: ̗̀➛𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: It's a rarity that Armando gets sick, but when he does, he attaches himself to you/reader. --Intro to a new female reader?
: ̗̀➛𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚜:
Soft!Mando
Dove!reader
GrumpyxSunshine
The funniest thing about Armando was that although he held the rightful reputation of being cutthroat and ruthless in the streets of Mexico, he was also such a softie behind closed doors, especially when he was sick.
Right now, he currently had the flu and was carrying himself like a toddler.
The couple had been stationed in bed for what felt like hours. Armando because he was “knocking on death’s door” as he dramatically put it, and Dove because well, he refused to let her up. He laid on top of her, arms tucked underneath her to warp around her waist and lock her in his grip. His head was not only planted right on her chest, but he was also hiding underneath her robe. All she could truly see of him was the very top part of his short black hair.
“Armando, baby. You know I don’t mind taking care of you, but you’re gonna get me sick being all over me like this.” Dove’s soft voice was met by the low grumbling rasp of his strained voice. “I’m not even that close.” She took a moment to look away at her imaginary office camera that was always conveniently stationed in the corner of whatever space she needed it to be.
“If you were any closer, you’d be in my skin.” “That’s a great idea actually.” With that statement, he emerged from underneath her thick fluffy robe, leaning back to gently tug down the cup of her bra, exposing her supple breast. He stared for a moment mesmerized by the sight of her dark brown skin that always seemed to glow to him.
That’s one of the many things he loved about Dove. She was so opposite of him. While he was rugged, she was the epitome of soft. It was like God crafted her from the finest silk he could find. Taking his sweet and very appreciated time to craft the woman Armando would one day be madly in love with.
She was his Dove, his Paloma.
“Eres tan suave, cariño.” He spoke softly while nuzzling his face against her breast. She gazed down at her boyfriend who did still look a bit pale. She knew he was being dramatic, but she'd still baby him anyway.
Summary: Spotchka makes Mando show his desire to take care of you.
Word count: 4k
Warnings: Bounty Hunter!Reader, soft!Din, set before Season One, smut!!!, little plot for context, but also FLUFF!, v fingering, no gendered words used, no y/n, alcohol, dirty talk, drunk sex, hint of praise kink, mirror kink, feelings???, reader is clueless about them tho, kind of sinful use of the helmet sorry armorer!
A/N: Hi!!! This is the first time I’m writing for this fandom OMG. I have little experience writing fics and I’m not 100% happy about this, but hey I had fun while typing smut at work! Also English is not my mother tongue and I have no Beta only Grammarly, although I edited this thoroughly, so sorry if this is awkward hehehe, I’d love to hear your thoughts about it!
You both probably had exceeded your tolerance limit with the spotchka that the kind people of Sorgan had gifted you on your last visit to the planet. Everything started with an excruciating hunt that had taken a toll on you and your bussiness partner. When the trandoshan male you’d been persecuting for weeks was finally frozen in carbonite, both of you sighed in relief and then your gaze met with his behind the visor. Neither of you were very talkative, your silences sometimes speaking louder than words. In addition, you both where extra grumpy that night because of the tiredness. Limping because of your sore muscles, provoked by hiding lying down on the hard floor for hours, you went directly to the spot where your provisions were. He tilted his head, curious. Normally after a hunt, you run to the shower to clean the grime accumulated from the days on the run.
Mando's questions were rapidly resolved when you triumphantly showed him the blue bottle and two metal mugs you used for everything. You must be a minimalist in a ship like the Razor Crest, which was definitely not designed for habitability. You also showed him the reusable straw you got him so he could drink in front of you on the field without worrying about his Creed. He fixated his helmet on you and finally nodded, so you poured him the spotchka filling the cup to the brim and then did the same for you. Next you let yourself slip down the metal floor with a heavy thump, too exhausted to stand for a minute more. He followed you and soon you found yourselves toasting lazily on the ground and drinking in silence.
“You did great today, mesh’la.” He said after emptying his mug for the first time that evening. You downed your beverage on your lap and looked at him as if he had gone nuts. In your time with him, he’d never praised you for your work. It was just expected that you gave your 100% in your hunts, right? You were after all partners, business partners. Associates. That sometimes fucked, alright. But you both kept things professional. So why did his praise affect the color of your cheeks that much?
“Thanks, Mando.” You muttered after finishing your spotckha too, offering to fill his mug again by raising the bottle towards him. He nodded and his gaze didn’t leave you this time. The truth was that Din was impressed by your performance in this last job. He knew you were a capable bounty hunter, of course, or he wouldn't have asked you to join him in the first place. It was only for one job initially, but you’d been so resourceful and worked so well along with him that he had to request you to join him full-time.
In the field, you always had his back, saving his metal ass more than one time, and your perception and ability to read people’s intentions was incredibly useful. Even though you weren't Mandalorian, he respected you as a warrior as if you were one of them. Not only respect, he felt admiration towards you.
And then it was the other side of your partnership. The one that occurred in the dark, rushed, your flushed skin against the cold beskar and soft sighs fogging his visor. The first time occurred after a near-death experience, the adrenaline ended in you being pressed against the wall in some alley by his beskar-clad body. He discovered you weren’t only outstanding at bounty hunting, but in other disciplines too.
Your intercourses would usually happen after a hunt gone south when both of you were especially frustrated and needed to let some steam off. You had three unspoken rules about them: you never talked while fucking, it was always done in the dark, and you never mentioned it afterwards. And of course, the helmet stayed on. You could never have imagined that you'd break all of the rules the current night.
You both had emptied the second round by the moment Mando spoke again. "I'm glad you accepted to be my business partner." His voice through the modulator caught you off guard, as you were lost in thought at the moment. He wasn't looking at you this time. You wondered if he was already drunk because he was behaving so off-character.
"You only say that because you love my stew." You chuckled nervously while pouring another mug for yourself. He asked his to be filled too and half of the spotchka was already gone. You could feel your palms against the glass sweaty: this opening-up-with-Mando thing was new for you.
"No…Yes, I mean… I do love your stew." It actually was the best he'd tasted and a great change from the ration packs he'd usually consume while on the Razor Crest. Mando played with the metal straw in his drink as if it was filled with your star recipe. "But what I'm saying is…it's nice to have you around." You looked at him quizzically, without a clue about where this conversation was directed or what was he referring to. Like he enjoyed your presence? Impossible. You rarely even spoke and didn’t know a lot about each other. Just enough to know you could trust your partner in the field. Maybe he was referring to sex. You knew he enjoyed it, as you did too. It was hot and somewhat felt forbidden. But anything in his cryptical tone indicated he was talking about sex, and it would be a first between you. Finally you decided he must be speaking about your job, you worked well together for sure.
"I suppose…we make a good team." Your half smile was timid and Mando surprised himself when his heart skipped a beat at your smile, but he was a bit disappointed. That was not what he was referring to. Sometimes he wished to be as talented with words as Greef Karga. He nodded and sipped half of the liquid courage remaining in his mug when he heard you giggling.
"What?" He asked drily. He almost felt hurt, where you laughing at him after dodging his attempt to tell you how he felt? You tried to stop but the alcohol had started to take a toll on your self-control. Especially on your empty stomach.
"You…you look so…so cute with your straw." He now fixated his visor on you, and although you tried to stop your laughter with your hand he only made it worse by looking deadly while sipping his spotchka.
"So you bought it in order to make fun of me?" You couldn't discern if he was joking or not but you started to be too drunk to care. He was marveled by this relaxed version of you, looking careless while sprawled on the floor. Even during sex, you'll keep it together, always looking composed. Was a bit of spotchka the one thing it took for you to get loose? If that was the case, he'd buy supplies for ages on the next planet.
"No dummy, I got it because that time you got dehydrated on Tatooine! You scared the shit out of me." Mando hardly remembered how that hunt ended, since in fact, he ended up fainting because of the lack of liquids due to being glued by the hip to you all the mission. It was certainly embarrassing. But what really made his cheeks flush was the endearing tone you had used to insult him.
"I appreciate how you always take care of me." His voice was softer than usual and the impact it had on you was totally unexpected. You stared at him frozen. Was he dehydrated again? You looked at the bottle of spotchka confused. Sure, it was a bit stronger than usual, but not that much.
"Mando… Are you drunk?" You asked carefully, and then he rotated all his body towards you.
"I want to take care of you, too." His voice came strained while he ignored your question. Your face couldn't be redder and your heartbeat started to go out of control. This couldn’t be happening, right? Where you reading well the room?
"Well, I could really use a massage. You know, my boss had me laying all day in some kriffing hole as if I was his personal sniper and my back is killing me." You said nonchalantly after a long silence, avoiding his face on purpose. He sighed in defeat and lay again in the position he was before, his long legs stretched on the floor.
"Your boss looks like an asshole." You could hear now a smile behind the helmet in his voice that warmed your heart.
"He's a tough bone, but he ends up growing on you." You winked at him and then got up, feeling suddenly how drunk you actually were. You stretched your arms over your head and then your neck and Mando could hear the crack of every one of your bones.
“I’ll give you that massage.” You weren’t expecting that he’d taken it seriously at all. He was no stranger to your body, but this new behavior of his was getting on your nerves. You had already spoken more than in all the month you were on board the Razor Crest. Slowly you nodded.
“Let me shower real quick first.” Without further notice, you locked yourself in the refresher to have the fastest shower in history, leaving The Mandalorian with his thoughts while you replayed your conversation in your head, trying to figure out his intentions.
After refreshing, you looked through your possessions, finally finding the small bottle of scented oil, and then returned to the hull while drying your hair a bit with a towel. The shower hadn't diminished your drunken state at all, and you were feeling feisty now. Thinking about how Mando was going to give you a massage had ignited your desire. And you could work with that. Because even though emotional intimacy wasn’t your forte, you new plenty about the physical one.
Mando was in the same place you had left him, now his back against the wall in a relaxed demeanor. He looked at you and then he was thankful you couldn't see his face. Of course, he had seen you in your undergarments before, but always in a non-sexual way like attending to your wounds or just a glimpse here or there. When you fucked you’d both keep most of your clothes on. He’d never appreciated you in all your glory towering over him like this. He gulped and felt his pants somewhat tighter.
You then sat nimbly in front of him, your back facing his front, and left the oil in your right so he could reach it. You noticed that another quarter of the spotchka bottle was missing.
"Confiscated." Giving him a mischievous glance, you twisted your body to reach the bottle and opened it to have a sip directly from it. Mando still hadn't moved a millimeter. A single drop slid along your throat and suddenly he wished he could lick it so badly. He had noted that your demeanor had changed, no longer nervous but confident in your body and sexuality. And that kriffin made him snap. His large hands snaked around your hip bones, dragging your body closer to his chest in one movement You gasped at the sudden contact, but this was familiar. Rough Mando, pressing you from behind against the nearest surface.
His long, muscular legs were spread around you, and you couldn't but appreciate his width and strength, seduced to caress where the beskar wasn't covering them. The time started to go slower as you stroked his skin through the flight suit. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that under all the metal a living red-blooded man resided. And said man was shivering now under your soft touches, praying that you didn't notice his neediness. He was a warrior with a task.
"Mesh'la, let me take care of you." His voice was gentle and raspy when he spoke next to your ear, and if he hadn't been wearing a helmet, you could have felt his breath tickling your skin. The tone in which he pronounced the foreign word made you feel a lot of things, some of them directed to your lower abdomen. You heard the tap of the oil and goosebumps of anticipation covered your skin. When the first drops slid down your column you were the one shivering this time.
When you felt his hands over your skin, you melted. You hadn't noticed when he’d removed his gloves. He rarely did it, and feeling them on your abused shoulders was like warm honey. You almost moaned from the touch of the rough skin of his big palms, his strong thumbs working on the knots that always formed over your shoulder blades. It felt heavenly.
“Is this okay?” If you didn’t know better, you’d swear his voice sounded a bit shy, but it was always difficult to tell through the modulator.
“S’ perfect Mando.” Your tone was breathy as you started to get a bit much worked up by his touch. He hummed and continued with his ministrations in silence. The moment felt fragile: you’d never had this intimacy together before. You noticed he was taking his time with you, feeling every muscle and curve of your strong back, tracing some scars scattered here and there. The alcohol and the massage were finally relaxing your tensed body, and then a moan you couldn’t stop escaped from your lips. His hands, which were working on your lower back at that moment, stopped and you could feel his entire body tense.
“Is this turning you on mesh’la?” All shyness was gone in a second, now his voice was thick with lust, a timbre you did recognize of him. His hands now had a harder grip on your back, like he needed to hold onto something. Sex with Mando was familiar ground, you felt relieved.
“Why don’t you check yourself?” Spotchka made you cheeky like that and you could hear Mando taking a heavy breath, confirming that your words had the effect you desired. Without warning, he dragged you towards his chest plate, the cold beskar biting your back while he positioned his helmet resting on your shoulder. Your heartbeat started to accelerate with anticipation. In this position, you could feel his chest rising every time: he was as worked up as you.
Painfully slow, he started to go over your outer thighs with a feathery touch with his calloused digits when then abruptly, he grabbed them and separated further making you gasp. The heat between your legs was unbearable and the thing you wanted more was for him to touch you. His grip on your inner thighs was almost painful, not that you minded, but you couldn’t stand more teasing.
“Mando, please…” You begged.
“Please what?” His fingers were now hovering over your clothed core, the fabric drenched in your slick. It wasn’t like your business partner hadn’t fingered you before, but it was always as a preparation for you to take his girth, never in this unrushed, lazy manner. Although you were going to explode from anticipation, you were loving every moment of it.
As Mando was too. The sensation of your plush skin filling his hands, your body pressing against his and dank farrik, your smell. It was driving him crazy, so much that he wanted to remove his helmet so he could appreciate the delicious smell of your wet pussy. His head was starting to spin and he couldn’t identify if it was for your fragrance or the quantity of spotchka running through his blood. He decided that the teasing was over then, and unceremoniously hooked his thumbs on your waistband and slid the piece of underwear down your legs, the soaked spot in the middle so evident it embarrassed you and turning him on even more. But he wasn’t still touching you where you needed him most. You were so done.
With your smaller hand, you grabbed his and placed it in your cunt letting go a snort and leaving Mando stunned.
“You wanted to take care of me? Then go on.” You said sassy, but your face was redder and hotter than a Sith’s lightsaber. He kriffing grunted and your breathing stopped when he finally put one of his thick fingers on your entrance to collect your slick. He amused himself at the fact that you were dripping because of him, feeling between surprised and a little proud about it. Then he started tracing lazy circles around your clit while spreading your pussy with the other hand. Mando relished himself in how soft and warm you were, imagining your flavor between his lips. In the confine of his flight suit, his cock twitched, impossibly harder. But today was about taking care of you and he was a man of his word.
His middle finger started tracing your slit up and down and you can’t help but waggle in his lap, feeling the pleasure spreading through your body. You inhaled hard when you notice the prominent bulge against your ass, growing only wetter at the sensation, and Mando could literally feel how your slick slid down your hole. While still rubbing your clit, he took advantage of the dampness to slide one finger inside, looking at that magic spot in your entrance that made your skin tingle. You moaned louder and he licked his lips under the helmet. An all-consuming desire was growing inside of him, the alcohol inside his veins whispering to him that he should indulge in his fantasy. You moan again in his arms and he’s a mess. Needs to taste you, to smell you to see your pussy drenched because of him. Every part of his body is in contact with yours, his helmet against your cheek. He’d love to bite your shoulder and mark your neck, and his need grows stronger while fantasizing about the idea.
“Mando…another finger…please.” Your voice was labored and so sexy he needs a sharp inhale to bring his brain the oxygen he needed. You were a beautiful mess. Your lips parted, cheeks red with lust and a sheer layer of sweat making your skin glow under the lights. This was nothing like taking you from behind in some cantina bathroom. He was done.
“Wait for a second mesh’la. And don’t turn around.” You nodded obediently, at this point you’d do whatever it took to be touched by The Mandalorian. Then you heard the hiss, you panicked a moment, knowing what the helmet meant for him. But inside you couldn’t deny the excitement from the anticipation about what he was going to do. Soon you had the answer. With a loud clank, he let his helmet rest between your spread thighs and then he breathed heavily, finally inhaling your sweet scent. It seemed odd to you that he didn’t choose another spot for his helmet, but then it hit you like a ton of bricks. Filthy bastard.
“Keep your legs spread for me.” His bossy tone made your pussy clench, you were used to his dry commands but in this context it made you drool. His unmodulated voice was like his hands, rough and gentle and warm at the same time, just like him. You found yourself wanting to hear more of it.
Mando’s hands traveled south once again and then he was spreading your lips, totally messy and wet. “Dank Farrik mesh’la look at you.” And you looked. The helmet, well-polished, silver beskar. His position between your legs wasn’t unintentional. You looked at your cunt at display, his large fingers caressing it like it was the most precious thing in the galaxy. You felt embarrassed and your first reflex was to close your legs. But he wasn’t having it.
“Mando, you’re shameless!” His strong hands didn’t let you close your legs but he spread them further. And when he had you like that, his fingers collected your slick determined to finally taste you. You could hear how he sinfully licked every finger and a more sinful, hoarse moan. You’d never hear him make a sound like that and it turned you to putty.
“Your cunt tastes as delicious as it looks.” Now, that was shameless. Who had imagined the reserved, soft-spoken Mandalorian had such a filthy tongue? His fingers were toying with your clit while he explored your hole with the other hand. Pleasure was filling every cell of your body and tiny moans were scaping more frequently from your lips, more aroused every second you looked at his movements reflected on the beskar surface.
“I’d love to taste you too Mando.” You teased grinding your hips on his cock, provoking a delicious sound from him.
“Another time mesh’la, I’m taking care of you today.” His voice was thick with drunkenness and desire and you couldn’t get enough of it. Then a perfect place stroke made you arch against him, leaving your neck at display for him. That delicious-looking skin was calling for him. A sharp bite startled you, provoking a loud moan from you. Even though he had removed his helmet, you didn’t expect him to use his lips on you. It looked like he was sporting a mustache and facial hair. Somewhat, it fitted the mental image you had of him and you siled internally. He continued sucking and biting all over your shoulders and neck, taking his time in your pulse point and you were a panting mess between his thighs, at this point, your slick even pooling on the floor.
His pace on your pussy was faster now, and you could feel and see how his fingers were knuckles deep in your insides, curved toward that delicious spot you could only reach with toys but he easily achieved to stroke. Dank Farrink, he did know your body. You realized he had to be paying more attention than you thought during your intercourses and that somehow made you hornier.
“Mando, I’m not gonna last much more…” Your voice was small, all your cheekiness from behind gone. You felt raw.
“That beautiful cunt’s gonna cum? Lemme see it mesh’la, give it to me.” Mando slurred as worked up and drunk as you. His words sent electricity directly to your pussy and your walls clenched against his fingers. “Kriff your body is amazing…you’re amazing.” His movements over your clit were now frantic and your vision started to blur. You succumbed to the sensation letting it hit you and then you were cuming all over Mando’s tan fingers with a loud cry of pleasure. He kept touching you until you shivered from overstimulation, dragging his fingers slowly from your puffy entrance. The vision was totally sinful. He started drawing lazy circles around your lips, caressing them. Your breath was still heavy while you came down from your high.
“Mando that was…” You didn’t have words for what had just happened.
“Do you feel better now cyar’ika?” His voice was soft again, even sleepy.
“Yeah, thank you for…taking care of me.” The alcohol and your orgasm were making your body drowsy, and you let yourself sink into his arms.
“Anytime.” He then kissed the point where your shoulder met your neck, something he hadn’t done before. You shivered at the sensation of his facial hair against your own skin and couldn’t help but smile fondly. In his odd way, he was sharing this private part of him with you and surprisingly your heart fluttered at the idea. He started then to drag his nose caressing your shoulder, it felt prominent, his mustache provoking goosebumps. You relished in his tenderness and at that moment you didn’t care anymore that this felt too intimate, wondering how it’d feel to kiss him. It was probably the spotchka why you were indulging in these thoughts and the reason you sighed like a teenager when his cheek leaned on yours. Probably tomorrow everything would be back to normal when both of you were sober, but for now, you’d let yourself enjoy how it felt to be taken care of by The Mandalorian.
Summary: Running isn't always as easy as it sounds.
Warnings: unprotected piv sex, praise kink, creampie, cum eating/light cum play, soft!mando, some teasing per usual, a fuck ton of angst you might cry (maybe?)
Word Count: 8.4k
A/N: I just love angst too much, okay? Anyway... this chapter and the next are *Certified* my favorites
Early the next morning, Mando flew the Crest to the deeper parts of the forest outside the village. It was secluded and quiet and further off-grid than you were hoping for. If you wanted to make a plan to leave, this was taking you several steps back.
He was being extra sweet as the morning faded into early afternoon, speaking softly and leaving faint touches on you as you passed in the cargo hold. Each touch was another brutal reminder of that tether pulling between you, that inescapable feeling that something was keeping you both intertwined. You wanted to hit your head against the metal walls and get a grip, but he was making it so fucking hard.
And he was keeping good on his word and not treating you differently. He even agreed to train with you, promising weapons and a longer session once the afternoon sun peaked. Shedding those secrets yesterday felt like a burden lifted from your chest, yet that anger still festered deep inside you, waiting to escape at any moment. If you could fight Mando, you could lessen those bubbling emotions.
Outside in the clearing, Mando kept a tight grip on his blade, leveling it with his body as he beckoned you to make the first move. You crouched low, aiming for his thigh, only for him to deflect it before you could even get within a foot of his body. His free hand grabbed your wrist, locking it in a vice until your blade fell with a light thud in the grass.
“Fuck,” you snapped.
That rage was crawling up your spine, torching your nerves. You picked up your blade and got into a defense position as you waited for Mando to strike. He advanced on you slowly, his steps calm and calculated up until the last moment when his weapon came shooting out to slice at your bicep. You stepped back in time to escape his strike, blocking your face with one arm and returning a strike at his shoulder. His other hand caught your forearm, twisting it until you yelped. Thinking fast, you drove a knee up into his abdomen, the bone hitting his armor belt on impact. Pain erupted through your body, and you staggered back, winded from the fight.
“You alright?” Mando asked, his breath ragged. He clasped a hand on your shoulder as you bent over heaving.
Giving him no time, you sliced upwards, nicking the fabric between his cowl and chest. It wasn’t forceful enough to hit skin, but enough to surprise him and send him reeling backward. You straightened with a wide grin on your face, flipping your knife in your hand casually.
“Don’t let your guard down, Mando,” you shrugged.
He tossed the blade from his hand, charging at you full force. You managed to dodge him, sliding to the left and breaking into a full sprint. The thrill of a chase pounded in your chest as you took off into the empty clearing, the tall grass dying beneath your feet. Your blood was pounding in your ears loud enough to drown out his footsteps behind you, and you felt free. Maybe this was your shot; maybe you could outrun him.
But that thought died quickly as a sharp cable looped around your right leg, sending you down into the earth hard. Thankfully, you had enough time to brace yourself before the strength of the cable dragged you backward toward Mando. Your nails clawed at the soil beneath you as you tried fighting against it, but your strength was no match for the weapon on his belt.
Mando’s hands were on your shoulders in an instant, flipping you over to reveal your muddied shirt and face. With him looming over you in all his armored glory, your body flushed a deep red, the heat crawling over your chest and neck. He crouched down, unwinding the cable from your calf, massaging the skin under your pant leg slowly.
“Never run from a bounty hunter,” he warned. “They’ll always catch you.”
They’ll always catch you.
You tried to cool your expression as the words washed over you, draining all the heat and color from your body. Did he know? Of course, he didn’t; he was just taunting you in the heat of the moment.
“Well, you made a nice mess of me with that stunt,” you huffed, sitting up to rest on your forearms.
“Could make even more of a mess of you for running away from me.”
“Is that a threat?” You smirked.
Mando crawled over you, his helmet a breath away from your face. You pressed your body up into his, letting your breasts rub against his chest plate. It smeared mud against the shiny metal, and you laughed softly.
“Looks like you’re just as messy as me.”
“You wanna fight dirty?” Mando challenged.
“Yeah, I do.”
Hooking your leg around his waist, you used all your energy to spin him over and pin him beneath you. Mando’s hands found their familiar place on your hips, his grip holding you firm as you straddled him. With one slow grind of your hips, he exhaled a groan, and you relished in the feeling of his cock growing hard against your ass.
“I like you underneath me,” you hummed, rolling your hips again.
Mando’s fingers dug into the exposed skin of your waist, your shirt long having ridden up from the fight. You placed your hands on his shoulder pauldrons as you ground against the fabric of his suit, the friction shooting waves of pleasure through your core. You could push the doubts aside if you pacified it with a distraction. And he was the perfect distraction.
“Make yourself cum, angel. Let me watch you fall apart.”
“No touching.”
He let his fingers slip away from your waist, setting them behind his helmet as he gazed up at you, silently waiting and watching. You indulged in his request, moving your hips in earnest against the hardened outline of his cock. The drag of your clit against it was intoxicating, and you drew circles until you found the right pattern to shatter you into oblivion. You were all too aware that you were in the wide open space of the forest, completely exposed to any possible threat, but that didn’t stop you from pressing your body down harder onto him. If anything, it fueled the fire inside you even more, your movements growing more desperate and out of control. You scrapped your nails against the metal of his pauldrons as your core clenched one final time. Your release escaped from you with a loud moan, the sound filling the space around you.
“Look at the mess you made,” he taunted, tilting his visor toward the obvious wet spot on your pants.
You muttered some sort of jumbled nonsense as you slumped against his chest, too blissed out to care that your cunt had drenched your pants and his.
“Too bad you can’t taste it,” you tossed back.
What the fuck?
Why would you say something like that? It completely went against his Creed to remove his helmet, let alone remove it to taste you. That thought pushed beyond all boundaries, and you weren’t quick enough to swallow those words.
“You have no fucking idea how bad I want to taste you,” he growled, letting a hand coast down your back to deliver a sharp slap against your ass.
“I can taste for the both of us,” you whispered.
Positioning yourself back up onto his lap, you trailed a hand down your stomach and let your fingers dance under the waistband of your underwear. Swiping a finger through your wet folds, you brought the glistening digit to your lips and eyed him as you sucked it clean. Mando’s body went rigid under you, his hands flexing against your backside.
“Again,” he ordered.
You repeated the motion, letting the taste of your release coat your tongue. Before you could even swallow, Mando’s hand came up to your jaw, holding it firm.
“Let me see.”
Your lips twitched with a smile as you opened your mouth wide. His gloved thumb ran across your bottom lip and slowly pushed into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his thumb, sucking on the fabric of his glove until you heard him inhale a sharp breath.
“Tell me I can fuck you.”
You released his thumb with a gentle pop, nodding mindlessly at his request.
“Please,” you begged.
With that one simple word, Mando had you thrown onto the grass, positioning you on all fours. He made quick work of yanking your pants down your thighs, the light afternoon breeze sending a shiver over your exposed skin.
“So fucking wet for me, baby,” he groaned.
You preened at his words, humming as he slid a finger inside your aching cunt. Maker, if he didn’t fuck you soon, you’d go mad. You heard the zipper of his suit roll down and the quick brush of the tip of his cock against your entrance. Yes. You needed this. You needed to clear your mind and forget all the ways you’d hurt him when you decided to run. This was the last time, you told yourself.
Mando pushed into you slowly, letting your body adjust to his cock as it stretched you out. You groaned into the soil beneath you, paying little mind to the mud smearing across your cheek as you braced against the ground. Mando rocked into you slowly at first, finding that perfect rhythm that made you clench around his cock, and then began pistoning into you. You cried out as he drove into you, each thrust hitting you at the core.
“This pussy is mine,” he growled with each snap of his hips. “No one will ever touch you again.”
You were too dazed to analyze his words or think of anything other than the swelling warmth inside you. He wanted you for himself? Fine, he could have you. He could take anything he wanted, and you’d give it to him willingly. It didn’t change the fact that you’d leave him; your emotions were slowly crawling behind the walls you had built before.
But then, in that moment, you craved the way he fucked you. You focused on the thrum of your heartbeat, the pulse throbbing in your clit, the feel of his cock buried inside you. You cursed into the ground, your teeth gnashing together as that euphoric surge of release splintered across your nerves. You clenched around his cock, your cunt fluttering through the aftershocks of your orgasms, yet he didn’t let up.
“Mando…” You whined.
His hand smoothed over the soft skin of your ass as he crooned out various praises.
Taking me so good, angel.
Fucking love how you feel wrapped around my cock.
Give me more.
You were putty in his hands, and you melted at every syllable dripping through the modulator of his helmet. You wanted the praise. You wanted the release. You wanted this.
“So fucking beautiful,” he exhaled, a hand wrapping around your hair.
He tugged at it gently, your neck craning upwards. The sky above you blurred as another bubbling release coursed through your stomach. You blinked back tears as the tremors tore through you and set your nerves alight. Mando grunted with a final snap of his hips, spilling into you until you felt his release seep out of your aching cunt.
Releasing his grip on your hair, you felt his fingers work through the tangles knotting at the base of your neck, soothing you as you let your body rest against the ground. He kept his cock sheathed inside of you for several moments, the warmth of his body pressed against yours the perfect salve for the ache inside you.
Even when it was rough, he made sure to care for you—something no one else had done before.
“Was it too much?” He asked, finally pulling out of you and shimming your pants back onto your hips. You could still feel his cum leaking out of you, and a guilty part of you loved it.
You shook your head as best as possible, your body still fighting off the shakes that traveled up your thighs. Rolling onto your back, you stared at him as he hovered over you.
“Never too much,” you exhaled.
Mando sat back on his heels and offered a hand to pull you up. He rubbed at your cheek, most likely cleaning the mud from your face and let his hand come down to caress the side of your neck. Maker, each soft touch was another knife to the chest as you tried to remind yourself of what you needed to do.
This was the last time.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, angel.”
He hauled you to your feet, leading you back to the Crest as you walked on shaky legs. You knew you’d be sore for days, which didn’t make the idea of running sound pleasant. But regardless, you were leaving. You had to.
After a long time spent alone under the spray of water, you emerged from the refresher with damp hair and a few scatters of bruises. Maybe a year ago, the faint black and blue color on your skin would have repulsed you, but you didn’t mind this time. It was Mando that left them there, and the thought of carrying those marks with you when you left was strangely comforting.
Mando wasn’t in the hull, and you heard his voice from the cockpit as you climbed the ladder, his voice clipped and short.
“I had to make an unexpected stop in Sorgan,” you heard him say.
“Well, if you’re interested in a few more credits, I’ve got word of a bounty on the planet.”
It was Greef Karga, and you would know that lively voice anywhere. He was a talker and a good one at that. You only recalled hearing his voice once, and that had been the same day Mando killed a man for you.
“Send me the coordinates.”
Silence followed Mando’s words, and you took it as an invitation to enter the cockpit. He turned in his pilot's seat, staring at you slightly longer than usual.
“Guild business?” You asked.
“It’ll be a quick hunt,” he assured you. “You’re safe here.”
You masked the bubbling anxiety as it accelerated your heart rate. If Mando were leaving for a hunt, it would be the perfect opportunity to run.
“When do you leave?” You tried not to sound too eager.
“Tonight.”
“You’ll be back in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?” You wanted him to think you were worried. And truthfully, you were worried. You were worried you’d get caught and worried he’d get hurt.
“I promise, angel.”
You nodded, swaying in the spot you stood. He motioned for you to join him, and though you felt hesitant, you relented and sat beside him. You didn’t know how to fill the silence this time; you were too focused on the thousands of strategies to leave. You’d need to make sure you had your knife with you and some sense of awareness of where the fuck you were. You were off-grid on Sorgan, but you knew they had a docking port somewhere. If you could get in proximity to the village again, maybe you’d find your way to the port. You’d find a way to tuck a few of Mando’s credits in your pocket and buy yourself transport back to Coruscant. Leaving him would mean you’d have no protection, but that hadn’t stopped you before. You managed to survive a few months on your own, and if anything, being around Mando had taught you how to fight and survive.
“You’re quiet,” Mando commented.
His voice startled you out of your daze and drew you back to the present. You stared at the red lights flashing on the nav panel, trying so hard not to look at him for fear of risking everything.
“You’re the one famously known to be quiet,” you tossed back.
“Hmm,” was his only response.
Another beat of silence passed, and he spoke up again.
“Your parents. What were they like?”
Your eyes tore away from the nav panel and straight to his helmet.
“What?” You balked.
“I’m just trying to make small talk, angel.”
“But why do you want to know about them?” You were on the defense now.
He shrugged, tilting his helmet.
“Because I want to know about you.”
Maker, had this been any other time, the sentiment may have been welcomed. You’d happily talk about them—even if it hurt—and share those parts of your life with him. But now, the more you shared, the worse it would hurt. He’d leave tonight thinking you’d be here in the morning and everything would be fine, but it wouldn’t be. He would return to an empty ship and one less bounty to worry about. Because at the end of the day, that’s what you were. What you had always been from the start.
“They were…” A lump formed in your throat as you tried to string some sentences. “They were normal. My father had owned the junkyard his entire life. I grew up learning how to rebuild speeders and droids before I could even walk. My mother tried to stay out of the way. She was always cautious about the trades he made or the business he took in.”
“How did he end up getting mixed up with the Pykes?”
You sighed, rubbing a hand across your forehead, no doubt a headache on the horizon.
“I honestly don’t know,” you said. “He didn’t tell me much about the deals or the people he made them with. I usually stayed inside when traders came to the yard, but when Kesi came that day, I was finishing working on a new prototype of a speeder. It was the end of the workday, and my mother was waiting for us to clean up to join her for dinner when they came by. My father was never one to back down from conflict… he was stubborn.”
“That’s where you get it,” he huffed lightly.
You couldn’t help but laugh, too.
“I am my father’s daughter.”
“What would have been your life if Kesi never came around?”
You hit your head against the headrest, closing your eyes to hide the tears that stung your waterline. Why the fuck was he asking so many questions? Why did he care?
“I don’t know, Mando.” There was a bite to your words. “I never saw myself leaving Mos Eisley, so maybe the junkyard would have been mine one day.”
“Would you ever want that? Your own junkyard?”
“What I want is freedom,” you snapped, turning to look at him through blurry eyes. “I haven’t thought that far, okay?”
Your anger must have been unexpected because he exhaled heavily, turning his helmet toward the windshield. You weren’t even regretful for lashing out, but seeing him so quiet from it pained you a little. He genuinely asked questions to understand you better, but you couldn’t afford to let him in any closer. What you wanted shouldn’t matter to him; he had a job, and that’s all he should care about. Your freedom and your life shouldn’t have been his concern; he needed to be reminded of that.
“Why do you care so much?” You asked, softening your voice.
“I don’t know.”
“You always say that.”
Mando didn’t respond, which frustrated you.
“You shouldn’t care about me,” you hesitated.
“I know.”
The conversation was going nowhere, and you were spiraling inside, wondering if leaving him would feel as easy as it sounded. You just needed to make it through tonight, and you’d be gone once he left.
“I’m tired,” you lied.
“Go rest. I’ll wake you before I go.”
You couldn’t manage a response, only giving him a gentle nod before disappearing into the hull. You gathered your blade and the leather thigh holster, sliding them under the blanket on the bed. Reaching for the leather vest on the ground, you hesitated. Emotions crashed inside you as you picked it up, remembering how he had bought this just for you. He wanted you protected, no matter what. It was a sign of trust you both had built together. Leaving meant breaking that trust, but he knew from the start you would leave, just not like this.
You stowed the vest away along with everything else and crawled into the bed on sore legs. You needed to reach the village first, then find the route to the docking port. Once you made it there, Mando wouldn’t come searching. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. Going to Coruscant was risky; Mando was bound to go looking for you there. You had no other option; until you had a better place in mind, that was where you’d start.
You fell asleep fast, the night terrors at bay for at least a little while. They crept in slowly at first, then hit you all at once. Memories of hands grabbing you, blades slicing your skin, spice on your lips… all came flooding in. You thrashed in your sleep, your voice crying out for everything to stop.
“Hey,” a voice whispered. “Hey, it’s alright.”
You startled awake, the pull of the voice enough to draw you out of the trance inside your mind. Mando caressed your hand, rubbing circles over your knuckles. You couldn’t hide the flinch in your body as he touched you, and he drew his hand away.
“I’m leaving,” he said. “You’ll be okay?”
“Yeah.” Your voice was hoarse from the screams.
“Wear your comlink in case anything happens. I’ll check in on and off to make sure you’re okay. Just stay on the ship.”
“Okay.”
He slid the comlink onto your wrist, his touch lingering on your skin. You rubbed your eyes, looking at Mando for one last time. You memorized the pieces of armor covering his body and the helmet that stared down at you. For the last time, you wondered what his eyes looked like behind the visor.
This was it. This was goodbye.
He moved to the weaponry wall, pulling out a blaster and tucking it into his belt. You noted that he left it unlocked for your benefit. He trusted you with it. And that hurt. All the trust you had built would be gone in a mere few hours.
“Mando,” you called out.
He turned to you.
“Be safe, okay?”
“Always, angel.”
You watched as the night swallowed him, the darkness of the ramp closing the only thing left between you and him.
This was goodbye.
**
He had him cornered. Through the thick weeds that framed the lake, Mando could spot the thermal footprints that the quarry had left behind. After countless hours of hunting, Mando finally had eyes on the bounty. He had sent her a message through the comlink that he’d be gone longer than expected—the bounty was quick, and Mando had a lot of space to cover. He hadn’t heard a response and figured she was asleep again. He hated the thought of her alone with her nightmares; the screams that erupted from her when he woke her were enough to make him reconsider staying. But he needed this hunt. He needed to clear his mind.
Mando pulled his blaster from his weaponry belt, keeping it low and close to his thigh as he trudged through the overgrown forestry around him. The quarry’s eyes peeked through the greenery, connecting with the tinted visor for only a moment.
But it was the only moment Mando needed.
He took his shot… and he missed. Mando never missed a shot. The quarry took off again, furthering the distance between them. His emotions were clouding his skills, and he knew the thought of her forced his hand unsteady. If he had felt strongly for her before, he couldn’t comprehend what this feeling was now. It consumed every thought, every breath, every move of his muscles.
Sucking in a breath, Mando sent another message to her. This bounty would take up more of his time, which meant he wouldn’t return till later in the day tomorrow. He was miles out from the Crest, and the trek back with a body in tow would only slow him down.
He realized there still hadn’t been a response from her, only static through the comlink.
“Hey, answer me,” he bit out, the message meeting more static air on the other end.
“Answer me, dammit!” He wasn’t angry. He was scared.
He called into his comlink more times than he should have allowed, the time wasted adding up quickly. He was scared, and he still had the quarry to track down. The bounty reward wasn’t high enough— nothing would be high enough— to risk her safety.
Mando shot into a full sprint towards the Crest, calling into the comlink continuously. The sound of the static drowned out in his ears, the world collapsing around him. He didn’t stop running, letting the miles separating him and the Crest fall away with each stride.
Finally, in view of the Crest, Mando broke into a sweat as he pushed himself past his fastest pace, knees giving out as his boots hit the ramp as it lowered. Everything looked as it was from the ship's outside: no sign of scavengers or guild members anywhere. Everything inside looked as he remembered: no sign of struggle or fight anywhere. He continued to call her name as he searched the entirety of the ship, coming up empty as he ran back down the ramp to check the perimeter.
“Fuck!” He yelled, pounding his fist into the side of the spacecraft. The metal rattled under the force of the hit, the sound reverberating around him.
He had told her to stay on the ship. He told her. And she agreed. So, he didn’t understand why she was gone? She would have at least alerted him through the comlink, or maybe she was too fearful to interfere with the hunt. Either way, she shouldn’t be gone.
The only thing he thought to do was hunt her down. It was the only thing he could do, the fear creeping in as he switched his visor to thermo-tracking. Her footprints lit up in red, vibrantly contrasting the darkened grass. They tracked north, the staggered spacing hinting at the fact she had been running. Still fearful, Mando considered the awful idea that she had been chased down. But there were no other footprints, and he couldn’t recall any ships that had flown overhead.
So, what the fuck did she run from?
Mando considered flying the Crest and tracking her overhead, but he wouldn’t know where her footprints started and ended. He continued on foot, running through the overgrown bushes and grass, slashing away at the greenery with his vibroblade. He had been gone from the ship for nearly half a day and had no clue where she would be. Could she have been taken off the planet? If she had, Mando would have seen or heard some sort of transmission in his comlink. But everything had been quiet those few hours.
It had been dreadfully silent as he hunted down the quarry.
Reaching out through the comlink again, Mando called for her, hopeful she still had her comlink on her wrist. With nothing but static feedback, Mando confirmed that it wasn’t functional any longer, the silence growing louder around him. Focusing on the outline of her footprints, he noticed a slowing pace in her running— evidence that she couldn’t have advanced much further. Switching to the body heat scanner, Mando swept the area around him, noticing the forestry open into a vast expanse of land without coverage. There were no traces of her body heat, but phantom footprints still staggered through the clearing.
Switching his scanners off, Mando gazed into the sky, watching dusk fall upon him. He felt beyond helpless knowing he could be losing her— even worse; he couldn’t understand why. If no one had been chasing her, if no one had kidnapped her, then why was she gone? He couldn’t recall any notion as to why she would choose to run. Mando had let his vulnerability win, the strength of his attachment outweighing the risks that threatened his loyalty to the Creed.
He was ready to give all of himself to her, so why was she gone?
His body was fatigued past over-exertion, from the race to the ship and now tracking her footprints. But he wouldn’t let exhaustion win— he had gone far longer without sleep. Countless bounties had taken days to track down, even so far as a week; staying awake and finding her wasn’t even a question. He would find her.
He’d tear the galaxy apart until he found her.
Whether he was ready to admit it, she had become his Creed, his loyalty to her bleeding out into the universe surrounding him.
Nightfall came quickly, the beskar armor illuminated by the waning moons above him. Mando switched his helmet to night vision as he continuously scavenged the ground for lingering pieces of her. Every footprint proved she was still alive; that was all he needed to push forward. The sound of frogs in the distance was the only noise to fill the humid air around him— their sounds were a lullaby to his nightmare. Mando could recall every feature in her face: the scrunch of her nose, the constellations of freckles over her cheeks, that wrinkle between her brows he always wanted to smooth over. Over and over again, he forced himself to reimagine the way she looked, the way she felt in his hands, the sound of her voice when she was soft and under his body. The memory of her was all he had left as he ran across the planet, desperate to turn the memories into rediscovered reality. He wouldn’t— he couldn’t — let her go.
Mando’s steps faltered as hushed chatter in the east fell upon his ears. He focused in on the noise, making out words that alluded to the terrain and creatures around it— farmers. Stepping out of the shadows, Mando approached them slowly, his posture more friendly than predatory.
“Hello,” his voice was hoarse from yelling. He cleared it, saying ‘hello’ again.
The farmers turned to him with startled gasps, their grip on their hunting spears tightening. Mando raised his hands, surrendering his power to gain any knowledge they possessed.
“You are… bounty hunter?” One asked, their accent thick.
Mando nodded, his hands lowering to his sides. He made it a point to keep his hand from his blaster, proving to them that he was no threat.
“I need information,” he began, “I’m looking for someone. Have you seen anyone pass through this area?”
The men looked at each other, their expressions mixed with confusion and fear. The man who had first spoken turned back to Mando, and his chin lifted higher as he regained more confidence.
“We see one girl,” he informed Mando. Mando’s weight shifted, his heart drumming inside his ears.
“Did you speak to her?” He pressed.
The man shook his head, pointing his spear towards the trees.
“She goes north.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Maybe half day, we not sure,” he shrugged.
Mando was visibly frustrated, his body language tensing with each exchange of words. He had been tailing her the entire time, yet felt even more behind than he was at the start. If she had more than half a day’s running start, she could be near the north docking port faster than he could get to her.
The docking port.
The pieces aligned in his head in a dizzying blur; she was leaving him. She had waited for Mando to take the bounty, leave her on the ship, and weaponize his vulnerability against him. He had been so distracted by the bounty even to consider her running, yet it had never even been a passing thought in the first place. How could she leave after he laid out his rawest parts? After she showed him her deepest secrets. He had submitted to her, letting her swim in his soul's depths. And she left him.
In a daze of tangled thoughts, Mando disregarded all gratitude towards the farmers as he shot into a sprint towards the north, the instincts of a hunter fueling the anger that blinded him. It took her half a day to distance herself; it would take him an hour to catch her. He was no longer searching in fear. He was searching in unbridled rage.
His pace continued steady as he waded through the terrain heading north. He could hear faint rustling in the bushes, a few scattered animals running away at the sound of his boots. Her footprints in the grass lit a brighter red on his visor, their freshness proving that he was getting closer. He could see far off in the distance that night was quickly turning to morning, the hue of sunrise falling upon the horizon. The first ship off-planet would be coming soon enough, as would her chance to leave. Mando couldn’t allow it.
He yelled her name into the comlink, voice rugged and labored as he continued running. He didn’t know if her comlink was still on her, but he wouldn’t give up. He would keep trying, and trying, and trying. He couldn’t lose her.
Not this easily.
As he trailed her footprints closer, he noticed their imprints in the muddy ground below him, making it easier to track without night vision. The impressions went deeper in the ground, proof that she was using more weight to run and was still en route to the north port. Mando quickened his speed, knowing he was going to catch her.
The path through the trees he had followed began to open up into a large expanse of flower beds and bushes. Several flower beds had been destroyed, their petals and stems crushed— her destructive mark left all over them. Scanning the perimeter of the expanse, his eyes fell upon a shadowed silhouette shaded by a large tree towards the northeast corner of the clearing.
It was her.
Her in all her terrifying beauty; her hair tousled into a bun, her clothes covered in mud and grass stains, her skin dirtied and marked with scratches from thorns and bushes. Though his heart pounded heavy in his chest, and there was a haze of anger over his eyes, relief washed over Mando as his eyes settled on the familiarity of her body.
It was her.
She didn’t have to turn to know he was there, her body rigid as he continued staring. She had done the same when he had hunted her the first time, her skin paling as if she had seen a ghost. Now, he was a ghost haunting her, seeking remnants of an attachment that had faded away with the moon's glow. Mando stepped forward again, meeting her gaze as she turned to look upon him with an expression he could only understand as guilt. He stalked her slowly, watching her body shiver from the morning breeze that floated over the sunrise as it passed the horizon. Her eyes grew wide, watching as he walked forward slowly, his hand hovering over his blaster. He wouldn’t shoot her; he never would even think of it, but it was an instinctual reaction to inflict fear into her. He wanted her scared. He wanted her to feel every emotion he felt throughout the last day. The fear, the loss, the anger.
Mando wanted her to understand everything he felt.
**
The sun’s reflection bouncing off metal was unmistakable even from yards away. You half expected him to let you leave, to wipe his hands clean of a nuisance bounty, and continue through the galaxy. The other half secretly hoped he would hunt you down, tearing apart half the outer rim to find you. It took him less than a day, and you were helplessly alone in the grassy field without a place to hide. Would he have found you faster if he had not been tied up with the bounty? Your plan didn’t have much thought put into it, only the aspect of running. And you must not have done a good enough job if a man covered in beskar steel was walking towards you.
His stride was slow– intentional– the sway of his weaponry belt shifting into view with every step. You weren’t blind to the fact his hand coasted over the gun holster on his hip, his fingers inches from ending your life. If you were even to tense an arm muscle, your core would be split in two from the plasma beams. Dying at his hand would be more honorable than any other death, and you subconsciously welcomed such a departure from the space you occupied. He had already destroyed you in ways beyond repair, leaving your body and soul torn into pieces. You were a bounty, nothing more. But that couldn’t overturn the emotions that had been festering inside you, nor could it make you forget the way you ached for him physically and emotionally. Giving your body to him wasn’t what hurt; it was knowing your heart was slowly falling into his hands… and you knew he might not treat your heart as kind as he did your body. He was a Mandalorian, a child of the Watch; he knew only of loyalty. Loyalty and love were not the same.
His pace slowed, stopping only a few yards from you. The familiar black visor was trained on you, and you felt like an animal caught in a trap. You had been here before with him, on Coruscant, but this was different. You hadn’t fucked him yet, slept beside him, or listened to him speak of things he kept hidden. You were a bounty.
Just. A. Bounty.
“You left.” There was an apparent inflection in his tone. It cut deep into your chest, tearing you open as you realized how wrong your decision had been.
“I wanted my freedom,” you spoke through the lump in your throat.
“And I’m working on giving that to you,” he countered, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, hand still hovering over the blaster.
“I can’t keep waiting, Mando. What if you don’t find Kesi? I can survive on my own. I’ve done it before.”
His helmet tilted slightly, and you knew he must have been eyeing you intensely under the protection of the metal.
“Do you not trust me? I swore I would find him and kill him. Is that not enough?”
“I– yes, fuck, it is enough. I just don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” He repeated your words as if tasting your doubts on his tongue. “You don’t know.”
He stepped forward, looping his thumbs into the waistband of his belt. He sized you up and down, his helmet resting on your face again.
“How long did you think you could outrun me?” The question was out of genuine curiosity.
“I thought that if I got far enough, you would forget me and carry on with your life.” Your voice was shaky– uncertain. You lacked confidence even in your persuasion. Why were you trying to persuade yourself that your actions were for his betterment?
“You thought I would forget you?” There was that inflection again, the spike in octave that shot daggers inside your chest, through your ribcage, and right into your heart. You wished you had armor like his so you wouldn’t feel your heart breaking.
“I’m only a bounty, aren’t I?”
“No,” his helmet moved slowly in disagreement. “You aren’t just a bounty, and you’re wrong to think I would forget you.”
Tears stung your waterline as you felt defeat in his words. Just as he had slipped under your skin, into the folds of your brain… you had slipped into his.
You aren’t just a bounty.
Even if you were, he would have come here with an intent to kill, and you would have had no chance at negotiations.
But this was different. You were different.
“Mando—.”
“I have considered destroying my Creed for you, and you left,” his voice rose in anger. “I have made sacrifices to ensure that my loyalty for Mandalore would never falter, and I’m willing to destroy it all for you. And now you think I’ll just forget you?”
You let out a faint whine, a sob lodging in your chest. How could you say anything to that? The man who was rough around the edges, with a heart you thought to be too cold ever to feel… was wholly undone before you.
“You left me and took every piece of me with you.”
His helmet bowed down, the visor looking towards the ground. There was pain inside him far beyond the reach of your betrayal.
“I would never ask you to go against your Creed for me, you know that. I’m not worth it,” you whispered. “I understand the severity of your lifestyle, and I wouldn’t let you do that. You didn’t break your Creed for Omera, and you definitely shouldn’t do it for me.”
“I know you would never ask,” he sighed. “That’s what hurts more. I have given pieces of myself to you that I can’t have back. I’ve let myself become too attached…and now I don’t know how to let you go.”
“I’m not worth it,” you repeated. The tears spilled down your cheeks as you watched Mando’s head raise to meet yours.
“You are the only person worthy of knowing me.” He pulled your hand to the dewy beskar on his chest, “I am yours.”
The tears coasted down your cheeks, traces of guilt covering your face as you watched him step forward again. Your back was flush against the trunk of a sapling tree, leaving no room to escape the trap he put you in. Your mouth opened, yet silence fell off your tongue.
“Tell me you want to leave.”
Tell me to stop.
He had begged you in a similar way before to resist him and his advances. His loyalty to the Creed prevented him from getting close; his armor was more than just a shield for his body. Every emotion, every fracture of his mind, was closed off to you and the rest of the galaxy. You had spent countless days and weeks trying to break through the armor, to even make a fraction of a dent into the metal that guarded him. But now… now you succeeded– the man behind the armor coming completely undone in your presence. It tore your heart apart knowing your ignorance had led to this.
“I can’t—.”
“Say it!” His voice rose higher. “Tell me you don’t want to stay!”
“Mando, you knew I wanted freedom.” You were losing the battle in front of you, giving into the temptation that blurred the lines between love and desperation.
He swarmed your body, invading the only space that had remained between both of your bodies. He pulled your arms into a vice between his hands, his grip bruising your skin. You winced, eyes pleading for some sort of humanity behind his mask. You dug your heels into the damp soil around you, grounding yourself against the pull of his hold.
“I’m going to give you that, so why can’t you wait?” His voice was sharp, biting at the air between you. “Why now?”
“I– I don’t know!” You were exasperated, finding no words to describe the jumbled mess of thoughts fogging your mind.
“I’m sorry,” was all you came up with.
“Tell me you want to leave,” he repeated his plea, his breathing labored.
You hesitated a moment, sucking in a chestful of air. Freedom was at your fingertips, but was it worth all that could be lost?
“No.”
When he didn’t react to your words, you repeated it. “No.”
His grip fell from your arms, his boots crunching on fallen leaves as he stepped back. His body language showed all signs of being stunned, his stagger backward more reminiscent of someone being shot rather than being told ‘no.’
You managed to push yourself off the tree, feeling stray wooden shards stuck to the fabric of your shirt— some even burrowing into your skin. You paid no mind to the stinging sensation prickling along your body.
“I don’t want to leave,” your voice barely above a whisper. “I was selfish to think I could go without hurting you.” His helmet stayed trained on you, unmoving. “Or hurting myself,” you added.
“Mando,” you continued, “I want— wanted freedom. I have been on the run for months. Ever since my parents died, I have been alone. This is different for me; you’re different. I’m scared of feeling attached because it’s not lost on me that you have no obligation to attachment. Attachment isn’t part of your Creed, and I can’t do that to myself. I can’t do that to you.” you repressed a cry, “I don’t know what to do now because I am irrationally attached to you. Irrational enough to run and keep my distance just for the sake of not breaking my own heart.”
Mando was agonizingly quiet, the rise of his chest under the breastplate being the only indication he was still alive. You picked at the wooden shards stuck to your shirt, wincing at the ones stuck into the thick of your skin. Gloved hands covered yours, pulling a splinter from your forearm carefully. Your eyes lifted to see him towering over you; helmet tilted as he considered your words— and tears.
“I’m sorry for running,” you let the sobs escape your chest, breaking the barrier that you tried to build up so high.
All that you could think to do was wrap your arms around his torso, nearly pushing him over with the force of your body colliding with his. Your nose pressed against the beskar, inhaling the familiar smell of smoke and fire flooding your senses. It took a moment to feel his arms wrap around you, but you were encapsulated in his hold the second they did.
“I’m sorry,” you muttered over and over again. It was all you could say, the only words that could subdue the swelling silence between you.
“Shhh,” his voice was so soft, softer than you had ever heard. It struck a chord inside you, playing your heart to the tune of his baritone. You let the sound vibrate through your body, arms squeezing tighter around his back.
“You shouldn’t feel—.”
“I know,” you quickly responded. “Trust me, I know.”
“I can’t—.”
“I know.”
“I can’t let you go,” he finished, despite your interjections. “There isn’t a corner of this galaxy you could run to where I wouldn’t find you. I would hunt you down just to keep you as mine.”
Mine.
Mine.
The possessiveness on his tongue was like honey, seeping into your veins, rearranging the molecules that made up your entire being. You were his, even from the start. You had begged him to keep you, absentmindedly wishing he would protect you from all that lingered in your past. And he did. Without question. Without asking for anything in return. Perhaps you were the reward after all.
You tried forming words, tried making sense of any coherent thought that could describe the way his admission inflicted the emotions inside you. The only sound to escape was a whimper that drifted between the small space between you.
“Don’t leave me again.” He pressed his helmet to your forehead, a reflection of your tearful face staring back at you in the visor. You wished so badly to see his eyes despite knowing how wrong it was. You wanted to know how he looked in this moment; the pain, the anger, the relief… all of it. He was the one constant in your life, the person who had stuck by your side and protected you. And you hurt him. You could never live with yourself knowing you would have left him hollow and broken. He was your home. He was your freedom. No matter where you ended up in the galaxy, he would always be where you felt safest.
“I won’t, I promise.”
You peeled away from his embrace, brushing off the dirt littering your vest. The port was still miles away, and you knew you would never reach it. Mando would have gotten to you before you set foot on a transport. It was laughable to think about now.
“It’s going to take at least two standard days to return to the Crest,” you sighed.
“I don’t care.”
“Aren’t you tired?”
Mando shook his head, pulling your hand into his to lead you south.
“We’ll find shelter somewhere tonight and make the rest of the travel tomorrow. I’ve got you now. That’s all that matters.”
The remainder of the day was spent walking in silence, and Mando never let go of your hand. Ever so often, he’d squeeze his thumb against your knuckles, a reminder he was there. You stole glances at him occasionally only to realize he was doing the same.
“Do you hate me?” You asked after a few hours of no conversation.
“No,” he answered.
“I hurt you.”
“I’m okay, angel. I was more scared something worse had happened to you.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mando stopped walking, turning you toward him to capture your full attention.
“Do you trust me?”
“Always,” you whispered.
“Then trust me when I say I’m not angry. Not anymore, at least. I understand why you decided to run, but I need you to promise me you’ll stay. Let me give you the freedom I promised you. Don’t go without saying goodbye.”
Your lips trembled, and you nodded solemnly.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to say goodbye.”
“Then don’t.”
“What’re you saying, Mando?”
“Stay. I’ll protect you. I’ll give you whatever you want, so long as you stay.”
You chewed on your lip as you contemplated his offer. You had freedom at the tip of your fingers, yet the temptation to stay swayed your mind.
“Maybe.”
He nodded, looking towards the trees before you.
“Where does this leave us?” You asked.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly.
You squeezed his hand this time and ushered him to keep walking. You were safe, and for now, you were his.
Summary: after spending the last 3 weeks on a bounty, din decides to give you the day off, but personal space was the last thing you wanted after spending so much time alone.
wordcount: 2.6k
warnings/tags: alcohol, drinking, language? maybe? i dont remember, lots of fluff, mutual pining, mostly from din’s pov
A/N: hi so i have never actually posted a fic before oop. i have them i just ~dont share~ so this is something new to try for now!
Mando jumped when the hatch fell open, shaken out of light sleep. His hand immediately fell to the blaster tucked into the holster but froze when he saw her trudging up the ramp. She was holding some sort of drink in one hand, her other arm held out to the side as if she was walking on a balance beam. The girl was muttering under her breath, obviously concentrating way too hard on not spilling whatever liquid was frothing in the glass.
When she got to the hull of the Razor Crest she let out an exasperated sigh.
“Hey Mando!” the girl yelled a little too loud, “I’m home!!”
The Mandalorian said nothing. She leaned against the frame and held the glass out to him, panting and starting to slide to the floor.
“I- I got one for-for you!”
He had given her the day to be off on her own, considering how safe the new system they’d landed in was known to be. Maker, she’d spent the last three weeks couped up in the crest by herself. Cabin fever had never really gotten to him, but when he came back this time, bounty flung over his shoulder, it was obvious that it had gotten to her.
He’d felt bad telling her to stay on the ship and only run to the shop when necessary, especially when she butted back in argument. The girl probably didn’t realize it was for her own good, a protective measure. She had rolled her eyes in annoyance, but when Mando didn’t falter in his stance through the fight she reluctantly agreed. He hadn’t meant to leave her alone this long, he truly thought it’d be just over a week, and there was a pang of guilt in his chest for leaving her here like this.
In his absence, the girl had thoroughly redecorated the ship. All sorts of… things, crafts, maker-knows-whats, were sitting atop crates, hung on the walls, clearly made using whatever she’d found rummaging through the spare parts bin and in the singular shop connected to the docking bay.
There was a string of little flickering lights hanging across the hull, pieced together from old console controls. It looked like she had sewed together some old fabrics to create some sort of rug, too.
The girl herself was asleep on the floor, surrounded by papers covered in writing and doodles. It was a mess- whatever she’d been writing was scattered and out of order. The kid was tucked under her arm, completely limp and snoring quietly. They looked like they’d passed out on the spot, mid-activity, on the Crest’s floor. She was wearing an odd combination of clothing he’d never seen before, had she made them herself? The child had a crown woven out of old wires sitting on his head, a matching one had clearly slipped out of her hair.
Mando silently thanked the stars not only for the fact that she was asleep when he got back, but that he had a layer of beskar to hide the smile he couldn’t keep from inching across his face. When he’d hired her a few months back to watch the kid and help copilot as needed, the girl had seemed so harsh. Her knuckles were scarred and she sneered when she called him out on his shit. Which she seemed to love to do.
In the cockpit, they’d sit in silence for hours, something the Mandalorian usually valued with others, but he wished she’d say something. Anything. Occasionally he’d feel her eyes trained on his helmet, or he’d glance back at her to see her clearly thinking deeply about something, but it was never a shared thought. It was quiet.
He’d never admit to it, but he was terrified that she was scared of him. Maker, she’d seen him come back out of breath and dragging a body behind him. She was always standing by when he was at his worst, catching her flinch out of the corner of his eye didn’t make it any better.
But there were moments. Moments he was sure she hadn’t noticed him watching. Moments when she was soft. There were little things. Like how she always gripped the armrest a little tighter and squeezed her eyes shut right before they landed, or how she places a gentle kiss on the kid’s head every night before tucking him in. He doubted she was aware, but she sticks her tongue out just a little bit and fiddles with her necklace when she’s concentrating. Sometimes she leaves little reminders around the ship for them both; they’re always signed with a smiley face at the end.
There were a few times he’d caught her humming to herself and dancing around on her toes. She was graceful- he wasn’t expecting that. For a fighter pilot with such a callous attitude, she was so delicate. So he stayed back, knowing she’d stop the moment she knew he was there.
Or how she left a third woven crown hanging from his seat in the cockpit. No, she didn’t wear a helmet, but it was pretty clear that she hid behind her own layer of beskar, too.
But they had never shared a moment like this: the girl slumped in the door frame, holding a drink out to him with a straw stuck in it. The child toddled over to her.
“Hey little dude!” she put the drink on the floor and held her arms out to him. “Look, sorry I’m back just a little smidgen of a bit late,” she said, words slurring, bopping him lightly on the nose. “I sorta kinda,” the girl’s voice didn’t get any quieter as she tried to whisper, “forgot where we were parked.” She shook her head and held a finger to her lips, “Don’t tell Mando.”
The Mandalorian let out a sigh loud enough to be heard through the vocoder and her head whipped around to face him. “I’m-” she started to get up, “I’m sorry I’m a little bit,” she held on to the wall as she stumbled forward, “a little bit late.” With a huff she gave up and sat back down on the floor, but continued to scootch herself closer to him, only stopping a foot or so before his feet.
Still, he was silent, and the color seemed to drain from her face. Under the cold stare of his visor, she tucked her head back like a child expecting to be scolded. After a few moments, she glanced nervously around the room, looking anywhere besides where she knew his eyes would be. She couldn’t tell the man in front of her was doing everything in his power to stifle a laugh as she struggled to sit up straight.
“Hey, so you’re actually a reeaallly quiet person,” she said softly, fidgeting a bit, “and I don’t know if you know or realize it or not, or if it’s on purpose, b- but when you go all quiet like this I really don’t know- I mean I’m terrible at reading the room anyways- but I can’t tell if you’re mad and I just-”
He cut her off. “I’m not mad.” Her face lit up slightly. Honestly, he wished he was angry. He should have been angry. His ship was a mess. But when she sat in front of him like this, he found it hard to be even the slightest bit irritated. He’d asked her to be back before nightfall, and for once she didn’t ask why or argue back.
“Oh.” She smiled softly then leaned all the way back so that her head skimmed the floor. She reached behind her, grabbing the blue drink and sliding it forward as she sat back up. “It was fun. Probably not your scene, I don’t really know, but the music was good, you would have liked that. You should have come.”
With a sigh, the Mandalorian rose to his feet and held a hand out to her, offering to help her up. She smiled again and let him pull her to her feet, immediately placing a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. His hand landed on her waist to keep her upright. “I don’t really do parties.”
She looked up at him. Somehow, even in her intoxicated state, she always managed to look him directly in the eye. “Yeah, I know. Sorta figured. To be really honest with you though, neither do I, I just wanted to do something a little bit different, yah know?”
“I know.”
They stood there in silence for a minute, then she rested her head against his chest. He froze. She’d never shown an ounce of affection, let alone stand together like this. He knew she was drunk. He guessed the girl wouldn’t remember this in the morning. But still, he held her tightly and savored the moment. It couldn’t have been comfortable, but she leaned against him anyway.
“But the credits I’d give to see you dance in this tin-man suit,” she knocked on his chest and giggled.
“I don’t really dance.”
“Liar. You can so dance. No way you’re that quiet and sneaky and can’t.” Her nose scrunched up as she scoffed at him, poking at his chest plate. “Me, however, whew, you really don’t know what you missed, shiny. You’re holding the worst dancer on this side of the galaxy.”
His head cocked to the side and he paused, watching her poke fun at herself, thinking of all the times he’d caught her tiptoeing around with the child. All the times she would sing quietly and swing her hips while out and about. The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, “No I’ve seen you dance, you dance all the time.”
Her lips parted as a confused look fell across her face. He couldn’t fully read her expression, but it was clear a million thoughts were flooding her brain. He was instantly worried that he’d offended her. Not only had he invaded her privacy- he admitted it to her face. He worried she’d step away and the moment would end, that she’d go to bed and leave in the morning, taking her pay and her bag. But with one eyebrow raised and a soft smile playing across her face, she wrapped both arms around his neck.
“So I guess you owe me one then, huh? I brought you back a drink and everything.”
-----
You picked up on his almost inaudible laugh even through the modulator. Sure, you’d had a few drinks. You had been a little past the point of tipsy as you neared the Crest, but you were coming to your senses now. Were you over-exaggerating your state of mind? Most indefinitely. You couldn’t help it, though. The last 3 weeks had been an absolute shit-show.
You were fine until the end of the first week, then you started to get worried. The thought of him kept you up at night, so you told yourself that there was no way you could have possibly missed him. You only cared because this was your wellbeing now. I mean, before you got this position you spent every minute alone, too. This wasn’t any different.
Except that it was. And you hated that it was. This was just supposed to be another job. Somehow this man in a metal suit had weaseled his way into a soft spot in your heart.
He’d been so patient. Sure, you knew how to fly a ship, and you’re not clueless when it comes to mechanics, but this ship was unlike anything you’d seen before. So he taught you.
When he came back bloodied and bruised, he’d explain exactly what he needed you to do. In one instance he had gently guided your hand, slowly realizing he didn’t have to patch himself up anymore. Maybe he liked having you there. It was impossible to tell; maker, the few times you’d tried small talk it seemed to push him away even further.
But you didn’t want him further away.
You wanted him right here.
Figured that one out week two.
Week three the kid decided you didn’t need sleep. He cried and whined until you hung up that makeshift strand of lights. Then he sat and stared up at them like they were the most beautiful thing in the galaxy. So you made more things to pass the time. And more. And more.
You don’t even remember finally falling asleep, so waking up in the cot was a surprise. You slipped out of bed to figure out what was going on but stopped dead in your tracks when you heard him laugh.
The hatch to the cockpit was open, and from the low angle, you could just barely see the child sitting on the Mandalorian’s lap.
“It looks cute on you, kid.” The baby giggled and reached out for his arms. The wire crown was sitting on his head again. “How does mine look?”
The crown you barely remembered making for him during the third-week fever dream was clearly resting on his head, atop the helmet and all. The baby cooed.
When you landed he practically announced that the day was yours and you were free to go off and enjoy yourself. You thought about asking him to tag along but worried it’d be overstepping. Maker, the man had to have been just as, or even more, exhausted as you. Your pity didn’t run too deep, though. You knew it was selfish, but you hoped that maybe he’d want to be with you.
You tried your hardest to not seem disappointed when you turned to see him still in the hull as you strode down the gangway. You walked to clear your mind before popping into a cantina, which ended up being the center of life, and finding peace with the bottle.
The buzz had almost completely worn off by now, and you were back. And he was back. And he was holding you like he couldn’t risk letting you go.
-----
He looked down at her and let out a sigh. “Next time, sweet girl. We need to get you to bed before you’re out on the floor.”
Her face flushed pink at the sound of his words. Stars, at least he hoped that was why. He could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes asking, ‘sweet girl? When did you get so soft on me?’
She pushed up on her toes, flattening her body completely against his. Her arms were still around his neck, and he carefully brought his hands together behind her waist. Had he not been wearing the kriffing helmet he would have been able to feel her breath against his neck as she nestled herself impossibly closer.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered.
He gave a curt nod, his body stiff and tense under her.
“I wanted to leave the second after it started,” Her voice dropped even lower and her eyes fluttered shut, “... figured it’d be more fun here with you.”
His heart stilled as he realized her invisible beskar helmet had been lifted. He hoped it fell from her shoulders and rolled down the ramp, was lost in the night, maybe even stolen by scavengers, never to be seen between the two of them again.
She could feel his grip on her back tighten as his head relaxed onto her shoulder.
“Tomorrow night we’ll stay in,” his voice was just loud enough to pass through the modulator.
A smile crept across her face, “I’ll hold you to it, Mando.”
Summary: Listless from your time in space, you’re grateful to spend some time in the sun. It’s hard living in the dark.
Warnings: None.
Notes: I haven’t written for fandom in a few years, but the stars have aligned! This is a part of a larger whole, but I’m just testing the waters to see if it’s worth any interest. All the stories I read for MandoxReader are so good, and this whole series story has been in my head for weeks now. Also on AO3.
Weeks spent in the cold cavern of the Razor Crest sometimes offered disassociation with certain things of the natural world. The air was stiff and recycled. The walls and floors were made of unforgivable metal that often made your legs and feet sore the first few weeks aboard, since your shoes weren’t exactly made for it. The worst was the darkness. Even with the glow of power ever present beneath buttons and switches, you felt your head begin to ache trying to decipher the shapes and shadows beyond the pale, unseeing veil of blindness.
Most beings thought being blind meant total darkness, but that wasn’t the case. You could make out certain shapes of things, shifts in patterns of light. Colors even bled through, if the sun shone bright enough. Sunshine afforded you shades and shadows, but the Razor Crest seemed to take your advantages and left you utterly frustrated with the dark.
So, when you woke up to a strange, cool breeze kissing your face, you wiggled your toes beneath the threadbare blanket and took a deep breath. It wasn’t the stale air of the stars, but something almost sweet. As your mind began to come alive, you became aware of the silence that missed the dull hum of engines.
Then, as you listened, you could hear the baby gurgling a little ways away, and you pushed yourself up. Pulling your soft soled boots onto your feet, you ignored pulling your outer robes on, content with the linen dress that gave you a bit of layering against the lower temperatures, because this cool breeze wasn’t just cool. It had a strange warmth to it, too, and a fresh feeling that swept up your legs and arms and made you think of bright water and clear skies.
Moving out of your quarters, you held a hand out against the rough, metal wall, and you followed the breeze as it grew stronger. The sounds of the child, now babbling, also grew louder. You’d surmised the ship was docked, but where the ship actually was, you hadn’t the first idea.
Coming into the hull, the breeze was practically airing out the heart and belly of the Razor Crest, and you couldn’t keep the sigh from your lips. The ramp had been lowered, because you could make out bright, shining sunlight reflecting off of it and illuminating the hull. Against the light, there was a shape lower to the ground, and it shifted towards you.
“Good morning.”
You kept your voice low by reflex, the hoarse tinge of your own tone undeniable. As you moved forward, you reached out to the threshold of the door, lowering yourself to sit next to the Mandalorian warrior you traveled with. Normally, neither of you spoke much, but neither of you were impolite, either. The air was so easy to breathe here, you couldn’t help yourself as you settled comfortably onto the floor, taking in the breeze.
You felt the Mandalorian shift again, and when he spoke, his voice was directed towards you, his own tone even and quiet. “Good morning.”
The baby gurgled happily, and you could nearly make out the tint of green in the sun, the small misshapen shape of the child tumbling from the darker shadow of its father and waddling towards you. It fell into your lap with a delighted coo, and you grinned, lifting your hands to gently stroke the long, petal shaped ears through your fingers. “Hello, there.”
The three of you sat in companionable silence, and you found your eyes closing in relief. It had been weeks since you’d been to a temperate climate, and one as peaceful as this. The warmth of the sun and the cool breeze mingled on your skin, rinsing your neck of perspiration from the night. You could hear animals somewhere in the distance, birds singing to each other.
Then, another sound, something you hadn’t heard in a long, long time as you paid close attention.
“Is that water?” you ask, tilting your head towards your silent employer. You can hear lapping, the sound of sloshing. It’s unmistakable, and your skin suddenly blooms with goosebumps.
There’s a shift in fabric, and he replies, “Yes.”
You can tell when the Mandalorian turns his head to you. He always does, when he’s speaking with you. It makes you feel warm to know he still maintains eye contact with you, even though you couldn’t make out his eyes even if you weren’t blind. It’s polite, in a way that you hadn’t realized you missed until you met him. Every time he does it, your heart seems to press itself against your breast.
“A river or a lake?”
“A stream, I think. Haven’t been out to check, but it’s not far.”
The child shifts in your arms, and you realize you’d lapsed in petting his ears. You return to the task, and he coos before settling again. The tranquility that blankets the three of you is remarkable, considering what a chaotic void of distress you’d come through to get here. A balancing act between security, shelter, and sustenance, and that’s simple survival. You know there are grasping hands in the dark, frigid reaches of the world wanting the little one you cradle in your lap. You don’t bother asking if where you are is safe, because you know the Mandalorian wouldn’t have chosen anything less without being on complete guard. You don’t question if you’re alone, or if you’re secure in supplies.
For now, it seems that those things can wait...just a little while. Just this once.
Without prelude, you push yourself up to stand with one hand, and you can feel the shadow ever present beside you shift. It dawns on you, as you lift the child more firmly against you, that he must expect you to fall more than you do. He himself isn’t the most graceful, you consider, and it almost makes you smile to think of how many times you’ve heard him curse under his breath if he bumps his head or smacks his side into something.
He never asks if you need help, though, and you are grateful for the allowance of asking for help yourself. You step down onto the ramp, smiling when the baby starts to wiggle in excitement.
“Where are you going?”
You pause at the bottom of the ramp, testing the earth beneath you. It’s soft-far softer than the metal flooring you’re used to padding around on. Rather than underbrush and brambles, you’re met with gentle grass. You turn towards his voice and tilt your head.
“To find the stream.” You consider his hesitation, knowing he’s regarding you and the child with no small amount of apprehension. It hangs around him like a gloom, something he masticates on without ever voicing. Perhaps he’s nervous you will trip and fall. Perhaps he’s scared the stream’s current will sweep the baby away if you drop the little one. You have to bite your cheek to keep from smiling at the notion. “Would you like to come with us?”
The Mandalorian doesn’t answer with words, simply rising to his feet with less clamor than you expect from a fully armored warrior, and he descends the ramp to follow your steps faithfully. You wait until he’s beside you, and the sound of his boots on the grass is nice. A laugh bubbles out of you, though, when he quickly passes you.
“Don’t you ever go slow?”
He freezes ahead, a dark shadow against the sunlight, and you make him wait as you walk until you’re standing side by side. You relish the grass under your soles and the fresh air running through your hair. Your thin dress flutters around your ankles, and you move the baby into your other arm.
“Not really,” comes the answering huff.
Your smile widens, and with caution, you gently slip your hand in the crook of his elbow-beneath his pauldron and above vambrace. You feel his whole body go tense, and you pause, inclining your head up towards his shifting darkness in your periphery.
“Is this alright?” you ask, gently holding on as you start walking again.
He must nod, or perhaps he just doesn’t deign to answer at all, because the silence falls back over you. You notice his pace seemed forced into submission, and you hide your smile at the stiffness in his side. It’s as if he’s concentrating on walking with you rather than on the destination for once, and you think he must feel utterly uncomfortable.
The little one seems happy to be carried until the stream’s current sings louder in your ears. You crest a small slope, making out the sun glancing off the water, and the child wriggles and fights your hold.
“Alright,” you laugh softly, gently lowering him down to the grass. The baby begins toddling away, and you can’t quite make out the distinction of the green child against the grass. You can see a shape moving in front of you, small and stocky, though, and you know he can’t go too far too quickly. Your hand slips from your companion’s elbow, and you walk forward, trailing after the little one and placing your hand on a tree. The rough bark beneath your palm is coarse and unforgiving, and you savor it.
“Don’t go far,” the Mandalorian murmurs. You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the child.
You spend what feels like hours languishing by the stream, dipping your naked feet in after shucking your boots. The stream isn’t deep enough for anything other than to get your ankles wet, and when you hear the child coo from behind you, you feel mischievous. Kneeling down with the hand not holding your dress, you scoop up some water and flick it in his direction, earning a delighted squeal.
You feel leaves, smell flowers, and even nibble on a blade of grass. It’s tart and sweet at the same time, and you feel the baby beside you tugging on your sleeve. Smirking, you grab a blade and let him chew on it before he promptly hacks and spits it out.
A sudden chuckle from behind you makes you perk, and you turn towards the Mandalorian. He’s seated himself beneath the same tree you’d touched before, some feet back from the stream. The modulator of his helmet roughens the sound of his laughter, and you think without it, the sound must be very rich and deep.
Curiously, you move from your knees and follow the path of light where it begins to disappear in the shade. Your leg bumps his boot, and he scoots it away from you as you settle near his knee.
The child follows, flanking his surrogate father on the opposite side until he flops over into his lap with a gurgle. You’re content to sit near them both, legs curled beside you as you drink in the sun and the air and the sounds of cool bubbling water.
“H-Hey, don’t,” The Mandalorian huffs, and you turn your head lazily towards his voice. It’s harder to see in the shade, but you smile at the little babbles coming from the child as he shuffles away in the grass. The beskar clad shade shifts, reaching for the small creature, but the following ‘oof’ makes you laugh when he falls over. “Come back here!”
“Lost him?”
“He took my glove.”
“Imagine, the greatest bounty hunter of the guild, distracted and outwitted by a child.”
You could hear the baby making off with his treasure, mouthing nonsense to the frogs of the streamside as he shuffled through the grass. He’d grown into a habit of holding onto things lately. The Mandalorian’s glove was just the newest casualty, it seemed.
“He wasn’t the one distracting me.”
A shiver works its way up your back when the weight of the words settle around your shoulders. You turn towards his voice, blinking as if you might be able to bat away the pale veils clouding your sight. You lean away from his leg, tucking your chin to your chest and frowning, trying to think of what you might have done wrong.
Suddenly, he moves forward, and you stop and hold your breath.
“Don’t go.”
His hand is touching your arm, warm skin against the bare expanse your sleeve affords at your wrist. Your face slowly becomes warm at the feeling of skin-his skin against yours, thanks to his glove thief. But he doesn’t move, and neither do you. His thumb traces along the veins that lead towards your palm, and you swallow, feeling calluses against your own softness.
What you do next would have consequences, but drunk on fresh air, you do it anyway.
You shift closer, moving slowly. His hand doesn’t leave you, and you can feel his eyes from somewhere beneath that dark and shined steel watching you as you lower yourself back. Your head pillows itself comfortably upon his beskar cuisse, your neck warmed from your hair that was heated by the sun. The cool of the steel feels invigorating, and you let your eyes flutter closed. Your hands fall easily to your stomach, legs curling in repose, and you let your arm relax in his hold until he lets go.
For a long while, there are no noises other than the baby cooing to the frogs and the stream sloshing its current over mossy rocks. You begin to wonder if you should not have asked permission to be so close. You had never touched him without asking, whether it be to help remove his armor after a fight or pardoning yourself to move past him in cramped quarters. The uncertainty sits sourly in your belly, even as you begin to sink further into the grass, further against his thigh.
Before you can open your mouth to voice your concern, a titillating sensation draws a gasp from you. At first you think the child has sneaked his way back, returning for more bounty of his own, and has fallen into his guardian’s lap again-and subsequently, on your hair. But, the movements are too gentle, the rhythm too patient, and your breath leaves your lungs as you realize he’s stroking your hair that lays across his lap like a banner with his bare hand.
You let out a long, soft exhale and lay contentedly as the sun shifts above, bleeding through the leaves of the trees to dapple golden light across you. The peace that follows as you drift somewhere between dreaming and wakefulness is only mildly disturbed when he withdraws his hand for a moment. You hear the quiet rustle of fabric, the sing of metal as it brushes the grass, and you find yourself smiling as you lay next to the Mandalorian’s helmet.
It’s after that, he continues to stroke your hair.
i know i haven’t posted in a hot minute, but here i am!! i was in a super soft mood so it resulted with some soft mando. this is super short but i kinda like it!! i hope you enjoy it!
word count: 429
There was always something intimate about helping the Mandalorian with an injury; well, you never liked when he returned with the quarry and injuries but, you take what you can get with Mando. You gently trace your hand along an abrasion on Mando’s side, watching him jump a little at your touch, skin erupting in shivers.
“It’s not so bad this time, shouldn’t take so long.”
“Do what you need to.” Came the gruff reply from the injured man.
Bacta always had such a distinctive smell to you; it reminded you of before you met Mando, working as a clinic doctor. The first time you met Mando and more importantly, the child, Mando had run into your clinic demanding a doctor to attend to something. That was all he said that first time. He needed you to look at something. That something it turns out, was the child; the small creature was flushed with fever from the tips of its comically large ears to its tiny fingers; for you, it was a simple fix. A few more run-ins with Mando and the child and you were officially a part of the crew on the Razor Crest.
You sigh as you apply a bit more bacta to Mando’s abdomen, “I’m done, you should be good now.” You apply a final plaster to Mando’s side. “You know, it would be better for all of us if you were more careful. The kid needs you.” I need you.
Mando pulls his shirt back down, turning his helmet to face you, “I’ll always come back to you. To the both of you.” He reaches a gloved hand to push some hair out of your face before gently brushing along your cheek.
You breathe heavier as you look into the T-shaped visor of Mando’s helmet, settling your face against his hand, relishing in the warmth that seemed to permeate through the glove. “You better, the kid needs his father.” You stand up from your seat, stepping close to the beskar clad man, raising one of your hands to match the one he has placed on your cheek to the side of his helmet. You think you hear a garbled sound from Mando’s helmet.
Mando moves quickly to wrap his other arm around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. You raise your head to look at him, then tilt your head in silent confusion. He slowly presses the front of his helmet against your forehead, you lean into it, closing your eyes.
Yeah, you knew that Mando would always come back to you.
The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXII: Dr. Djarin
Summary: Din and Halarys thoroughly enjoy their post-wedding night morning (:
Warnings: Pure smut. 18+ NSFW. Mediocre writing (I’m new to this level of smut, so please forgive me...)
Word Count: ~2 K
Link to Masterlist
----------------------
Not sure what the medical jargon is referring to?
Link to Medical Jargon Explanation used in the series, largely in order of appearance (with spoilers through Episode 25 [XXV] and writer commentary)
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Din wakes as the sun crests over the ridges, its warm, golden embrace filtering through the large windows and enveloping my peaceful, dreaming face resting over his chest. He takes a deep, nourishing breath, inhaling my sweet scent.
His heart hotly flickers at the beauty and realization that yesterday was in fact real.
He married his cyar’ika, the only woman to have ever held his kar’ta, and now the only woman that ever will.
He watches me for many minutes, enjoying the surreal serenity of my sleeping form against his skin, my hand resting over his kar’ta. He feels invincible and yet very vulnerable at the same time.
“Mesh’la,” he purrs softly as I stir.
I slowly wake to his firm, thrumming chest, earning a smile on my lips.
“Din,” I hush through groggy (and I’m certain rank morning) breath. I look up to his helm...his helm is off.
His helm is off!
Yesterday was real!
It wasn’t just an amazing dream.
“Good morning,” he softly murmurs without the barrier. The honey-smooth tone of his natural voice mixed with his bassy heartbeat prickles and stirs a longing in my lower core for him. As I slowly continue awakening, I glide my featherlight fingertips over his muscled chest and abdomen. My desire strengthens with each beat of his strong heart.
I can’t hold back anymore and shift to top his irresistible bones. I feel his arousal is already at full bloom against my bare bottom. He reflexively twitches at the teasing brush of skin against his aching length.
“Good morning, husband,” I hush as I shimmy to reach for a taste of his muted pink, velvet lips.
“Mmmmm,” he mumbles through the deliciously sweet kiss, blushing at how wound up I’ve already gotten him.
My flower’s nectar is already dripping, ready for his bloom to take a deep drink.
I shift to center him, and slowly and carefully sink, fitting almost unbearably tight around him.
He sucks in a shocked lungful of air from the warmth suddenly enveloping him. His heart swiftly clenches beneath his sternum.
“Cyar’ika,” he catches his breath. He can’t help the thundering in his chest, the runaway pace I’m building.
I bend and my lips trace flittering kisses along his collarbones. His flesh raises in delighted goosebumps at the sensuous touch. All he can think of is me and this moment, any other thoughts are overwhelmed by the bright heavenly bliss he’s experiencing.
My hips move slow, working to spread the slick. It’s somewhat uncomfortable at first, pulling at sensitive tissue from last evening, but it quickly starts feeling good.
Din’s eyes grow droopy at the overwhelmingly lovely sensation and he runs his hands up and down my hips, reveling in the silken softness of my skin. He drinks in the lovely bounce of my breasts in the natural golden morning light and how my long silvery hair tickles against his chest and neck. He almost can’t take it.
His hips connect over and over again with mine. He holds back as long as he can until he can’t sit idly anymore. His hips buck as gently as he can and he delves deeper into my core, sending electric shocks skittering over my skin.
He feels his cup fill to the absolute brim from the heavy, slick waters of our passion - it teeters then tips, rushing its desire all at once deep within me. My wave crashes shortly after, triggered by his release. He feels my wave’s crest and his head collapses back down. His handsome chest heaves from the lovemaking.
Damn Din, I think in my head, swearing I can still feel his powerful thrusts.
“I love you,” Din whispers through his breathlessness. My eyes wander to his, which shine lovingly in the rich, golden morning light.
I plant a kiss on his wildly bucking heart. “And I’ve always loved you.”
He pulls me close to snuggle on his chest, the rapid beating within starts to calm to its resting rate. His length remains within me. I give him a squeeze and he twitches in response.
Hells, he filled me up good even when not at the height of arousal.
We lay entangled for a few minutes as he tenderly traces patterns on my back. I lay peacefully adrift on the gentle rise and fall of his thumping chest, somewhere between the land of asleep and that of awake. I suddenly feel Din’s stomach rumble against me.
“You’re hungry,” I shift and run my fingers over his muscled belly.
“Someone had me working all last night and again this morning,” he deeply growls. “Energy very well spent.” He pulls me into his arms and I giggle.
We decide to order room service. We point at and drool over the many decadent menu items. Finally making our decisions, we call in our order. I order a couple desserts because it’s always time for a sweet treat.
We quickly rinse in the shower again and I throw on a robe. Din works on cleaning his helm.
The elevator car eventually dings, prompting Din to hide in the bathroom as I retrieve our meal. I press the button to let the waiter in and doors open swiftly.
“Thank you,” I smile at the serviceman.
“You’re welcome,” the young Mon Calamari responds, lifting the lid on our delicious breakfast. He ducks back into the elevator and bows as the doors shut.
I smile at the fancy service. I feel like royalty.
“Coast is clear,” I encourage Din.
He emerges from the room, smiling and completely naked. My hungry eyes sweep over his toned chest and abdomen (and other areas…).
I’d love to eat my breakfast off of that fine platter, I briefly think, getting myself wound up again.
My stomach growls as the aromas of breakfast hit my nose.
Din saunters over, almost like he knows he looks really cute. I smile, resisting the building urge to jump his bones.
“How about we eat in bed?” I raise a brow and grab one of the trays.
“Sounds good to me, cyar’ika,” he takes the tray from me and I grab our juices.
We make ourselves comfortable on the bed and Din sets the tray between us. He takes a forkful of omelet and offers me the first savory bite.
My husband is such a sweetheart, I smile to myself.
“Mmmmmm,” I close my eyes and mumble through the tasty mouthful. I grab my fork and slice a morsel off. I offer it to Din - the first bite of food he has ever eaten without any barriers between us.
I enjoy the face he makes, contorted in pleasure, and how he chews the food quickly. He was likely used to eating fast, I surmise, and then inadvertantly think of the naughty taste of my *ahem* he had taken last evening.
We alternate taking bites of the omelet and hashed root vegetables, feeding each other and completely in love like the lovesick newlyweds we are.
Din especially likes the creme brulee dessert I had ordered, his eyes close at the delicious flavor - I let him have most of it and smile at how some accumulates on his mustache.
“Here,” I reach with a cloth and wipe the mess from his face.
“I’m as messy as the kid, huh?” he quirks an adorable brow and my stomach melts into butterflies.
“Like father, like son,” I smirk and kiss his still sweet lips. “Speaking of, I bet he’d like to see us soon.” I missed our little green runt.
“I’ve been missing him too,” Din looks down and smiles. “I guess I’m just going to have to get some more of this out of my system.” I raise a brow in curiosity and he looks at me mischievously. He grabs the towel from my hands and slowly maneuvers over me and starts kissing me fervently, hot and wanton, forcing me back into the sheets. I giggle as his scruffy facial hair prickles my face and makes me squirm. Our kisses grow more passionate and his body leans on my bladder. My full bladder.
“Din,” I breathe between a kiss.
“Hal’ika,” he responds, continuing his exploration of my lips and mouth.
“I need to pee,” I hush.
“Oh, sorry,” he lifts his lower body from my belly. He smiles, completely enamored.
Gods he was cute.
“Hold that thought, I’ll be right back!” I smile, bounding to the immaculate bathroom.
“I’ll probably use it after you,” he shouts from the bed.
We are definitely a married couple now, I laugh to myself as my bladder empties with sweet relief.
Din uses the restroom after me and I notice the sun looks to be set around midday. I decide to fetch my cleaned armor in the laundry room and dress myself for the day. Ahh, it smelled so clean!
Din finishes his business and finds me attaching my armor pieces. He’s a little saddened by the addition of fabric and Beskar to my previously bare body, but quickly finds it alluring in another way.
His wife is now an honorary Mandalorian. And Din loved that fact. I didn’t need to wear the helmet at all times in public - it was completely my choice as to when I wanted to wear it. Since I married into the culture and never officially swore the Creed, this was appropriate. The Armorer had explained this to him the night before.
“I thought we should get going - it’s already past midday,” I smile, gazing into his chocolate brown eyes and losing myself for a blissful moment.
“I agree, cyar’ika,” he leans in for a kiss as he reaches into the laundering machine for his armor and undersuit.
“We’ll have to continue our affections later tonight,” I wink as I braid my hair back and he pulls his trousers up. “I can play bounty hunter and you, my naughty bounty. And something tells me I’ll need to tie you up,” I seductively tease as I attach my final Beskar piece with a click. The naughty scenario has me blushing furiously.
His heart skips at the role reversal - he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t actually try that with me if I so wished. Just the thought of making love to me on the Razor Crest, in such an intimate area for him, drove him nuts.
“Din, I’m kidding - well, half-kidding,” I laugh at his look of pondering, his mouth open.
He quirks an eyebrow and looks into my eyes. “Cyar’ika, whatever you want to try, I’m up for it…as long as it doesn’t involve needles or knives,” he smirks and pulls me close.
“No scalpels either,” I agree and kiss his heart.
“Deal,” he huskily replies, grinning. He pulls his undershirt on and I assist in attaching his Beskar pieces.
Helping him armor-up was almost sexier than undressing him. Almost…
I grab my helm and put it on, deciding it was easier to wear than carry around. Everything slightly changes, to a tint of light blue.
“My name is Halarys Anavalin Djarin,” I say through the modulator to hear my voice. Gods it was cool.
Din about chokes on his own saliva hearing me take his last name.
“You don’t have to take my last na-,” he begins.
“I love your last name…And besides, Ristania is just a bitter reminder of my father, who was not a good man,” I smile at the freeing feeling of shedding the vestigial surname (and also at the slight warping of my voice). I feel like a new person.
He grabs my hands in his and kisses them. “Shall I call you Dr. Djarin now?”
“Princess Dr. Djarin,” I correct, sounding really freaking awesome with the vocoder.
“Well, certainly your worship,” he plays along and bows like a chivalrous knight before me, his helm tucked under his elbow. I smile and stroke his jawline. I wanted to kiss him, but my helm is in the way.
“Let’s go claim our little green prince!” I proclaim as I throw on my medic bag. Din finally slips on his helmet, which is sparkling clean.
We head out to take on the new day - our first day as husband and wife - the Mudhorn Clan.
The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXV: The Razor Crest
Summary: Din, Halarys, and their son begin their journey to the supposed location of the Force-using monk.
Warnings: Medical jargon and descriptions of medical imaging. Depictions of violence and blood. Emotional trauma.
Word Count: ~6.2 K
Link to Masterlist
----------------------
Not sure what the medical jargon is referring to?
Link to Medical Jargon Explanation used in the series, largely in order of appearance (with spoilers through Episode 25 [XXV] and writer commentary)
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“Rallo’s clan will watch over the Crest per her note,” Din answers my question from the pilot seat as he re-parks the faithful ship in a small clearing in the trees, supposedly near the Mandalorian outpost. If the Armorer trusted this clan, so would Din. And the mere fact that there were so few Mandalorians left, he understood that now more than ever his brethren needed to support one-another.
“That’s very nice of them,” I hum through my vocoder. I'm slowly learning that the Mandalorians are a tight-knit group and take care of one another. Green bean stares up at me, fidgeting with his stethoscope, and babbles as the ship gently lands on the mossy forest terra. The little bug is starting to become more vocal by the day.
We make our way down from the cockpit to the cargo bay and gather our supplies in hand. Din and I both reach for my extra tote of food and medical supplies.
“I got it,” Din snags the bag away before I can claim it. “You have your hands plenty full with him,” he gestures to the chirping bug in my arms, now levitating his medical toy in the air.
What in the world, green bean?
He giggles as he tractor-beams it back into his hands.
“We better run not walk to find this monk,” I snicker, tickling the little wizard’s ears which makes him squeak. “Or you could use your jetpack and fly us there!” The child chirps in agreement.
“I used most of the fuel on our rendezvous, cyar’ika,” he comes close and caresses my face, reminiscing of his marriage proposal.
“And a most wonderful rendezvous it was,” I slip my hand under his cowl, feeling his pulse quicken beneath my touch.
“Karrrrtaah!” the babe proclaims, sensing his father’s rising heart rate.
“Alright, enough flustering your father. Let’s get down to business for real,” I say, turning and placing the little bugger in the pod along with our water bottles.
“What did you pack in here, Hal’ika?” my husband grunts as he hefts the tote to shift it more comfortably on his shoulder.
“Essentials,” I mutter. “Mostly food and medical supplies.”
“For a small army?” Din tests the weight of the canvas bag again.
“To be fair, Mr. Djarin, you get injured enough to count as a small army just by yourself, and green bean can really put away the food,” I tickle the kid’s belly, earning shrill giggles that echo around the ship’s walls.
Ok, I might have overpacked, but better safe than sorry.
Din just nods once and chuckles, knowing I had a valid point and opens the ramp. He carries our packs along with ease and the child’s pod follows faithfully behind with the tap of his vambrace. A coo escapes the green bean as we enter the serene forest.
“Here,” Din holds out a downward-pointed blaster for me. “Just in case.”
“Thanks,” I grab the weapon and holster it inside my med bag for now. Hopefully I don’t need it, I think as the ramp closes shut.
“Follow me,” Din heads off into a seemingly random section of underbrush and slashes at the thicket with the dark sabre I had taken from Gideon. The saber looks much, much better in Din’s grasp, I muse.
Din had studied the directions and had already flown us part-way to our destination, in between the Mandalorian settlement and the supposed location of the Force-user.
The babe’s ears and eyes curiously shift around listening to the soft calls of new birds and insects which welcome us to the woods.
The forest has a lot to say, huh bean? I think to the babe.
Din continues through the under-growth, and the smell of hot plant matter wafts into the air. He cuts through a particularly dense, large leafy plant, revealing an old, partly overgrown stone path on the other side.
“Follow the crumbling brick road?” I cock my head at him, feeling nervous excitement rise within my gut.
“Yep,” he replies. My gaze shifts to the ancient walkway again.
“We are off to see the monk,” I sing-song in a familiar tune to the child beside me in his pod. “The wonderful monk of Naboo.”
We start on the path and its weathered stone crumbles slightly underfoot.
“From here, it’s still around a day and a half hike. We will need to set up camp in a few hours,” Din surmises, looking up through the canopy.
“So we will be camping?” the excitement in my voice is curbed by the modulator.
Din stops, then turns to me, looking at me intensely. Should I not be so excited for camping?
“Before I forget, I wanted to show you something,” Din reaches to my helm.
“What do you mea-?” I don’t finish my sentence as he taps something near my right earpiece and my eyes are preoccupied with a change in settings of some sort. I look at Din and suddenly a set of vitals appear in the periphery of my visor: Heart rate (96 BPM), blood pressure (113/71 mmHg), respiratory rate (13 RPM), spO2 (98%), and temperature (36.8 degrees Celsius).
“The Armorer might have known you were a doctor. She insisted on medic settings in your helmet,” he shares with a large smile shining in his voice.
“Are these your?” I’m almost at a loss for words as he nods. How kriffing neat!
“My armor,” he pats his cuirass, “has tech that communicates with your helm,” he points at my visor. “You can always check on me, even if I’m on the opposite side of a planet - but it’s range doesn’t quite reach beyond that,” his heart and respiration rate increase while he proudly explains the Mandalorian technology. I finally realize that the wiring in his undershirts have another function besides his weaponry and temperature control.
“I love it!” I grab onto him and hug as best I can with all the bags he’s carrying. “Thank you to you and your Armorer. She is extremely talented.”
“Hal’ika,” he chortles, feeling exceptionally warm-hearted from my exuberant reaction. “Can I show you something else?” he timidly offers.
“Wait, there’s more?!” I squeal in glee. Din’s heart rate rapidly increases (130s and climbing). Someone is very passionate about this, I smile to myself - I'm also feeling like an excited child on Life Day to see what other things the helm could do.
He exhales a breathy laugh and reaches to the other (left) earpiece. “This side accesses the basic functions." He taps it and the vitals disappear to reveal infrared vision. I look at Din, who is a mix of hot white and red. I can hear his blood rushing through his veins.
“Infrared and sound amplification tech,” he explains.
“This is so cool,” I exhale. My head shifts to look at green bean who is a hot, white color, his little heart and breath sounds steadily pulse in the helm. He coos in curiosity at what we’re so happy about.
“Look back on the path,” Din directs.
Wondering what he means, I turn and notice heat-like spots on the ground.
“Are those…our footprints?” I guess, studying the trajectory.
“Yep. You can track the recent steps of your target, for up to a few minutes after the fact,” Din almost brags, getting more excited by the moment as he shares the tech with his riduur.
I trace our tracks with my visor and then reach Din’s feet. My eyes shift up at him and I hear his bassy pulse coursing very quickly.
My sweet Din is sure excited…how adorable! I think, thoroughly enjoying learning more about his Mandalorian roots and how he navigates the world with his helmet.
With my hand, I reach up and feel around the side of the helm for the medic setting. Din notices and reaches to my hand, guiding my lost fingertips to the protruding metal in the center of the right ear.
“There - that is the medic setting control,” his voice is low and husky as he presses my fingers against it.
His vitals appear again, heart rate (140s BPM). He’s very excited.
I tap on it again, thinking the display will return to normal vision, but I’m surprised when everything turns dark and gasp.
“Cyar’ika?” Din asks, with a hint of concern. My eyes shift to his voice and I suddenly see his skeleton and the main internal organs within his torso.
“What the hells?” I mumble, studying the fluoroscopy-like live image. His bones shift as he reaches for my shoulders. My eyes instinctively fall to his chest. His ribs expand and contract as his lungs inflate and deflate. His heart beats rapidly, nestled underneath his sternum and between his lungs. I can see evidence of old breaks on nearly all of his ribs and on both his clavicles - my handheld scanner provided more of a close-up window, versus a whole-picture view, and I hadn’t seen these past injuries before. Some are not optimally healed as evidenced by a ridge or slight kink where bone should be smooth, but they seem to allow proper function.
Poor Din. I reach to trace the old injuries, but my hand is not visible. It must be linked to his armor only, I surmise.
“What do you see, Hal’ika?” he leans closer and his heart skips wondering what other settings the Armorer had included, which draws my attention again to the vital organ.
“Your kar’ta,” I admit. I can’t help but fondly think back to the first time we met on Fara.
“O-oh,” his voice nervously stutters along with his heart. The situation also triggers Din to think back to our first encounter, feeling nightmoths fluttering beneath his sternum. He reminisces how he had felt so vulnerable yet warm around me back then, and how that feeling remains quite the same, if not even more intense, now that I was his riduur.
“I can also see your bones and most other internal organs too,” I continue and look up to his face. His skull shows evidence of multiple healed hairline fractures and his right cheekbone displays some old injury as well, which I guessed corresponded to the scar there. I couldn’t focus on cartilage (as I’m certain his nose had been broken a few times), but something told me this view was adjustable to various tissue types or depths. I’d experiment later.
I’m nowhere near an orthopedic specialist, but my professional medical opinion is: Din’s body has been royally beaten the fuck up. Repeatedly.
It makes me wish I could have tended his wounds and helped him heal more quickly and properly - or better yet, have been there to prevent them in the first place. Evidence of all the physical pain he’d endured makes my soul ache.
“It’s probably not as good as your scanner,” he tries to lighten the mood, now guessing I can see the remnants of all his internal injuries. He knows the body language I display when I'm concerned about something.
“Some superficial soft tissue is missed, but the images are even better quality than my scanner to be honest,” I admit, looking again at his healthy, yet swiftly beating heart once more. It reminds and reassures me that he's alive despite all the hardships that have been thrown at him. He is tough. He is a Mandalorian Warrior.
I reach to the medic-setting control again and the visor switches back to normal view this time.
“Mandalorian tech is quite advanced,” he nods proudly. He feels his soul soar from sharing his culture with his cyar’ika, and my positive reaction to the tech makes it so much more rewarding. He looks at me, grabs my hand, and we continue walking.
I'm still quite unnerved by his numerous, old orthopedic injuries.
“Did you ever see a doctor before me?” I ask, almost rhetorically, hoping he’d say “no” because whoever treated him should not be practicing medicine.
“Uh no, not really,” he looks at the ground and huffs amusedly. “Not really any time in-between bounties. Sometimes I saw a medic in our covert, but that was only for really serious things that wouldn’t stop bleeding after a few days or a bad wound I couldn’t reach on my own.”
After a few days? I repeat his words in my head and almost laugh at the dangerous ridiculousness.
“That explains a lot,” I nod my head. I basically had already known he is the type to self-patch and grin-and-bear-it. No one to report to the Board thankfully.
“But, if I had known where you had been practicing, I would have made it a habit,” his T-visor shifts to my almond-eyed one.
I chuckle. “If more patients like you showed up, I’d need an assistant or three,” I snort.
“What does that mean?” his helm cocks in a playfully accusatory manner.
“My guess is you’d show up half-dying. I’d need the extra hands,” I retort.
“You’re probably right, Hal’ika. I wouldn’t want to bother you with just a scratch or simple blaster wound,” he deadpans, which makes me laugh.
“Speaking of assistants,” I point at the pod. “Looks like my physician-in-training is wiped out.” The babe is sleeping now, adorably hugging his windhound.
“Looks like it,” Din agrees. A soft smile comes to his scruffy face beneath his helm.
We continue along the path for a ways, not saying much but enjoying each other’s company amongst the emerald fauna and singing birds. Din is a stubborn metalhead and won’t let me take a bag despite my numerous offers and attempts to nab it from him, but he finally lets me strap a couple weapons around myself, including his Amban sniper rifle (he finally told me what the wicked-looking, deadly weapon is called).
“Did I ever tell you about my days in the Mandalorian Fighting Corps?” Din breaks the silence.
My ears perk up and stomach flutters immediately at his offer to tell me about himself.
“Only that you were in it! Please, please, please tell me more!” my extreme excitement manages a squeaky voice through the modulator as I squeeze his hand and arm, very eager to hear his stories.
“Well, I wasn’t much older than twelve when I swore the Creed and began my training,” he begins.
“That’s really young!” I exhale. The Mandalorians obviously don’t joke around with their military.
“The training is quite rigorous - 18 hour days, 6 days a week and it takes years to complete,” he looks at the ground. “I finished combat training at age 16 and then went onto special air forces training for a couple years.”
“Wow,” my gaze shifts to him. “That’s absolutely insane,” I shake my head in awe. “That is a very long time to commit to anything, especially something so physically and I’m sure mentally challenging.”
He shrugs. “It was my duty. The Mandalorians saved me and brought me up as their own. I owe my life to them.”
“That is very noble,” I nod. Din, afterall, is a person of utter respect and loyalty, which I love about him. “Did you make any friends?” I emphasize the word with insinuation.
He chuckles a little, thinking of a handful of boyish crushes he had on some of the young women in his class (who had all very thoroughly kicked his ass in hand-to-hand combat training). The thought made him blush.
“Oh come on, don’t hold out on me!” I playfully poke his side.
“Yeah, of course I had some friends,” he stops chuckling and his stance sobers. He then thinks back to his late-mentor and friends lost during the Empire’s reign on Mandalore.
***Flashback to Fighting Corps training around 16 years ago on Mandalore, under Bo-Katan Kryze’s Faction of Death Watch, which still operated despite Imperial Rule***
“Very good Verd’ika (Private) Djarin,” Sol’yc Ruus’alor (First Sergeant) Kytax watches as he hits each of the 10 moving targets squarely in the bullseye with his faithful blaster. She is thoroughly impressed and proud at how the foundling’s skills have flourished under her training.
Like the well-trained soldier he is, Din holsters his weapon and stands tall and straight as his superior walks behind him and next orders his bunkmate and best friend for nearly 5 years, Tren Ghadia, to begin firing at the targets on her command.
Din and Tren (and a handful of other privates) were completing their final training in order to rise in rank to Beviin Alor’uus (Lance Corporal) before entering the Mandalorian Air Forces training program. They had recently passed the final physical endurance test earlier that day: A brutal obstacle course designed to test hand-to-hand combat skills consisting of dozens upon dozens of combat-training droids hidden in half a dozen dilapidated buildings where one had to defeat at minimum 90% of the droids in under 3 hours, followed by a 10 km run in full combat gear in under 45 minutes. Although Din had passed, the Corps physician warned him to keep his heart rate in check and work on his grip strength or else he might fail the pilot program.
Din, Tren, and two of the other Verd’ikase (Privates) passed the final sharp-shooting examination. They were promoted on the spot to Beviin Alor’uuse (Lance Corporals) and now eligible for Air Forces training.
————
“Verd’ika Djarin, it is both my honor and privilege to promote you to Beviin Alor’uus!” Sol’yc Ruus’alor Kytax announces as she removes Din’s old, green chestplate, replacing it with a new, brown-painted Beskar cuirass. “For the glory of Mandalore!” she proclaims, fist over her heart.
“For the glory of Mandalore!” Din repeats loudly with fist over his heart. He stands stoic despite feeling his pulse race from his achievement as the others clap and cheer.
Kytax subtly leans in and whispers to him, “I’m very proud of you, foundling.”
Din’s heart swells beneath the new cuirass. He had only ever wanted to make his commander proud - Nal’ak Kytax was, afterall, the closest person he had to a parental figure. Plus, she was a badass warrior, having taken down a platoon of nearly 30 stormtroopers on her own during a previous battle. She fervently hated what the Empire was doing to Mandalore and Din obviously naturally hated them as well.
Tren receives his new cuirass next and as Kytax makes it down the line to the following promotee, he gives Din a cartoonishly enthusiastic thumbs up, making Din chuckle and shake his head. Tren was such a swamp clown.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They celebrated later that evening:
“Din, you kriffing womp rat! We did it! We made it into the Air Forces program!” Tren punches Din in the head playfully, but hard (Tren had a good 15 cm and 30 kg of weight on Din).
“We still have to apply,” Din chuckles at his friend’s exaggerated enthusiasm as he rubs at his helm.
“Yeah, but that’s just desk work and a physical - we’re basically pilots already,” Tren kneels down to the floor beside Din’s bed and rests his back against the bunk frame, letting out a contented sigh.
“The only thing you’ve flown is a porg-shaped kite, Tren’ika,” Din jests at his pal, bringing up the toy they had shared growing up and the old (and very embarrassing) nickname. It earns Din another playful punch and they both heartily laugh.
As elated as Din is, his body is absolutely aching from the physical endurance test earlier in the day and frankly, he just wants to sleep. He slumps back onto his bed on the lower bunk and sighs heavily, gloved hand tracing the kar’ta Beskar on his brand new chestplate.
“I’m going to fly that Razor Crest so smooth and fast, the Empire won’t know what hit ‘em,” Tren shares as he motions with his hand through the air mimicking a ship and daydreams of aerial battles to come.
“The Crest?” Din chortles. “That thing is an archaic hunk of scrap metal your great-great grandmother probably kriffed in,” he laughs loudly.
“Gross you kriffing Imp sniffer. Don’t knock the Crest until you try it, Din. She’s an oldie, but a goodie,” Tren folds his arms defensively over his chest.
“Alright, calm down, calm down, I’m just kidding around,” Din knew Tren loved the Crest and it was a sore spot.
“I’m planning on asking Flosa out,” Tren abruptly switches the subject.
“Woah, that new badass Verd’ika?” Din sits up in bed shifting to the edge.
“Yes, well, she kind of challenged me to a fight,” his pal further elaborates, shrugging and nodding his head.
“She’s so going to kick your sorry ass,” Din chuckles, shaking his helm.
“I hope so - it would be an honor to be trapped beneath her lovely armor,” Tren sighs dreamily.
“You’re a perv, Tren’ika,” Din kicks him in the helm and Tren falls over laughing.
“I’m going to marry that woman some day,” his visor shoots Din a look.
“Night Tren’ika,” Din amusedly huffs and switches off his bunk light.
“You’re just jealous, Din-man,” the larger Mandalorian makes his way to the top bunk as loud as he can, making Din chuckle.
——————
Tren in fact married Flosa Hurtta a year later, she was 16 and he was 17. This wasn’t unusual for Mandalorians as lifespan for a martial culture could be quite short despite the advancements in armor, weapons, and medical technology.
Nearly a couple years into their pilot training, just months shy of graduating, Tren and Din were caught in an Imperial ambush on their base. The Empire was trying to snuff out resistance groups like the splinter group of the Death Watch faction that they belonged to:
“Din!” Tren screams and chokes through the billowing smoke and rubble of their bunkhouse, desperately trying to find his best friend.
No response.
“Din!” he shouts again, throat raw and lungs ragged as he scans the debris with his infrared vision. A stormtrooper pops up from behind the remnant of a pillar and fires at him.
Tren takes cover behind a jagged cement half-wall. He tracks the Imp’s movements with his infrared tech through the concrete. Just as the trooper nears, Tren whips around from his hiding spot and shoots the Imp dead.
He scans for any other troopers.
“Din!” he screams again and scans the perimeter, this time for his friend. He spots a body about a dozen meters away and hones in.
“I’m here!” Din’s voice coughs from the ash and he lifts himself.
“Din!” Tren yells as he reaches his dear friend’s side. “Are you injured?”
“I’m fine,” Din groans. “Just got the wind knocked out of me,” Din pats his damaged cuirass, feeling quite bruised beneath. Tren eyes the misshapen metal and starts laughing hysterically. Din starts laughing too, causing his chest to ache. He holds his arm to brace his likely broken ribs - it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.
“You look like a mudhorn made you their doormat,” Tren cackles pointing at his bud’s disheveled armor.
“I feel like it too,” Din adds in, laughing harder, now feeling the definitively sharp pain of broken ribs pang at his lungs. “Kriff,” Din mutters, still chuckling.
“Alright buddy, let’s get-,” Tren starts.
.
.
.
Din watches in horror as a sniper blaster shot tears through his best friend’s unarmored neck. His body slumps to the ground.
“Tren!!!” Din screams diving down to grab his friend. He pushes the pain in his ribs away as he drags his comrade to shelter behind a pile of rubble. Din scans the area with his infrared vision, not seeing anyone else.
“Tren,” he turns his friend over and applies pressure to the gushing neck wound. “Tren, hey stay with me!” Din orders, smacking the side of his helm with his freehand.
“Tren, no. No you can’t die.” Din wheezes, coughing up a scant amount of blood that bites bitterly at the back of his tongue. “Tren!”
Gurgling noises come from the larger Mandalorian’s helmet and his chest stops moving. Din stares in cold terror at the excessive amount of warm, thick red blood that pools around and underneath both of them.
“Godsdammit Tren,” Din grabs his friend’s hand as he let’s go of his neck, knowing it was too late. He brings his helm’s forehead to that of his fallen brother.
Tren is dead.
His best friend is dead.
Blaster fire comes at Din and 3 troopers approach. A fiery rage in Din’s chest roars through him and he leaps up drawing his blaster. With rapid-fire, he takes out the goons in a blink.
He had gotten separated from Kytax in the ambush.
He sees a helm amongst the rubble near the half-standing hanger. He runs toward it and abruptly stops a few meters away. He couldn’t make himself come any closer.
“No,” he chokes as he about falls to his knees. The bloodied, dark blue hue and yellow outline around the broken almond-eyed visor shared with him the disturbing fate of his leader. “Kytax,” he exhales, shedding a hotly angry tear.
“Put down the weapon!” A voice shouts from behind. Din slowly turns, facing a half dozen troopers. “Surrender!” he orders the last Mandalorian.
Din is tempted to give up, just be done with it now.
His family is dead.
But something, a feeling so familiar yet foreign he can’t explain, beckons him to look into the hanger. He can’t ignore the now-demanding nudge in the back of his mind.
He glances over and there, in the remnants of the building a couple dozen meters away, the Razor Crest sits, completely untouched, unscathed. Tren’s favorite ship.
“I said drop the weapon!” the trooper shouts and the group aims their weapons at the young Mandalorian.
Din looks at them, and in a split second, makes a break to the ship.
“Halt!” the trooper shouts as blaster shots rush past Din. He’s running faster than he’s ever ran. A shot hits his pauldron, prompting him to return fire over his shoulder. He wounds a couple of the goons as he reaches the ramp and catapults himself in and shuts the entrance.
He rushes up the ladder and into the cockpit.
Laser fire blasts against the hull.
“Alright old girl, let’s get out of here,” Din powers up the engines, thinking of Tren rambling on about the sweet old-school features of the ship, which makes Din’s eyes sting.
He turns the ship out of the hanger and shoots a couple more troopers down with its blaster cannons.
He ascends, overlooking the destruction of his home, angry and afraid. He breaks through Mandalore’s atmosphere into the darkness of space and kicks it into hyperdrive. He didn’t know where he was going, but he felt he had to run far away.
It was then that Din retreated with his buddy’s beloved Razor Crest and fell out of contact with his fellow Mandalorians as his surrogate family was dead. All he knew was again gone - torn away from him by the Empire.
———————
Din became desperate for fuel and food and fell in with the wrong crowd (i.e., Xi’an and company) for around a year. Despite losing his Mandalorian family, he strictly stuck to the Creed in honor of their memory. Unfortunately, with the criminal misfit group, he was tempted and harassed to give into countless horrible acts of violence. It was a part of Din’s life he was completely ashamed, and some things he had done haunted him to this very day.
He later was contacted by Flosa who knew the radio frequencies of the Crest as she had sent messages to her cyar’ika, Tren, countless times (she had survived along with a small group of others). This made Din long for returning to Mandalore, knowing some of his family had liveed. After having enough rebellion and heartbreak from Xi’an’s impossible actions, he returned to Mandalore where he reconnected with a group. This was the group that would later call themselves the Tribe after fleeing on the Crest with Din to Nevarro, during the height of the Great Purge.
—-End of Flashback Sequence—-
“Din, are you ok?” I reach to his tensed shoulder and he stops. He forces the bad thoughts away and takes a few beats to collect himself.
“Many of my friends are gone,” he curtly responds and slowly begins to walk again.
I take his hand in mine and just hold it. I know I’d stirred up bad memories and I don’t want to pry.
“I know I would have liked your Mandalorian friends,” I gently say, unable to hold my tongue any longer.
Din just squeezes my hand in response, thankful for my kind soul - thankful I’m truly the best friend he’s ever had.
As I hum some old tune my mother used to sing, I notice the sky is turning a warm orange in its sunset. He notices me looking up at the vibrantly-colored atmosphere.
“I think we should set up camp up ahead, cyar’ika,” he points to a small clearing, flat and apt for a campsite.
“Sounds good to me, Din,” I lean into his side as we walk, making his blood thump loud in his ears. It will take many, many years to not become so excited by her touch, he thinks to himself.
We reach the little spot and the babe remains asleep in his pod amongst the water bottles.
“How can I help?” I mew. Din takes in how the sunset’s light filtered through the trees warmly glows off my armor. My sweet riduur, he thinks.
“Hal’ika, if you want, you can collect some dry branches for a fire,” Din instructs. “I will set up the shelter,” he says as he sets down the large bags he’d been carrying.
“Fair trade,” I quickly agree. I didn’t know how to set up a tent to be honest. “Let me know if I can help with anything else,” I say over my shoulder, spotting some old branches on the mossy ground.
“I might need your assistance with staying warm tonight,” he slyly quips, which makes me snort loudly. Good one, Din.
“Well, I think I might be able to help with that for a small fee,” I tease as I bend and pick up a couple sticks on the periphery of the campsite.
“And what fee might that be?” he cocks his head curiously.
“A kiss and your chest as a pillow,” I purr beneath my helm.
“Not to dash your plans, but I might need to keep my armor on tonight,” he reluctantly shares.
“Fair point, my Mandalorian hubby. Fair point. A kiss will have to suffice,” I small smile forms on my lips, lips which are again looking forward to meeting his.
I continue gathering firewood and decide to switch my view to infrared as the forest grows darker. Scanning around, I see what looks to be a two-legged creature of some sort in the far off distance.
Probably just a forest creature like up on Dee’ja Peak, I tell myself, not being able to help but think of scary ghost stories that frightened me as a child. Suddenly, the creature disappears from view. I glance around seeing if I can track it, but nothing.
Fast little guy, I tell myself as I tap the helm control again and my view returns to normal. I return to collecting the driest sticks.
With a proper armful of (mostly) dry branches, I return to the rest spot. Din has our shelter nearly ready as he unpacks and drapes a large canvas over the rope frame tied between trees. A padded blanket covers the mossy ground inside.
“Looks good,” I compliment his handiwork.
Din turns and notices my armful of wood.
“You can place those in the hole I dug there,” he points to a spot about a couple meters from the edge of the tent.
I place the sticks in the little fire pit as requested. Din bends down beside the tent and produces some larger logs.
Someone was busy in the fifteen minutes I was gone, I think.
He sets the timber on the kindling and rearranges the wood pieces to his liking.
“Stand back,” he warns.
“Why?” I ask, stymied what he was planning.
A stream of fire shoots from his vambrace, making me jump. It ignites the wood almost instantly and he cuts the flamethrower.
“Because of that,” he remarks, tapping his gauntlet.
I laugh, catching my breath. “So that’s the famed flamethrower,” I say a little too amused. Din hadn't yet used it in my presence, but had mentioned it on Deridian. The Mandalorian likes his gadgets.
“I think we’re all prepped for the night,” Din assesses, looking around.
“How about dinner?” I offer. “Or rather, dessert first?”
“Hal’ika…,” Din’s voice falters, thinking I mean something other than food. “Here, in the woods?”
I chuckle loudly, thinking in hindsight my wording could be taken as an innuendo.
“No, I literally meant dessert!” I snort and produce a couple chocolate bars from my medic bag. “Although the other kind of dessert sounds really good too.”
I remove my helm and breathe the fresh woodland evening air with hints of the smoky campfire.
Din’s pulse jumps at how the flames dance their warm light across my striking features - at times, he’d swear I wasn’t entirely human with how fair my skin and hair were and how piercing, almost glowing, my eyes appeared.
He again reminisces of our first meeting and the smoldering wreckage of an Imp ship outside my doctor’s office. Back then, he never would have known that the stubborn healer he hoped had answers about his foundling would become his wife, his riduur. How life can bring very unexpected and very wonderful things, he muses.
“You got to try this chocolate bar,” I hold it up to him. “For Life Day, my mother used to give me something similar. They are delicious.”
Din grabs my hand and helm from the ground, leading me into the tent. We crouch inside and the pod follows in as well. Green bean stirs slightly and yawns, but promptly falls back asleep.
“Just in case someone walks past,” Din explains the scene change, pointing to his helmet.
“Like the creature I saw while picking up wood?” I laugh. We were in the wilderness, I didn’t think anyone else would be out here.
“What creature?” he tenses, and instinctively looks around, switching to his infrared view.
“I think it was one of those ruminant creatures we spooked while jetpacking on Dee’ja Peak,” I explain, looking around now myself, a little creeped it might not actually be one of those harmless animals.
“Oh yeah, tiqua are ubiquitous here,” Din eases up.
“Tiqua? Well, they are cute,” I giggle, thinking of their long, trunk-like noses, large dark eyes, and big rounded ears.
“Not as cute as you, cyar’ika,” he lifts his helmet and his scruffy smile appears. I lean in for a kiss and taste his soft lips. Ugh, how did I go all day without this?
We finally take a break from eating each other’s lips and I unwrap the chocolate bar. I bring it up to his mouth. He goes cross-eyed looking at the sweet treat shoved in his face and smiles.
“Bite,” I insist, my eyes wide and smiling, awaiting his reaction to the flavor.
He opens his mouth and takes the most gigantic bite, almost biting my fingertips.
“Damn, I might lose some pieces too,” I tease. His eyes flutter closed and eyebrows crinkle upward in delight at the rich, decadent cocoa bar. “Good, huh?” I study his facial expressions as he chews the large morsel and nods his head. I giggle, feeling extremely fulfilled right now. He swallows his bite and I offer him the other half, which he eagerly stuffs into his mouth all at once.
I start into mine, savoring much smaller bites.
“So good,” I mumble through a piece as it melts in my mouth. Din nods. I offer him the remainder of my bar.
“You enjoy it, Hal’ika,” he nods his head at me. He doesn’t want to deny me the remainder of my treat.
“No, you have it - I have many more!” I smile my aquamarine gaze and hold it up to him. He needs the calories - gods know he burned a lot carrying those heavy bags all this way.
He doesn’t argue this time and takes the bar from my hand. He makes quick work of it, making me happy he likes it so much. It feels like sharing a part of my childhood with him, and also like somehow I've always known him.
As we continue our dinner and munch on protein bars and some trail mix, we chat about our favorite foods and which ones we wanted each other to try. I was most curious about the spicy mushroom and freeze dried fruit soup he described - how can that be good?
Din suddenly jumps over, shielding me with an arm, which makes me about spill my water.
“Did you hear that?” He slides his helm on with his freehand.
“Probably just a little-,” I start and before I know it, I’m thrown flat on my back with a blue lightsaber hovering over my neck.
Kriff.
—————————
The end of chapter 25.
The saga will continue.
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Author’s Note:
I am not a Star Wars or Mandalorian history/military expert by any means, and I took many many liberties writing Din’s backstory. I did some research, trying my best to figure out the timelines and the power dynamics on Mandalore at the time Din would/might have been there. Feel free to critique. I tried really hard to make it believable with the things currently known as cannon from Season 1. As always, thank you for reading my story!
