stratt exhales sharply through her nose, clearly unimpressed, but she doesn't interrupt.
"Do not feel pressured by any of these people to sacrifice your life for the world," she adds, sitting down beside him again, taking his hand.
Ryland squeezes it tight, eyes on her and refusing to look at anyone else. For a second, everything else in the room fades. The table, the voices. The weight of what they're asking him to do.
It all narrows down to her hand in his.
"I don't want you to do this because of me, either," she says, more for him than anyone else in the room. "Not because of…this." Her thumb brushes lightly against his knuckles, grounding and steady. "It wouldn't be fair to you."
That pulls something tight in his chest.
“Yeah,” he breathes, though it doesn’t sound like agreement so much as acknowledgment. Like he understands the words, even if they don’t make anything easier.
Across the table, Stratt finally leans forward slightly, her patience clearly thinning. "This is not a philosophical excercise," she says. "We require a decision."
Ryland refuses to look at Stratt. Because he knows if he does, this becomes real again in a way that he's not ready for. The doctor's hand tightens in his, and he focuses on that. On the way she's looking at him. On the way she's letting him make the choice.
It would be easier if she wasn't looking at him like this.
Maybe it'd be easier if she was selfish and asked him to go with her. He thinks he'd go.
Actually, truthfully, he doesn't think he would. Does that make his feelings for her any less real, though?
His grip tightens around her hand for a second before he finally forces himself to look away, dragging his gaze back to Stratt and reality.
"I can't —," he starts, voice catching slightly. He clears his throat and tries again. "I can't decide this in five minutes."
"You have already been given all the relevent information," Stratt replies.
"Yeah, well," Ryland says, a little sharper now, his earlier frustrations bleeding back in. "Knowing things and processing things aren't the same."
A brief silence follows that, then more controlled, he asks, "Can I think about it?"
"No." His stomach drops, and the doctor tries to stand, but he keeps her close. Stratt studies him, eyes slightly narrowed. "You can have three hours."
"Three hours," he repeats, like maybe if he says it out loud, it'll sound less insane. It doesn't.
Stratt doesn't elaborate.
He lets out a breath, somewhere between disbelief and resignation, and nods once.
"Okay," he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. Great. I'll just —," he gestures vaguely. "Rearrange my entire existence in the next hundred and eighty minutes. No problem."
No one reacts, except her, as she tightens her grip on his hand again. Just for a second. And when he glances back at her, she's still watching him like she's silently telling him not to do it.
The remainder of the crew leave them there, and Ryland isn't sure they even said good-bye. Though maybe they did; he's not really sure he would have heard them even if they had. His ears are ringing, and everything is sort of just happening around him still as he pulls off his beanie and glasses, dropping them both on the table.
"Am I a bad person if I don't do this?" He asks quietly, though he's fallen back in his chair and doesn't look at her.
"Not at all," she promises him, pulling back some. Giving him space. "It makes you human, Ry."
Ry. No one's called him that in so long. And now the one person that does is going to die in space, and he needs to decide if he wants to die with her.
"Can I…I need a minute alone," he manages to breathe out, wiping his eyes.
She doesn't hesitate, standing up. But she touches his cheek, and Ryland looks up at her with watery eyes. Then she presses her lips to his forehead, gentle but sure. He needs to tell her, he decides. He can't keep being a coward.
"I…I —," he starts off, but he can't bring himself to say it out loud.
"I know," she tells him, giving him a sad smile as she meets his gaze with her own teary one. "I do too."
He wishes that made the decision easier.
*****
The first thing she registers is the sound.
Not the alarms —those are constant now, background noise in the worst possible way —but the impact. A dull, violent crack that echoes through the whole structure of the ship, and straight through her body a fraction of a second before the pain hits.
Her shoulder slams into something solid —she thinks it's Rocky's barrier, but the thought doesn't fully form before something in her arm gives a sharp, sickening snap. The breath is knocked out of her lungs all at once, her vison flashing white at the edges as she drops to the floor and screams out.
For a moment, she can't move.
Not because she doesn't want to, but because he body simply refuses to respond. Pain is flooding her senses, bright and overwhelming, radiating from her arm down to her fingertips and up into her shoulder. It's distancing itself though. Muted now by something stronger. Louder.
Wrong.
The ship is still moving —still spinning, though slower now —and her equilibrium hasn't caught up. The world tilts in a way that makes no sense, and gravity is pulling inconsistently as she struggles to orient herself.
Then —,"
"Grace!" Rock's voices cuts through the haze, distorted by urgent in a way she's never heard before.
Everything else falls away. She forces herself up with her good arm, teeth gritting against the wave of nausea and pain that follows the movement. Her injured arm hangs uselessly at her side, but she ignores it, pushing through the disorientation until her vision steadies enough the focus.
Ryland is slumped over the console, too still. Something in her chest drops out entirely.
"No," she breathes, the word barely there as she stumbles forward, catching herself against the edge of the panel before forcing her legs to cooperate. The ship lurches again —not as violently but enough to remind her that nothing is stable and nothing is safe.
"Ryland," she calls, voice steadier than she feels. "Ryland, can you hear me?"
There's no response, though she half expected that. Up close, it's so much worse to see. There's blood where his face struck the console —smeared across the metal and his face. His body is slack, completely unresponsive.
For half a second, she freezes. Because this…this isn't how it's supposed to go. They aren't suppopsed to die violently in space; this wasn't part of the plan.
But before she can spiral, her training kicks in.
"Doc save Grace, question?" Rocky asks, and she thinks there's panic in the inflection. She can't tell.
"I'm going to try," she promises, carefully pulling Ryland back from the console with one arm, supporting his weight the best she can. "Mary, status of the ship?"
"Rotation decreasing," the ship's computer responds. "Ship unstable but fuel tanks are disengaged."
There's immediate relief, because even if the ship is unstable right now, it'll stabilize again soon. Hopefully.
She tries to undo the restraints holding Ryland in, but her hand doesn't want to work and frustration is starting to leak into her movements. If she can just…unclip this, then she can —,
But she can't treat him in here; the med bay has everything she needs and she can't leave Ryland alone to force her way through her own pain.
There's tapping, suddenly, against Rocky's barrier. She tries to ignore him for the moment, trying to figure out her best course of action. But the tapping gets louder; more violent. When she looks up finally, Rocky is breaking through his barrier.
"No," she corrects immediately, the word firm despite how tight her chest goes. "Rocky, don't do that."
"Rocky save Grace," Rocky replies, hammering against his barrier. "Rocky didn't save crew. Rocky save Grace."
"Opening that will kill you, Rocky," she reminds him harshly.
Rocky pauses, just for a moment. Like he's considering her words.
"Grace die sooner."
The remains of his barrier crack further as he forces himself fully through it, the change in atmosphere immediate and dangerous. His movements are slower now, heavier, but still purposeful as he approaches. The hissing sound of Rocky being exposed to her atmosphere is distracting. Her heart feels like it's breaking as Rocky pulls Ryland from the seat.
"Rocky —,"
"Grace priority," he says simply.
She swallows hard and nods once. Together, they try to lift him —awkward and uneven because her broken arm is making it clumsy —but it becomes immediately clear that it's not going to work.
"Wait," she breathes through the pain. "No —drag him. We don't have time."
Rocky adjusts immediately. He grips Ryland more securely —careful in his own way, but without the hesitation she has —and begins pulling him across the floor, moving with deliberate urgency toward the hallway. She follows as quickly as she can, one hand braced against the wall for balance as the ship continues to settle. Every step sends a jolt of pain through her arm, but she ignores it, eyes locked on Ryland as his body is dragged carefully but quickly through the ship.
Every step, black vapor comes off Rocky as he moves Ryland towards the medical bay. She's trying to think how she can save both of them now; how can she prevent Rocky's suffering.
She doesn't like being called out like that, but nods as the corridors blur past in uneven motion. The alarms are still blaring. The ship is dark outside the flashing of the warning lights. She thinks it feels like a horror film, but doesn't focus on the thought as they finally make to the wing.
Rocky manuevers Ryland up onto the table with surprising precision given the circumstances.
"Place here," he says unnecessarily. "Save Grace."
"I'm going to," she promises. When she turns to Rocky, though, he's slowly making his way back to his ball. "Rocky —,"
"Rocky…sleep now."
"Rocky —,"
"Doc…watch Rocky sleep, question?"
She nods, tears in her eyes as she does. "I'll save him, and we'll both watch you sleep, okay? But you have to —you have to wake up, okay?"
Rocky doesn't respond, disappearing down the hallway. For a long time, she watches where the alien once was and the trail he's left behind.
Then she forces herself into doctor mode, pushing through the pain the best she can. All of it gets pushed aside. She steps in close, bracing her hip against the table to steady herself as she leans over him.
“Ryland, can you hear me?” she says, firm now —clear, projecting.
No response. She doesn’t wait for one.
Her hand moves to his jaw, tilting his head back just enough to open his airway. Her fingers press lightly beneath his chin, checking for obstruction, watching his chest.
“Airway clear,” she murmurs, half to herself, half to the robotic arms that are pulling out tools for her.
His chest rises. Falls. It's shallow, but consistent.
She leans closer, listening, feeling for breath against her cheek.
“Breathing spontaneous,” she confirms, voice tight but controlled. “Rate’s…elevated, but he’s compensating.”
Her fingers move to his neck again, pressing just below his jawline. Pulse. She counts under her breath, eyes flicking to the nearest display for time reference.
“Pulse is fast. Regular,” she says. “Probably adrenaline, shock —,”
Her gaze shifts to his face. Blood is still seeping from a cut along his brow, trailing down toward his eye. There’s swelling already forming where he hit the console.
Head trauma.
Her stomach drops —but her hands don’t hesitate. She works one-handed, clumsy but efficient —grabbing gauze, pressing it firmly but carefully against the wound to control the bleeding.
“Ryland,” she tries again, louder this time. “Open your eyes.”
Nothing, so she shifts tactics. Her hand moves to his shoulder, giving it a firm shake —not enough to harm, but enough to stimulate.
“Ryland, stay with me.”
Still nothing. Her jaw tightens.
“Unresponsive to verbal and physical stimuli,” she says quietly, the clinical language grounding her even as something tight coils in her chest. “Likely concussion. Possibly worse.”
She adjusts the gauze, securing it as best she can with one hand before moving lower, checking along his collarbone, ribs —pressing gently, watching for any reaction.
“Any other injuries…?” She mutters.
There are no other visible deformities, nor immediate signs of internal bleeding. His breathing, while shallow, is even. That’s good…That’s something. Her hand hovers over his sternum for a second before she presses —firm, deliberate.
“Come on,” she murmurs under her breath.
There’s the faintest shift, though it's not much. It is, however, enough. Relief flickers through her —small and fragile.
“Good,” she says, softer now. “That’s good. Stay with me.”
She reaches for a penlight, flicking it on and lifting one of his eyelids carefully. Pupil response. Sluggish, but there.
“Pupils reactive,” she exhales, some of the tension easing just slightly. “That’s…that’s good.”
She repeats it for the other eye, confirming. Then she finally allows herself to pause —just for a second —her hand resting lightly against the side of his face, grounding herself in the warmth there, in the fact that he is still here. Still alive.
She tries not to think about Rocky.
Instead, she leans in just slightly, her voice dropping—no longer projecting, no longer clinical.
“Ryland,” she says, softer now. “You’re okay. You’re…you’re going to be okay.”
Her hand finds his, fingers curling around his instinctively. She ignores the pain her broken arm, even as the robotic arms try to get her to be treated.
They got the collector.
The thought surfaces again, fragile but insistent.
They did it. It has to mean something.
“You’re not allowed to miss this,” she murmurs, leaning closer, her voice softer now —trembling fro either pain or shock or something else she can't name. “Do you hear me? You don’t get to leave right after we finally get something right.”
Her grip tightens slightly.
“I’m not done with you yet,” she adds, quieter.
"Eye movement detected," Mary says, and Ryland blinks up through the darkness of the ship. "Good morning, Dr. Grace."
He stares at the ceiling for a long time, breathing in and out. His face hurts, and so does his head. There's an oxygen mask strapped to his face, and when he sits up, he yanks it off.
He's alone, too.
That's the first thing he really realizes. He's alone. Then he sees…ash, or something —it's training back towards the hull of the ship. There's barefoot prints following the trail as well, and Ryland feels something crack in his chest.
When he manages to get through to the lab —slow, confused —he freezes in the hallway.
A sling hangs over her chest, her right arm tucked into it. She's wrapped in his blanket, leaning up against Rocky's barrier, sleeping. Rocky is…not moving. Ryland doesn't want to think what he's thinking but he…he knows.
He slowly sits down beside her, whispering her name. When she doesn't stir, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into him, mindful of her arm, and presses his cheek into her hair. Then he says her name again.
"I love you," he whispers, and he feels her shift into his arms and begin to cry.
Ryland cries too; for Rocky. For her. For…everything.
nobody’s soldier ( dr. ryland grace x reader, hurt x comfort, slow burn )
masterlist
He eyed the chain that had previously been hiding underneath her shirt, it was now entangled between strands of her hair at the nape of her neck. She was always toying with that thing, one of her nervous tells, just like his was messing with his hair or glasses.
Wait… he abruptly pulled back, how do I know that?
He inched closer, tempted to pull the necklace between his fingers just to see if it would spark anything else up, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so when she was still recovering. Though with the mix of meds she’d gotten she was definitely going to be out a while… maybe he could just…
No.
Ryland stood up and walked away, ultimately doing away with the temptation of looking at something she had near and dear to her. He sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair.
He briefly remembered going through the storage compartment when he thought he was all alone and everyone else was dead, but even then, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go through other people’s personal belongings. The only thing he’d noted was that his pack of items was significantly smaller, as if he didn’t have much he cared to bring along on a mission to space. Or like he’d simply packed in a rush. Yao’s appeared to be normal sized, but hers… it was almost double the size of both of his and Yao’s combined.
What had she packed? Why did she get a bigger bag? Was there a reason? Or was it simply because she was the only woman on the mission?
He turned back to face her, making sure she was still asleep before he made his way to the other side of the room where their things lied in storage.
I definitely shouldn’t do this… Ryland thought to himself as he quietly opened the compartment door. But I need to remember… What if…
A part of him was screaming that what he’d forgotten was really important, and so, with that consolation in mind, he pulled everything out. He went through Yao’s personal effects first, like he needed to work himself up to what he was about to do. Then he went through his own.
Clothing, toiletries, his favorite pair of shoes.
That was it.
He sighed. There was no way he would be this light of a packer, was there?
Once more, he turned to face her. Still asleep. He nodded to himself. I can do this… I can do this. Slowly, he unzipped her bag and faced its contents.
“So… no girlfriend, then?” You were sitting in the passenger side of your rental car, Grace had offered to drive on the way back to the lab. Not only that, but he’d apparently called and placed a pick up order for breakfast burritos while you were changing in his room (totally not snooping!) and you’d just picked them up.
You opened and handed him one, which he accepted, driving one handed now.
He briefly glanced at you as you tore into a hot sauce packet with your teeth.
“No, uh, how’d you figure?”
Shit. You thought. He’ll know I snooped. You cleared your throat before taking a bite of your own burrito, buying yourself time by chewing extra slow.
“Well, I didn’t see any photos on your shelves.” You shrugged before adding without really thinking,“And not for nothing, but if I was your girlfriend, I wouldn’t be too fond of another woman staying at your place, let alone sleeping in your bed.”
Why?! You scolded yourself mentally. The first answer was sufficient enough— idiot! Idiot!
He choked and you looked up immediately, eyes widening as he put his other hand back on the wheel to make sure you guys didn’t swerve into the next lane over, luckily hardly anyone was on the road right now.
“Oh, my God, are you okay? Sorry, that was way too personal, pretend I said nothing, I’m so sorry.” You rushed out, holding out your arm as if you could help.
Ryland coughed into his elbow and shook his head,“No, it’s okay, it’s, uh, it’s fine. You’re not wrong.”
“Which part?” You couldn’t help asking.
“No girlfriend.” He gave one final clearing of his throat,“Last one was ages ago, we tried living together, but it just brought out the fact that we could never truly stand each other all that much. Before that I’d been told I was, am, an insufferable know it all.”
You looked up, surprised, but he continued talking.
“To be honest, I think I’m a lost cause and I’m slowly coming to terms with that. I probably would’ve ended up getting married just to wind up divorced, so it’s a good thing we kind of just sped run through that.”
“Don’t say that.” You frowned.
“What?”
“All of it, you’re not a know it all or a lost cause.” You shook your head,“Maybe you just haven’t been looking in the right places for your person.”
Your heart beat so fast inside of your chest as you spoke those words, you didn’t know why you felt the need to speak them so intensely, but you knew they were the truest thing you’d said in a long while. And for the briefest of moments, as he stared so deeply into your eyes that you felt more vulnerable than you’d ever thought you could be, you felt like they might just be true for you too.
In which the government (Eva Stratt) shows up at your door and gives you no choice but to join the Petrova Taskforce. The reason? Ryland Grace recommended you, your old friend (or whatever you were) from college. And for some reason, you said yes.
or
the tether tying you to earth was always very thin, but now it seemed ready to snap.
word count: 10.7k (lol)
content warning: some (a lot of) inaccurate science (I hate to say it but I would not be on the Petrova Taskforce), some plot alterations for my convenience, cussing, slight (very slight) references to sex, mention of parental death, mention of needles and going under, miscommunication trope (yasss) and someone tell ryland grace to just say something!! ( as always, lmk if I missed anything)
a/n: wow this has been sitting with me for a while! this is like my passion project, I have been so excited to get this out and I hope you all enjoy it too! this is my first time writing for Ryland (and writing in a while so give me some grace...see what I did there?). excited to be back and hopefully writing some more!
ANYWAYS, I would happily write a part two of if the people want it! (or just rant in my inbox about headcanons)
If there was one thing you knew it was that Ryland Grace and you perfectly orbited each other, even when he was far off in San Francisco teaching the next generation of young scientists. It had been that way since you met him in college and it just never stopped. Part of you thought it was written in the stars that Ryland Grace and you were meant to do great things together.
Even after everything that happened with his research paper, even after your lab group dropped you post college from lack of funding, it was still the two of you. Science Partners, pen pals, best buds….among other ambiguous unstated things. You stayed in contact over the years, frequent calls, letters, the stupid punny e-cards he would email you on your birthday every year. There was a time, in college, when the two of you were together almost every day. And your excuse was always that we just work well together.
You knew Ryland Grace, you would say it was your next best subject. However, in this specific, very rare instance, you had no idea what the fuck Ryland Grace was even talking about.
Have you ever considered helping save the planet?
You must have reread the email a thousand times. Enough where your brain eventually shut off from confusion and your head met the keyboard in place of a pillow. Only when a loud thudding rattled through your dingy apartment did you finally realize that you had even fallen asleep. You blinked at the screen, lifting your head from your keyboard, the sun shining through the windows onto your desk. Reaching up, you peeled a small sticky note off your face, rubbing your eyes.
BANG, BANG, BANG. The sound rattled through your thin walls again and only on the second time did you realize it was coming from your front door. You paused for a second and glanced at your small digital clock, it was only six in the morning. Shooting up from your chair you made your way to the door, grabbing an umbrella on the way over, just in case.
You peered through the peep hole, only relaxing for a second when you saw a woman…then her two, what you could assume were body guards, behind her. Right about now you would have called Ryland but he had been off the grid, that email being the first sign of life you had gotten in days.
Shit. Shit. Shit. What do you even do? You glanced back out, seeing them talking amongst themselves before knocking again, the woman calling your name through the door. Quickly turning to the mirror on the wall near the door, you let out a groan at what you saw. There was mascara smeared under your eyes from sleep and your hair stuck up in fifteen directions, all completed by the oversized t-shirt you had on reading “This gal believes in aliens”.
Fuck it!
You threw the umbrella to the side, brushed some hair out of your face and opened the door, casually leaning against the frame like everything was under control.
“Hi,” you spoke up, voice rough from not sleep, quickly clearing your throat in response, arms crossed over yourself to hide the stupid shirt. “Hi…uh is there anything I can do for you?”
The women did not look amused, only offering you a nod, slightly peaking into the small studio apartment behind you.
“Yes, actually, you received an email,” she spoke, sharp, straight to the point. It wasn’t a question really, more like a confirmed fact she was repeating. Her eyebrow quirked ever so slightly at your silence. “Am I wrong?”
You shook your head quickly.
“Yes or no? It is really that simple”.
“Yes, yes, sorry…” you hesitated for a second, coming to the quick realization you had no idea who these people were. And yet, you were so scared to see what would happen if you lied. “Yeah I got an email”.
“Not my decision. Dr. Grace thought however that it would be most efficient,” she continued. “He has spoken very highly of you and from my own research, I can understand why”.
Dr. Grace? Ryland?
She gestured past you which you could only respond by moving to the side. Her presence commanded space and you respected it, or feared it, there was a lot to unpack. She stepped past you, turning to give a nod to the two men with her who remained outside.
“I am sorry,” you began, closing the door, turning to face her. “Maybe you got the wrong person-”
“That is not possible,” she replied. “He was very insistent that we must contact you in order to move forward”.
For what? Contact you for what?
You watched as the woman moved around the room like it was her space, picking up books and skimming through old pages of notes you had written. Then she turned to face a white board you had mounted messily in your kitchen, scribbled with notes and doodles that surrounded three big words: THE PETROVA LINE.
“Seems we are on the same page,” she mused, the first time you had heard any significant change in her tone.
The space and the stars and the idea of infinity above had kept you up late into the night as a child. Your parents should have expected your world was one far away from the grounds of Earth, that you would live your life with your head in the stars. Your father used to have to drag you inside from your backyard, you set up with a blanket and a small telescope that they had bought you for your birthday that year. Each night would end the same, your parents calling you to come inside and you asking for five more minutes, which turned into ten, which turned into hours. But your little sixth grade self could not fathom how school was more important than the world above, the possibilities of the stars.
And when you went to college to study that world it was the easiest decision of your life. Then the stars turned on you and you could not understand why.
The Petrova Line kept you up at night.
“You studied the Tau Ceti System, yes?”
The name of the planet system sent a shockwave through you in a way you didn’t even know was possible. Tau Ceti was your whole life, or it had been in a distant past, it was a system you believed to have more potential than people truly gave it credit for. Yes, you knew Tau Ceti, however you had let that ship sail a long time ago.
“Yeah,” you spoke up, quieter than before. “Yeah I did some work on Tau Ceti”.
And you could not help the wave of disappointment that hit you at those words. You had been recruited to a lab group after college that was specifically dedicating funding to researching the Tau Ceti System, and when it fell through, so did all your plans. You had dropped every other offer for the one that, it was everything you had wanted. It was a risk, and it fell through. No one really prepares you for post college as an Astrobiologist, no one ever tells you that you will end up working as a waitress at the Extraterrestrial Eatery near your house. At least you got to wear a cool space suit there. Tau Ceti and your other research had been benched, pushed to the side for evenings when you had nothing else to do.
“Perfect. Now that is cleared up, grab anything that might be important and we can be on our way”.
The women turned to move past you back for the door and you felt like your feet were suddenly glued to the ground. You opened your mouth to speak, before closing it, then opening it again. Yet no sound seemed to come out.
“What is this?” she asked, turning back, gesturing to your face. “I do not need the fish impression right now, this is a serious matter, we do not have the time”.
You immediately shut your mouth, then took a breath.
“Who are you?” you finally cried out. “What is this? No one is telling me anything!”
You felt insane, like you were living in some simulation where everyone knew what was going on but you. Where were the cameras? When were they gonna jump out and say it was all some weird, honestly unnerving, prank?
“I am Eva Stratt, head of the Petrova Taskforce” she began. “And you have been selected by Ryland Grace to help solve the Petrova Line”.
“I have work tomorrow,” you breathed out, a loss for words. The Petrova Taskforce, some of the world's most brilliant minds coming to you…a waitress at an alien restaurant. The email came back to you, the ominous words from Ryland, saving the world. This was news that a long time ago would have been everything you had ever wanted to hear…now you felt like some imposter, out of place.
Why you? Why now? Why after years of beating around the bush did Ryland Grace need your help to solve one of humanity's greatest emergencies. Why was Ryland Grace solving one of humanity's greatest emergencies?
“That will not be a problem,” Stratt countered. “We have already contacted your place of work and put you on an indefinite time of leave”.
“You can’t just do that!” you fought back, even if you knew that was the least of your worries. It was all so much, all at once. Ryland and Tau Ceti and the Petrova Line and saving the fucking planet.
You remained still glued to the floor, grasping at straws, scared of saying yes…maybe even more scared of saying no. You glanced around the room, the books, the hours of work, the pictures of Ryland and you scattered around the room from college. It had been years since you saw him and maybe that scared you too, seeing him again, reopening feelings you had sworn to bury too deep to ever reach again.
Your curiosity for the world remained, your love for space had never quite gone away, that would be impossible. It was just more of a hobby now, you looked less like someone with a PhD in Astrobiology and more like a crazed conspiracy theorist. You weren’t the same scientist from college, bright eyed and ready to fly into space if she had to.
Dr. Stratt spoke your name from the silence, your eyes snapping back to meet hers, “the sun is dying.”
The word settled heavy, lingering in the air between the two of you.
“Dr. Grace is my last hope,” she continued, honest, blunt. “And you are his”.
And that was all it took as you nodded, a loss for words, moving in a sort of trance to gather your things.
-----------
If there was something you would be fine never doing again it was that fuck-ass fighter jet. But now, standing in front of the door to the conference room, you think you might rather go back and ride the jet a few more times to stall. You hadn’t seen Ryland Grace in years…and now you were there, feet away from him and the idea overwhelmed you more than you thought it would.
The ride over had been a bumpy, hazy mess. Anyone you tried to ask about what was happening would ignore you as if you were a ghost…which only left you with more questions. By the time you landed on a boat your brain was too tired to even try to make sense of it all.
You had met Ryland in college. You both ended up in the same class, ‘The History of Extraterrestrial Life’...better known on campus as That One Alien Class. It filled both of your general education requirements, or at least that’s what you told him was your reasoning. It had taken him weeks to get you to admit that you believed in Aliens and even longer to admit that the class really wasn’t a joke to you.
The two of you were paired up for most of the semester, spending time whispering in class and making jokes about how deranged the content was. Even if it did open your eyes up to the whole Tau Ceti system.
You remember the last day of class so vividly. It was your final presentation and Ryland had taken it upon himself to get you these dumb matching shirts reading, “This gal believes in aliens” paired with “this guy probably is an alien”. It was stupid. And it was so perfect.
The thought made you smile, only for a second, before the nerves of it all settled back in.
There was too much there, floating, left unsaid. And it scared the shit out of you.
Before you could even fully prepare, the doors opened, your body moving in autopilot as Eva Stratt led you into the room. There you were, suddenly standing in front of what felt like a million eyes, all looking to you like you had answers. You had to remind yourself not to do the whole fish thing again as you just awkwardly gave a small wave, trying hard to keep your mouth shut. What am I doing? You were a waitress at an alien themed restaurant, not a scientist…at least not anymore.
Stratt introduced you to the room, briefly detailing your credentials to be here. You had kept your gaze straight, scared to look in either direction, straight was safe, straight was easier. You had imagined what it would be like seeing him again, more times than you would ever like to admit, and this was nowhere close to what you thought it would ever be. In a room surrounded by some of the world's most important people.
“This is Dr. (last name),” you hadn’t been referred to as that in a while…and you could not lie, it felt kinda good. “She has researched the Tau Ceti system most of her career and will help us identify why exactly the Tau Ceti star is the only one not losing energy”
Great. They really loved leaving out the important details. You knew the star, probably more than the back of your hand but there was still immense mystery to it.
“Anything you want to share, Doctor?” Stratt finished, turning the room over to you and you made the one mistake, moving your head. There, at the left end of the table was him, Dr. Grace. Not an email, not a letter or postcard, not a lingering memory…no it was really him, looking at you. Every emotion you had ever felt about him hit you at once in a way that made you want to grab on to the nearest wall so as to not crumble to the ground. Ryland, your Ryland, the same one you remember, albeit a little older, a little more tired. Your heart stuttered for a moment, actually stuttered, like it too had forgotten how to function. And all you could do was muster a small wave. Nothing could have prepared you.
You had spent years pretending that he wasn’t the sun of your own personal solar system. It turned out that was much easier when he was not standing feet away from you, his glasses practically falling off his face.
You swallowed, mouth running dry. And funny as it was, after all the years, after all the anticipation and wondering, your body eventually went back to the familiar state it always did when it saw him. You softened. Your heart beat steadied and your breathing returned to something much more normal.
Stratt cleared her throat, your eyes snapping back to hers.
“Um…Tau Ceti is… pretty dang cool,” you finally choked out, the people around the room sharing looks between each other. “...Thank you”.
Sporadic, unsure claps filled the room as you took a step back, ready to smash your head through the nearest wall. You did not lie, Tau Ceti was pretty freaking cool. But you were sure that was not what the Patrova Taskforce really needed to hear from you at that moment.
“Thank you,” Stratt said, a slight shake of her head, before she gestured towards the empty chair in the one section of the room you had planned on avoiding for at least a little longer. You tried to ignore her before one of the men in suits began to guide you there himself.
Each step you took felt heavy, like your body was trying to stop you. But there was the other part, your heart racing in anticipation, in want. This was what you had wanted, your work hadn’t been the same without him. You two brought out a fire in each other, seeing the best in the mess of crazy ideas the two of you brought to the table. The two of you.
As you walked down the table, a few of the other scientists took turns shaking your hand, welcoming you on board. Maybe your speech was not a total mess afterall. You hadn’t even realized you had made it to the end of the table, his hand reaching yours before your brain could catch up.
“Tau Ceti is pretty dang cool,” the familiar voice spoke. Your eyes immediately met his and you felt like the world had stopped for just a second. Every version of him you remembered and every version you didn’t hit you all at once. Then you felt him squeeze your hand, his head slightly tilting. “Earth to alien girl?”
It was an odd feeling, seeing someone after so long. The memory of him was hazy until that very moment. You had tried so hard to remember the shade of his eyes and the way they kinda squinted up when he laughed. You had tried to commit those things to memory, tried to live through the pictures, but nothing compared seeing them in-person, in front of you.
You tried to form words, frozen in place, only coming back to reality as Stratt began to talk once more. You quickly sat down, pulling your hand from his and forcing your attention forward.
There were a few seconds where neither of you spoke, ignoring the weight of his eyes on you. You were supposed to be professionals…since when were you ever professionals? You were on a boat, with the world's best scientists, saving the planet…next to your best friend. And somehow, that felt like the most overwhelming part. You were sure your brain would eventually catch up one day, the shock fading with every minute that passed.
Then he slightly shifted in his chair, “Pretty dang cool?” he asked, just loud enough for you to hear, just like the two of you used to do in those alien class lectures. A smile grew on your face, one you tried to bite back.
“I panicked,” you whispered back, eyes still focused forward on Stratt, nodding along to words you weren’t even hearing. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling too.
The silence again, the silence of years of pushing off visits and ignoring the hard questions. It made you twitch slightly, racking your mind for anything to ease it.
“So, are you the one responsible for the U.S. government pretty much knocking down my door this morning?” you whispered from the quiet, a slight quirk of your brow, gaze still set forward.
“Guilty,” he said, seeing him lift his hands in mock surrender in the peripheral of your vision. You could almost roll your eyes at how predictable the response was, slightly nudging his foot with yours under the table. He let out a quiet, breathy laugh, one you wanted to be the reason for forever.
“I didn’t think you would come,” he spoke again, his words softer this time, real.
Those were the words that broke your focus, your head turning to meet his gaze, really meeting his gaze, for the first time.
“Kinda didn’t have a choice,” you replied, half-joking, the other half completely honest, thinking back to the morning and the woman who was now commanding the room. Then you smiled, looking back at him, “But I would have come regardless”.
Even if you still weren’t exactly sure what all this was, what you had somehow signed up for. Even if it made you question who you were, why you were here…what you were to him.
You looked down to your lap. You were among the greats because Ryland Grace said you should be. You were not quite sure yet if that was reassuring or terrifying.
“It’s gonna be like old times, huh?” he added, as if it would make it all easier. “You know, you and me, figuring things out, putting the pieces together”.
Fuck. That did not make it any easier.
The meeting breezed by in a blur, words flying all around you as you tried to catch up to speed with what exactly was happening. You could pick out Petrova Line, Astrophage, Tau Ceti, among several other things you weren’t quite sure on.
And then it was quiet. Just you and him, alone, in a room that now felt much too big. You both started talking at the same time-
“So-”
“Hey-”
You stopped, laughed, apolgized…tried again.
Then you did the exact same thing once more.
“Out of sync,” you joked, a quiet laugh, as the adrenaline wore off and gave way to a feeling you could not describe. You knew him but then again, it had been years. It was finding the balance between an old friend and a stranger.
“It’s been a little bit, huh?” he added, hands digging into the pocket of his jeans. You finally got a glimpse of his shirt, a science pun you were sure he was so excited to show his class of middle schoolers.
“Yeah, just a little bit,” you added, feeling exposed now without the other people in the room, the slightest bit bitter that it had taken all this to see him again. But then again, who really was to blame for that? You looked down at the ground for a second, shuffling your feet against the floor, racking your brain for anything.
“So…saving the sun?”
You barely got the words out before he stepped forward, closing the space between the two of you, pulling you into a hug. So tight, like you might disappear. You stood there for a second, air caught in your throat before you caved into the feeling. Your arms looped around him, head rested against his chest, as if this was something the two of you just did.
“I missed you,” he said, honest, real.
You stayed there, just together, quiet in the chaos of the day.
“I missed you too,” you finally let yourself say, quiet as if the whole world was listening and you wanted it to be just for him. “Why me?”
He quickly pulled away, as if he was shocked into motion, a wild look on his face, you almost started laughing.
“What?” he gasped out, dramatic as ever.
‘What do you mean ‘what’?” you countered, slightly shoving him in the chest. “Why am I here, dumbass?”
“Hey, so first, we are not cursing anymore,” he scolded, his voice morphing into something you only imagine came from years of teaching. “Second, you are the only person I know who would be crazy enough to show up here”.
He shrugged as if it all was nothing, that dumb smile on his face, as he began to move towards the door. “And you would kill me if I got to research Tau Ceti and you didn’t get the invite”.
You wanted to interject, fight it, but you knew, deep down somewhere, that Ryland never stopped knowing you and you never quite stopped loving him.
“You just gonna stand there?” he asked, already at the door, holding it open. “Or are we gonna do some science?”
It really was like no time had passed between college and now…well if you ignored the millions of dollars worth of equipment now at your complete disposal. It’s funny, the way the body reverts back to old habits. The way Ryland and you moved in the lab was your own sort of rhythm, brains connected in a way that seemed almost superhuman. You needed to grab a tool, he dropped it on your desk before you could even move. He had a question, you were answering it as the question left his mouth…then he would smile at you and roll his eyes and go back to his work. It should have felt different after all this time…and it just didn’t. It was dangerous. And it was so wonderful.
The Vat, or Stratts Vat as everyone began to call it, was a hodgepodge of every science you had ever dreamed of. You could talk to a biologist from across the world and then suddenly meet an engineer who happened to be from your hometown. For a while you pretended that this wasn’t what you wanted, you ached to go back to what was safe and comfortable. But as you stood there, another day on the boat, you realized that maybe this is what you had been waiting for. You were researching again, being curious, all the things your younger self could have only dreamed of.
Your days were mostly spent with Ryland, the two of you poking at astrophage while you dug through old research papers you had on Tau Ceti. Your presentation was coming up, only revealed to you a few mornings ago by Dr. Stratt. She had come into the lab early, you had just woken up, believing it to be a perfect time to tell you that you would be addressing the taskforce with any details you had on the planet system. You sat there, swiveling back and forth in your chair, your sidekick on the other side of the room jumping up and down about a new development in Astrophage breeding.
“I wish I had your energy right now,” you groaned out, shuffling through your notes.
“Tau Ceti not treating you well?” he asked, peaking his head around a shelving unit that slightly blocked your view. “Did you try taking it out to dinner first?”
All you could do was flip him the finger, scribbling notes at the same time. “You think I haven’t tried that yet?”
He let out a laugh, coming around to stand behind where you were sat working. You had been really trying, but there were some things that just needed to be seen to be understood…and one of those was Tau Ceti. You had theories, tons of them, hopefully enough to be of help.
“She is still my greatest mystery,” you admitted, turning your chair to face him.
“Well Rome was not built in one day,” he looked at you, a serious look on his face regardless of the word choice. “And Tau Ceti is not gonna be understood that quick either".
You let your head dramatically fall to rest on the desk, quietly groaning into the sleeves of your jacket. Then you felt Rylands hands on your head gently shaking it.
“Hey,” he began, a laugh already escaping him, you mentally preparing yourself for whatever he would be saying next. “Remember they used to call you the brain!”
“Uh, you used to call me the brain,” you retorted, lifting your head up and shoving his hands away. “and it was and still is stupid”.
He grabbed your head once more, shaking it around, “C’mon use the brain, I know it is in there somewhere”.
You turned to glare at him, his lopsided smile making it hard for you to be upset at anything. The energy settled down, the man leaning back against the desk across from you.
“Do you think this is all gonna work out?” you spoke up, looking back to your notes. “Tau Ceti and the Astrophage and all of it?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, blunt and honest. “But beats sitting around and waiting for it to solve itself…ar at least that it what I choose to tell myself”.
You just nodded, letting him fade back into his work as you faded back into yours. If Tau Ceti wasn’t enough, the constant push and pull between Ryland and you was. You told yourself to keep it easy, to ignore it, all those dumb feelings squashed down from college that threatened to bubble over any second. You buried yourself in your work, that was easiest. But there would be nights where you would fall asleep at your desk and wake up to a blanket thrown over you. Or mornings when the mess you left in the lab were cleaned up…and there would be Ryland, a small wave and a smile, doing a ‘cheers’ with his coffee mug. You could not let yourself read into it, because then it would be all the much harder to eventually pull away.
The presentation day had come in a blur, you now standing once again in the front of that room, papers gripped so tightly in your hands. You were never good at the presenting part of it all. In the bustle of the room you were able to find him, him waving his hands above his head to get your attention. You smile, he shot over two giant thumbs up, and all you could muster was one half as enthusiastic one back. You turned to look through your notes when he caught your eye again, pointing at his head and mouthing “the brain”, which you could only roll your eyes in response, a quiet laugh fighting its way out of you.
“Alright everyone,” the powerful voice of Eva Stratt entered the room, coming to stand beside you in front of the projector screen. “As you know, Dr. (LAST NAME), has been working hard gathering information on Tau Ceti, which will be our final destination for this trip”.
Everyone around the room turned their full attention to you as the women gestured to you and took a seat. Deep breath.
Your heart was jumping in all sorts of directions, as you fidgeted with the clicker, trying to get the presentation to flip to the next slide.
“Hi,” you began.
“Tau Ceti, it is pretty dang cool!” Ryland called out from the back, heads turning to him, him once again shooting the thumbs up.
“Uh, yes…as Dr. Grace put it, "Tau Ceti is really ‘dang cool’,” some of the scientists laughed at that, the stress easing the littlest bit off your shoulder. You began clicking through slides, diagrams of the systems and the potential planets in its orbit. “Thank you for your enthusiasm”.
You took one last deep breath before diving right in, trusting yourself and the years of work you had put into this already.
“What makes Tau Ceti so interesting, while not an exact match, is that it has the potential to be the closest relative to our own solar system,” you began. “Which means, there is a great likelihood of it supporting life or even already having life within it.”
“Now we know that the Tau Ceti sun is the only star to have not been impacted by the Astrophage, however what is harder to understand is exactly why,” you continued, switching to the next slide, getting into a rhythm. It was easy when it was your whole life's passion. “Which is why our mission is going there, to better understand it…however I have some theories that could be useful to prepare our travelers for what exactly might be going on”.
There was first, the idea that the spectral output on Tau Ceti did not match that of what Astrophage was looking to feed on. However the spectral output is very similar to the Sun so it would have to be significantly off to be a problem, which was unlikely. Along with this, there could be some sort of natural defense, like dust specific to that atmosphere. However, the most exciting idea was that of evolutionary pressure…another lifeform that could be eating away at the Astrophage to keep it in balance. While so extremely far fetched, it was the one that made you the most excited to get the data back from the scientists on the Hail Mary. It could change everything that scientists know about that system.
“But the honest answer is, we don’t know until we get up there and bring back some samples,” you closed out. “Now we do have to be aware that this planet is around twelve lightyears away from us”.
You were in a rhythm now, comfortable enough to really look up and around at the people in the room, several of them taking notes and nodding along. “Which means we are kinda looking at it in the past. The light we are seeing right now left Tau Ceti twelve years ago. Which is incredible, but there is the risk that this system is already gone or changed and we wouldn’t know until we get there”.
“However,” you flipped to your final slide. “The data we are able to gather from here points to strong evidence that this system is very alive and this trip will not only open doors for Astrophage but open up a world to an entirely new solar system that could be inhabited by human life”.
You clicked again, the slideshow coming to a close, “And, uh, yeah that is it from me…thanks guys”.
The sound of applause filled the room and you finally felt like you could actually breathe again rather than having to remind yourself to. Your face hurt from smiling, looking around the room, taking it in. You imagined your younger self, sat with her big telescope and book of constellations in a chair in the back. She is smiling, the biggest smile you have ever seen. She knew all those late nights would eventually pay off. Even after your original Tau Ceti lab fell through, even when you couldn’t find a job and ended up at an alien restaurant, even when your door got busted down by Eva Stratt…all those days led to this moment, right now. You wished you could go back and tell the girl in college that it would be okay, that she was enough, that one day she would do big things. But eventually she would learn and that made it all the more worth it.
And there was him too. You found his eyes in an instant, it seemed to be the first thing your body did. It was an old habit, one you could not break, nor really wanted to. He was beaming, an ear to ear smile, waving at you like you had just accomplished something so incredible and not just given a presentation. You made your way towards him, your bodies drawn together like magnets. However with each step you took, you felt like you were being pushed further and further away as people began to come up and shake your hand or ask you questions. Further and further until he faded away in the back of the crowd, now a lone hand stuck up above the crowd trying to get your attention. A thumbs up and you knew everything was gonna be okay.
----------
You were sitting at the bar, hot off the mic with Ilyukhina, who had forced you up against your will. The slight buzz in your head was enough to make you cave, you were sure that was the whole reason Ilyukhnia had insisted on getting you a few drinks at the start of the night. All of it leading to a horrific and yet kinda beautiful version of “Space Oddity” by David Bowie …it felt fitting.
She had bought you a final drink as a thank you, one you were nursing now, looking around the room. Grace had stayed late in the lab, normally you were there too, but the others in the lab had started to joke that you hated fun and you were determined to prove them wrong. You were fun! Very Fun.
You hadn’t been down to the bar before, didn’t quite understand how people could celebrate knowing what was approaching. You weren’t even on the ship and you could barely get your brain to settle at night enough to fall asleep. The room was full of people, singing, laughing, leaning into each other and finding comfort. It made you smile, maybe made this whole thing feel more real. It made the pit in your stomach worse.
Your eyes caught on DuBois, a drunk Shapiro leaning against his arm, the two of them laughing together, in their own world. Your gaze lingered, unable to pull away. The way they could laugh togethering knowing that DuBois would be gone, not set to return. They had people here, people they were leaving and for the first time that really hit you. You tugged your gaze away, looking back down to the bottle of beer in your hands, half empty…it would stay that way. You couldn’t help it though, like it was a piece of art, you found yourself looking back at the two of them. She looked at him with a quiet kind of intimacy, like the two of them could know what the other was thinking without speaking a single word. They moved in a perfect rhythm, a messy, beautiful rhythm. They weren’t just leaving behind Earth, they were leaving behind their people…a chance at a normal life.
You were gonna be sick. Quickly you set your beer on the table and left the bar pushing through the groups of people singing until you were finally out onto the deck of the ship, cold wind smacking you in the face. You gasped for air, but no matter how much you took in, it still didn’t feel like enough.
The ocean was dark ahead, it was like an abyss and as you looked up, you were met with the bright stars, their shine almost too bright with no other lights around to dim them. You felt so small, and in the grand scheme of things you were, and it both terrified you and brought you some peace.
Your grip was tight on the railing, it almost hurt. You needed to be stable, grounded, anything-
“Hey,” a familiar voice approached from behind, your body tensing before slowly relaxing. You didn’t have to turn back, just slightly nodded your head, an invitation.
“Hey,” he repeated himself, this time softer, as he came around to your side, gripping onto the railing next to yours. “Earth to alien girl?”
“I thought you were working late?” you spoke up, anything to take your mind off earlier, get rid of the image of people who would never see each other again.
“The lab gets kinda lame without a certain scientist analyzing everything I do,” he joked, but you could not get yourself to laugh. “I love your analyzing…that’s uh, that’s what I meant”.
It was almost a compliment, a small smile crept on your face that quickly faded out as another gust of wind hit you, the waves crashing below you. The two of you sat there in silence for longer than you ever had before.
“You okay?” he broke from the silence, turning his head to look at you.
You nodded, “Just cold”.
He nodded back, unconvinced you could tell, as he began to reach for his jacket regardless. You did not fight him on it, you were cold, maybe it would help. The chunky fox cardigan draped over your shoulders as he absentmindedly buttoned the top to keep it from falling off of you. You mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’, bundling into the thick yarn.
“So are you gonna tell me what is really wrong?” he spoke again, him still standing in front of you, adjusting the sweater so it covered you. You met his eyes, his head slightly tilting.
“Have you seen Dubois and Shapiro?” you finally allowed yourself to speak your thoughts into the air.
He nodded, returning to stand next to you, leaning once again against the metal rails, "Yeah, they are definitely hooking up”.
“No,” You shook your head, “There’s something more, you can see it in the way they look at each other”.
The silence met the two of you again, the waves below you getting louder and louder, them in their own conversation. You wondered if the waves too had problems like this, if they thought about the world and what they were meant to be. You felt nauseous, you chose to blame sea sickness. It hurt even more because maybe you wished he would look at you like that. You supposed that was your last tether to Earth, last tether from making you lose your mind…it seemed to be him.
“I just cannot imagine knowing the person that you loved was gonna be gone in a few days, just out in space, floating…and you just never see them again. And you can’t even do anything about it” your voice slightly quivered, it was all too much. The several drinks in your system did little to ease your worry, you actually think it made it worse. “After I lost…after my parents, I mean, it took so long to be okay with not getting a goodbye. But they, I mean Shapiro gets to say goodbye. How do you even say that kind of goodbye knowing they are out there and will die, alone?”
You hadn’t realized how blurred your vision had gotten until you looked up, finding Ryland’s gaze, his eyes scanning your face. He had been there, in college, when your parents had passed, had sat up with you for weeks on end keeping you distracted, helping you stay on top of work when your world felt like it was ending.
He carefully reached to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side, a silent kind of comfort, the kind you liked. You rested your head against his chest, melting into his touch, allowing him to be strong for you for a little. It made your head hurt, all of this and him…there was always him.
You weren’t sure how long it was before he spoke up again, you had counted at least twenty crashes of the waves against the boat. It seemed to be the only thing you could think about without falling apart.
“Where do you see yourself after all this?” he asked, pulling you the little bit tighter against him. You were not in the headspace to dig into that, nor the question he was asking. Because where did you go? You were doing the thing you had worked your whole life for and then what? Back to the restaurant? Back to serving punny dishes named after planets and pretending you were fulfilled?
“Probably go home,” you began, your voice thin, a little shaky. “Can’t keep the Extraterrestrial Eatery without their best server for too long”.
It was supposed to be funny but it came out dejected. A quiet laugh escaped him at your words.
“That’s not-”
“That’s exactly what it is,” you cut him off, sharper than you meant it to be, gaze set down at your shoes, at the hem of his sweater, at anything that wouldn’t make you think so much. “That’s my life, Ryland”.
Before this your life had been small, so miniscule…your dreams seemed so far away. Now you were here, it was all right in front of you. You didn’t even think you would ever get this close to studying Tau Ceti, all the resources right there for you to use.
“This…all of this is everything I ever worked for,” you continued. “Being here, doing things that actually matter, and then it’s just gonna be over”.
The lab, Tau Ceti…him. You had grown so used to it, too comfortable and the feeling of it being torn away felt weird. But that was life, you would adjust, or you would try.
“It doesn’t have to be over,” he offered, trying to comfort the ache in your words. And it hit you, with a force that could have sent you overboard. Your head snapped up, looking at him, you opened your mouth to say something but stopped yourself.
“I gotta go,” you spoke, in a daze of sorts, his words replaying over and over in your head.
“Hey, no. Come on” he too stood up, no longer leaning against the railing. “Talk to me, I am here! We could go sing karaoke or something, be stupid, forget about it”.
“You hate karaoke,” you countered, already edging towards the stairs back down into the boat.
“Maybe I could like it?”
“I am gonna go to bed,” you turned back to him, lying through your teeth. You searched his face once more, took a mental picture of him standing right there, breeze blowing through his hair, glasses slightly tilted. He looked perfect.
“It does not have to be over,” you repeated, more to yourself than to him, before ducking down into the stairs and back down the hall. You were sure he called your name but your body could not turn around. It could have been the alcohol in your system. Maybe you were losing your mind. Maybe it was a little bit of both, but your feet carried you right to Dr. Stratt’s office.
You didn’t even knock, pushing open the door, her head snapping up from the silence. Her eyes slightly narrowed, you standing there in the doorway, trying to catch your brain up to your movements.
“Take me instead,” you blurted out, desperate.
The woman did not react right away, just studied you, like she was weighing something you couldn’t see.
“I have nothing keeping me here”.
At least, almost nothing.
“I have worked my whole life for this,” you continued, words spilling out of you before you could even really think them through. “Tau Ceti is my everything and now I am here. And I can do it, I want to do it”.
You swallowed, a shaky breath, so loud in such a quiet room.
“I need to”.
You stood there, feeling so small in the doorway, waiting for something, anything that would confirm that you weren’t making a mistake. Doctor Stratt just nodded her head, short and direct, like she always was.
“Go get some sleep Doctor,” and you just nodded back, your brain going completely silent for the first time that night.
--------
When the explosion happened a few days later, it was all the justification Eva Stratt needed. The day had been a mess, the loss of those doctors devastating, the power of Astrophage even more extraordinary . There was no time to even process though, as just as quickly as it had happened, Dr. Stratt had pulled you into a conference room. The plans moved fast, there was no time to delay with launch day approaching. You agreed as quickly as it was proposed, Ilyukhnia sending you small thumbs up from across the table.
The explanation was a blur. The coma, the four year trip, the three hours until you would have to be ready. Three hours before your life changed forever. That was all it took for everything to become real. But you nodded along. You had a duty now, not only to yourself but to Dubois and Shapiro and all of humanity. For Ryland Grace and his students, for the young girls out there dreaming of studying the stars. It would all be worth it, for them. It had to be.
You made your way back towards the lab, moving in a sort of hazy trance. You were allowed a few personal items to bring with you on the ship, most of the ones you wanted to bring were stored on the shelves of your desk. A picture of you and Ryland at a weird alien museum your class had gone to. A photo of you with your parents on move-in day at college. Your favorite book. A journal of your personal notes. And that stupid alien shirt.
You smiled, piling the items into a box you kept in the lab, when the door came rattling open.
Ryland Grace came stumbling into the lab practically lit on fire, out of breath, a million emotions on his face. You knew it before he even spoke the words.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a panic, searching your face, his eyes shooting in every direction, him taking steps closer to you.
“I don’t-”
“No, you aren’t doing this,” his stopped you. “What are you doing? They can’t just take you?”
“I volunteered,” you countered back, simple, straight to the point…it would make it easier. You turned back to the box, finishing placing the items, scared what looking back at him would do. He was quiet behind you and that hurt the most. Maybe it hurt because of the quiet, maybe it hurt because he didn't have more to say.
“This is it for me,” you said, still facing the box, busying yourself with organizing and reorganizing the objects, anything to keep from facing the truth. “I have studied Tau Ceti my whole life and now I am going to see it, I am going to help save this planet”.
“You don’t know that,” he bit back. “I mean we can hope but you have no idea if this is even gonna work-”
“Beats the alternative,” you countered.
“And what's the alternative?”
That made you turn, you finally facing him. He looked so tired, a mix of confusion, anger, sadness… somehow all at once.
“This,” you admitted. “Going home to that apartment, living through pictures of a better time while I work that shitty job. That’s not living, that is not how I am going to live!”
“So what, now you are just going off to die?” he was upset, you hadn’t seen him like this in a while, not since his theory about water had not been received well in college.
“I am saving humanity”.
“Oh wow, yes, real courageous of you,” he retorted, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Fuck you Ryland,” you said, quiet, cold. “You’re the one who brought me here”.
His eyes snapped to yours, the two of you just looking at each other, breathing.
“And it was supposed to be a temporary thing,” he bit back. “Empahsis on the whole temporary part of this all. I mean, just a couple of days ago you were saying how you couldn’t imagine people having to say goodbye like this.”
You didn't have the heart to tell him that you hadn't planned on saying goodbye to him at all. It was wrong, you knew that, selfish, but you couldn’t get yourself to do it. He was your last tether to Earth and it was growing thinner and thinner.
“I have nothing here for me,” you spoke from the silence.
“You have-” and then he stopped himself and your head once again snapped up to meet his eyes.
“Say it,” you spoke, quietly, pleading for him to say the one thing that could make you stay. “Please Ry, just say it”.
Everything hung there, floating in the air and he couldn’t, his head just slightly shaking in disappointment. The tether snapped right there.
“Okay,” it was so breathy, barely even a word. You had no more fight left in you, no words left to say, nothing he could do that would change your mind. He was too stuck in his ways, too stubborn. You grabbed the box, looking at him once more, before you shoved your way past him and out the door of the office. It was quiet, too quiet down that hallway and when you looked back he was looking at you and you just gave him a smile, a small one…I will learn to forgive you.
You felt no regret.
Not when Eva Stratt thanked you for your sacrifice. Not when the doctors came in and prepared the injection that would put you under. Not even when the needle pierced your skin. You only did, just for a second, when you heard your name. When his voice called through the room, faint but desperate. It was muffled, your vision growing thinner and thinner, fading at the edges. The voice just grew quieter and quieter. A hand gripped tightly onto yours, shaking you more and more until you felt nothing at all.
----------
The first thing you realize is that you cannot open your eyes, like they are glued shut. You squeeze them a couple times, blinking over and over until they finally force themselves open.
So bright!
You should have just kept them close. You blink a few more times.
Then you realize that you can’t move, and not because your arms are stiff…no, there is a giant, what you could best describe as, plastic bag wrapped around you.
“Eye movement detected,” you practically jump out of your skin at the sound disrupting the silence. The voice is clean, almost inhuman, as it once again repeats its previous statement.
You try to move your arms, nothing. Your legs, nothing. Your fingers…just a little bit. The feeling of helplessness crashes all over you at once as you come to the slow realization that this was not just a bad case of sleep paralysis.
Before you could even begin to make sense of it, a giant robotic hand swept across your vision, reaching down to unzip the human sandwich bag you were being trapped in. Now was your change, you shifted your weight as much as you could side to side until you rolled and made contact with the hard floor. A groan escaped you, the only sound you could really get out.
What the actual fuck?
There are tubes, connected in places you didn’t even know were possible. But nothing was as alarming as the realization that you had no idea where you were…no idea who you were. You looked around in a panic, trying to worm around off the ground, the robot hand stopping you in your place, lifting you off the ground and placing you back onto the table. You left out a mix of muffled objections, the most you could muster…your vocal chords were somehow still waking up. The computer acted before you could even protest, removing all the tubes, sensations you had never felt before and hoped to never feel again. At least, you assumed you had never felt them before.
You saw it as your chance, the robot hand busy putting the tubing away, you jumping off the table and immediately crumbling to the ground.
“Fuck!” the sound surprised you…you were making progress. Using the little strength and feeling in your limbs that you had, you scooted and crawled across the floor. Where was the door? Your head snapped back and forth, up and- There it was, on the ceiling, of course it was. The ladder connected to it seemed daunting but what choice did you have.
The robot spoke again, speaking a name, or you assumed it was, “detected, alive”.
It must have been your name, huh, you didn’t completely hate it. You continued to move across the floor, slow, scared that the robot arm might just yank you right back into the air.
“Movement detected in the dormitory," the robotic voice spoke once again, causing you to speed up. It was trying to blow your cover, ruin your plan. Who knew, there might be a whole army of robots up there ready to get you. With each scoot across the floor, the feeling in your limbs began to find itself again. By the time you reached the ladder you were able to somewhat pull yourself up, each step getting harder and harder. You were tired, even if it seemed you had just woken up from some coma-like situation. You reached the top, banging the door over and over until it eventually popped up.
Reaching the top, standing on solid ground again was a feeling you had a new respect for. Then you turned your head…and you came to the jarring realization that you weren’t on solid ground at all. A giant window looking out into the great plane of stars…you were in space. You took slow, cautious steps towards the window, scared that you might somehow get sucked out.
It was beautiful, you were at a loss of words for a reason other than your inability to talk.
“Holy shoot,” a voice spoke from behind you, you stumbled slightly turning around, throwing your hand up in defense. “You are awake”.
“Am I?” you asked, genuinely…you wouldn’t have been shocked if you had died and were now in some weird waiting room.
The look on the man's face was one of relief and that was enough to slowly allow your hands to fall back to your side. He seemed slightly more put together than you were, except for the glasses titled slightly on his face…though he made no move to readjust them. Maybe he was an alien and that was how they wore their glasses? Were you an alien too?
“Where am I? What is this? What…” you trailed off, once again catching a glimpse of the stars. The feeling was hard to explain, like you were floating in your own head, nothing there but faint blurry glimpses of something that you knew came before this. But no matter how hard you fought, you could not get yourself to decipher the memories. “I can’t remember what…”
He nodded as you spoke, and you knew he understood. You couldn’t understand, but your body softened slightly, your heart beat became steady and your breathing returned to something much more normal.
“I, uh, I woke up a couple days ago…in that room,” he tried to explain, looking as if he too was piecing it together in real time. “Where do I even start…”
You stood there, helpless, waiting for something.
“We are in space,” you rolled your eyes at his words, pointing out at the window next to the two of you. “Oh right, well, just clarifying”.
“Anything else genius?” you didn’t mean to come across as on edge but you were confused and hungry and annoyed that your brain could not do what it was meant to do.
“We aren’t in our own solar system,” he spoke again, finally with some seriousness to his tone, you perking up and meeting his gaze. “We are, according to the map in the control room, in the Tau Ceti system about twelve lightyears away from Earth”.
He trailed off on the last word, giving you a second to absorb…but you were not a sponge and your brain was rejecting all of it. It made no sense, it was insane…but so was the giant robotic arm that picked you up earlier.
“We were sent here for a reason,” he finished. “I just am not sure what exactly that is yet”.
He then paused, a long pause, like he was choosing his next words carefully, “we were sent in a group of four”.
“Oh,” you looked up at him, a feeling of relief washing over you, maybe they knew more, maybe they had been awake for longer. “Well, let’s just go pick their brains?”
“They didn’t make it,” he added, the words sitting heavy in the air.
You just nodded, unsure of what to say, scared of how it would all feel once your memories began to trickle back like his were.
Would they have been your friends? Would the grief hit you later? The words sat weird in your stomach, even weirder knowing that there was a time where you knew everyone on this ship, there was a time where you knew why you were there. People who were your friends and now it was just you and strangers, chosen by some sort of fate to survive.
“What happened to them?”
“What am I? Your magic eight ball,” he joked, a weak attempt at trying to lighten the mood…you hated that it made you smile the way it did. “Don’t fight it, I know it was funny.”
“Oh wait, the memories are coming back…” you pretended to think, before letting a blank look spread on your face. “You’re an asshole”.
He threw his arms in mock defense and you weren’t sure why but it all felt so natural.
“I found some vodka earlier,” he offered up, a shitty solution, a temporary one for sure, but a solution nonetheless.
“We brought vodka?” you paused. “At least we know we had fun”.
He laughed and you laughed too, anything to keep you from thinking about what this all was, what this meant and how exactly you get back to Earth from twelve light years away.
The man, who you learned was named Ryland Grace, took you around the rooms he had already spent time exploring. The labs…so you were scientists? Then the controls, and the space suits and the shelves of equipment that you could not even begin to understand. He eventually showed you a small closet, one containing boxes labeled with four names, pulling the one with yours on it down.
In yours were some pictures…one of the two of you, so you were friends? Maybe? You should go with friends for now. Then a picture of two older individuals stood next to you, in front of the sign of a college…they must have been your parents. Did they know you were up in space? Did they send you up here? The thought made your head hurt so you stopped, tucking it away, it was for another day. There were too many questions floating as is. Then the shirt, a giant shirt that confused that shit out of you even more. You took it out of the box, holding it up to show him and the two of you just burst out laughing.
“So I have bad taste in clothing?” you asked, trying to regain your breathing, him wiping away the tears from his eyes.
“You should see some of the other clothes people brought,” and those words were just the start. Too much vodka flowing through your system, the two of you found comfort in trying on stupid hats and shirts packed throughout the ship. At some point you found yourself collapsed on the floor with him, laying there, the bag of alcohol laying between the two of you.
You talked for hours that night…well you assumed it was night, trying to hypothesize about who the two of you might have been. Were you smart? Where had the two of you met? Were you friends? Somewhere in your mind you felt like there was something else there. But you did not want to dig there, when you tried your head would just pound right back. So you laid there, accepting the silence of space, accepting that none of it made sense.
“I am glad I am not alone,” he spoke up from the silence, so quiet you might have missed it.
“I am not sure why, but I feel like we were meant to do this together,” you replied, turning your head to the side to look at him.
He was already looking at you with a soft smile on his face. Tomorrow you would wake up and it would be overwhelming all over again. But for now, you were wearing an alien shirt and laying beside a man with a beautiful smile and titled glasses. Floating absently among the stars and you felt like you have never felt so at home.