Maul/Fem!AFAB!Reader- NSFW
Maul stumbles into your shop in need of some simple repairs, and you find yourself admitting to him some secrets that you've kept for a long time. You know he's searching for a family, and maybe you'll be able to convince him that you were the one who could give that to him.
TWs: PnV sex. Explicit content. Breeding kink. Heavy petting, creampie, and soft dom maul. No spoilers for Maul - shadow lord.
I'm supposed to be working on my Hunter fic rn but I had this idea and could not shake it for the life of me. The new show has got me in a chokehold AUGH.
Every day on Janix is a busy one, and it’s something you’ve been used to for a while now.
You don’t have the space to fix starships anymore, not in the way you used to, but you don’t mind all that much. The new shop can hold about 5 speeders at a time, and countless droids of all types. Customers come and go, and so do jobs, but there are few unaffiliated mechanics on this planet who are willing to overlook illegal modifications, and even fewer who are willing to install them. So, you stay busy.
You can hear the doors of the front room open, the noise making you slightly ticked. Seems that some people don’t understand how to read a “closed” sign. Or they simply choose not to. Either way, you’re starting to wish you had remembered to lock the door when you put the sign out.
“If you’re here for a job, I don’t have time for it. Get out.” You call out, bluntly. Your hands are currently elbow deep in the undercarriage of a speeder, and you can’t see who comes in the half-open door to the garage. You don’t need to. His presence causes the hair on the back of your neck to stand up, a prickle in the back of your mind. You roll out from underneath the speeder, wiping your hands on a rag.
“Really? I suppose I’ll be leaving then.” Maul says, voice set in a monotone, what anyone else would mistake as malice. You can’t help but smile, your view of him blocked as you’re rushed by a small droid.
“Hey! There's my little monster.” You say. The spybot lets out an evil laugh, brushing up against your hand when you hold it out for him, lavishing in the attention before Maul clears his throat. The droid pulls away then, not stopping to say goodbye as he suddenly leaves, right out the door they just came in through.
You’re hoping that Maul’s simply come to see you, but when you see him fully, standing just beyond the doorway, the first thing you notice is the limp in his step. Your face drops immediately, and you let out a sigh. Maul says nothing, but you can see his eyes shift. Looks like he’s had a rough day.
“You know, I could have sworn I taught Icarus how to fix this for you half a cycle ago.” You mumble. You’ve got Maul sat on your desk, legs hanging over the side as you sit in your chair. You have his leg joints pulled open, currently soldering bits and pieces back together.
“You did.” Maul rumbles. You raise your eyebrows at that. So maybe he did come to see you, after all. The soldering iron sparks, causing him to wince in pain. You apologise quietly, bringing your focus back to his legs. You’ve built his prosthetics from the ground up before, but small fixes like this are easier for him to do himself. You haven’t seen him for something so small in a long time.
“So why the visit, then? Just looking for a bit of company?” You muse. Once you’ve finished soldering, you set your tools to the side, letting his leg cool off for a bit before you close it up.
“You could say that,” Maul replies, frowning ever so slightly. You smile at him, shaking your head as you stand between his legs. Your hands are grazing that seam between the skin of his thighs and the metal of his legs, feeling along the edge for any burrs or splintered metal. It’s a standard check-up. And somehow, it still feels intimate between you two. It always has been.
“ ‘This have to do with the girl you were telling me about?” You ask, glancing at him through your eyelashes. He lets out a big sigh, and you know you’ve hit the target head-on. He scowls, but there’s no bite behind it.
“She’s frustrating.” Mal rumbles. You let out a small laugh, a cheeky smile spreading across your face.
“She’s a teenager.” You say, shaking your head at him. For a moment, you wonder what Maul was like as a teenager. Darth Maul. Lord of shadows. Not that he wasn’t already edgy enough.
“Is that supposed to change anything?” Maul asks bluntly, raising an eyebrow at your small giggle.
“Maybe not.” You chime, “But it’s still something you should think about before you go trying to take her under your wing.” Maul lets out a long sigh, and you step back from him, satisfied with his repairs and the current state of his prosthetics. You stop for a moment to look him over, head to toe. He’s looking better lately. Stronger. More well-fed. You’re thankful for it. You remember the first time he happened upon your shop. Back when you could afford a bigger space.
You were working for Deemis, then. Enslaved to him, more like. Maul had stumbled into your shop in the middle of the night, his prosthetics wrecked. He had threatened to kill you if you didn’t comply and fix him up. So, you did. You weren’t scared. Weren’t angry. You were intimidated, sure. But you didn’t have much left to lose. He didn’t either.
When he took power from Deemis and Vario, he took you, as well. When he was betrayed, you followed him into hiding. Bought a new shop. Settled on neutral territory.
Strange. How the two of you came together. Even stranger, how you both stayed.
You look at him, now. His eyes. His cherry red skin. His anger. Sadness. Pain. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be than his side, and he knew that.
Tonight, he looks tired. Frustrated.
“...I grow tired of this constant search.” Maul begins. You don’t have to ask him to stand when you’re ready to do your final check. He does so on habit, taking a few calculated steps towards you as you mentally time and observe his movements.
“These… padawans, these apprentices. They refuse to see reason. Refuse to see the errors in the ways of the Jedi. Their blind loyalty sickens me.” Maul says, his frustration evident in his voice. You know he’s talking about this literally, but you also know him. You can feel that he’s projecting, and that his history, his belief in the Sith, his training with Darth Sidious, it all still bothers him. He’s upset at both the light and dark sides of the force, and he’s tired of screaming into the void about it.
But if he’s so tired, why doesn’t he rest? Why won’t he allow himself to? Why won’t he see beyond this timeline in his mind and put himself first, instead of his grand plan?
“Speak.” At Maul’s word, you realise that you’ve been deep in thought for a little too long. He’s much closer now, hardly a foot away when your eyes finally snap up to meet his own. He looks as serious as ever, the darkness in his eyes a constant reminder of his past. You don’t flinch as his hand raises to your face, but you certainly don't expect it when his thumb lands between your pinched brows, smoothing the skin upwards like he’s trying to erase the look from your face. It’s unintentionally silly, and you catch yourself smiling a little.
“I can see that you have something to say.” Maul repeats, returning his hand to his side. You let out a small sigh, trying to let out your worries before speaking your truth.
“I’m not going to tell you to stop looking for revenge.” You start, the words coming out heavy after having thought them over for so long. “...But Maul, you yourself have admitted that the way these Jedi have been taught to see you has hindered your progress. Maybe it’s time to take a step back and work on changing that first.” You finish. Maul seems taken aback by the words, clearly not expecting that from you. You see a flash of anger building up inside of him, before he seems to wash it away, letting it go without ever taking his attention off of you.
“You are one of the very few people whom I will allow to speak to me like this,” Maul growls out, closing the gap between the two of you just a bit more as his hand comes up to caress the side of your face. His nose is just close enough to brush against your own, but he doesn’t kiss you.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” You muse. He likes that you speak your mind around him. You know he does. He never argues with you when you do. Hell, you knew for sure that he’s killed people for talking to him the way that you have. The thought is more attractive to you than it really should be. You lean into his touch, holding his hand to your cheek as you turn your head to the side, pressing a chaste kiss into the calloused skin of his palm.
“I just think… it might be time for you to think about what happens after Sidous. You know?” You say quietly, knowing that you most certainly were pushing the topic.
“After, Sidous?” Maul asks, a slight edge returning to his voice. You don’t meet his gaze, not yet.
“You’ve spent your whole life in anger. In pain. You’re chasing down those who’ve wronged you, but what will you do when you succeed? What comes after?” You’re absentmindedly rubbing your thumb across his knuckles, feeling as the air starts to thicken with tension. You don't bring yourself to look at him yet. Maul doesn’t say a word. You feel like you’re making a mistake by laying all out on the table like this, but you just keep talking. Rolling along through your thoughts as you finally tell him the things you had spent years thinking about in secret.
“Will there come a time when your revenge is enough? I mean, what about settling down? Finding a place to stay. Students to teach who will listen. A home, a family-”
“A Family?” Maul stops you. There's a moment of silence as your stomach falls. Shit. You didn’t mean to say that.
“I, well, yes. I- uh…” You stutter out, still refusing to meet his gaze. It was only a matter of time before he knew. Before you chose to ask him. You close your eyes and take a deep breath before building the courage to finally look at him. His face is unreadable, masked by that same seriousness he always seems to carry.
“I’m… I’m getting older, Maul. You are too.” You say, truthfully. It feels good to say, like you’re letting a weight off of your chest.
“You want a child?” Maul asks, brows furrowing. You pause for a small moment, biting your lip in your nervousness.
“With you. Yes,” You admit. Maul is silent. He says nothing. He shows nothing. You can’t bear to keep looking at him, so you pull away from his hold.
“Forget it, if that’s not what you want,” You mumble, turning away from him. You don’t make it far before he catches you by your wrist, his grip like a steel chain.
“Love.” He calls out to you, a softness to his voice that you don’t hear often. “If this is something you’re sure about…”
“More than anything,” You reply, without a second doubt. Maul pulls you back towards him, ever so slightly. Maul is unreadable to many, but you can see his conflicted thoughts. You know he’s hesitant when it comes to attachments. Everything he knows pushes against them. And yet, he’s been looking for companionship for a long time. Looking for some kind of family, for trust and loyalty. You want him to find that in you. With you.
“Then, who am I to deny your needs?” Maul says, quietly. He doesn’t reach out to you when he says it, or pull you into his arms. He’s just standing there, hand on your wrist. The words surprise you, hell, they fluster you in a way you weren't expecting.
“I- uhm…” You’re unable to form a reply, face quickly becoming heated as you blush. Maul raises an eyebrow at you.
“What? You said you want something from me. I’m telling you to take it.” He states, bluntly.
“Don’t word it like that!” You scold, unused to the feeling of being so flustered.
“And why not?” Maul asks you, and for once, you’re absolutely speechless. A cocky smile begins to creep across his face at the sight. He begins to crowd you backwards, and you take careful steps to keep up with his movements.
“Don’t hesitate now, dear. You’ve already come out with the truth.” Maul purrs, his amusement evident in his tone. You spent so much time afraid to look him in the eye, and now you can’t seem to look away. Your back hits one of the speeders in your shop, leaving you with nowhere left to go. You bite your lip nervously as Maul chuckles, trapping you in with his arms. One hand comes up to take hold of your chin, his thumb pulling your bottom lip free from your teeth, slowly brushing against the swell of it.
“...I think I rather prefer you this shy.” Maul rumbles, leaning in close. His forehead touches your own, his breath soft against your face. Your eyes flutter closed in anticipation, eagerly waiting for the press of his lips. But it never comes. You open your eyes, and Maul is just looking at you, that same cocky look on his face.
“...what are you…?” You ask, voice lower than a whisper.
“I gave you an order, dearest,” Maul says, so close that he’s simply teasing you at this point.
“If you want something. Take it.” His hand trails to the back of your skull, lingering. You huff at his words. If that’s what he wanted, that’s what he would get.
You surge forward, catching his lips a little violently. Maul reacts immediately, pulling you into him so eagerly that it’s a wonder he got you to break before he did. He’s always run hot, but his skin is practically burning your own as your hands slip underneath his robes. You caress the familiar contours of his body, trailing down to his lower abdomen, thumbing his waistband teasingly before sliding back up to his collarbone. His robes open easily, practically falling off of him as you push them off his shoulders.
Maul growls against your lips, pushing you further against the speeder as his hands drift down to the base of your shirt, not to be outdone. You let out a soft sigh at the touch, his hands trailing up till they're just below your breasts, before trailing back down again. He pulls away from the kiss, and you can’t help but chase after his lips. He chuckles at the action, but he doesn't return to the kiss. Instead, he kisses your jawline, trailing down to your neck. You move your head over to the side to give him more room.
“You’re being awfully giving right now.” You mumble, looking for a reaction from him. He leaves a sharp bite on your neck in response, causing you to gasp, a grin spreading across your face.
“Am I?” He asks, nails trailing across the skin of your lower back. “I hadn’t realised.” Maul’s hands trail up your back, and he rips the fabric of your bra strap in one easy movement. You gasp at the action, before he’s pulling off your shirt and the remnants of the fabric in one go. His kisses move down your chest as you fumble with his belt, finally managing to pull the damn thing off of him as his hand moves up, taking one breast in his hold. He caresses you, uncharacteristically softly, nipping and sucking on the fragile skin.
You moan, ever so softly, and the noise has him practically growling. He lets go of your breast, catching you in another strong kiss. Your teeth clink together with his, his teeth biting into your lip as he encourages you to open your mouth for him.
“I am going to kiss you again.” He rumbles, pulling away from you ever so slightly. “-and by the time I’m satisfied, I want these off.” One of his hands slips between your waistband and the skin of your lower back, and you shiver from the heat of him. He’s never once been satisfied when it comes to you, but you humor him anyway as his lips press against your own. Your belt, simple compared to his own, comes off quickly and easily. You don't bother going layer by layer, knowing full well a strip tease only ends with you having to buy more clothing. You drop both your pants and your underwear all in one go. Maul lets out a satisfied hum when he finally pulls back from you.
“Good girl.” He practically purrs, helping you step out of them. His hands trail down, one sliding around to the small of your back, while the other slides further south. You gasp, tucking your face into the crook of his neck as his fingers find your clit, pressing against it lightly. You try not to clench your thighs, realising that you’ve been without him longer than you had realised. You’re overly sensitive, and he loves it. You hear him let out another low chuckle as his fingers dip further, embarrassingly wet noises coming from you as he teases your slit. His fingers are so, so close to being inside of you, his fingertips catching on your entrance just slightly before he pulls away again.
“Don’t tease.” You scold, a little breathless.
“I’m not teasing. I’m simply awaiting instruction.” Maul replies, entirely too amused for a man who’s hard as rock against you. You huff at him, pulling away from the crook of his neck, but he pulls away from you when you try to kiss him again. You pout at the sight of his smile, your face twisting as his fingers begin to slowly take the plunge. You can help but let out a whimper as they work through your dripping core, reaching deep, deep inside of you before they scissor, stretching you open, bit by bit.
“Tell me what you want,” Maul says. You feel a little embarrassed at the thought of what he’s asking. What were you supposed to say? Please put your cock in me? That would be entirely mortifying.
Still, you look at him. The small spark in his eyes that you don’t see that often. You think of his skin against yours, and there truly is only one thing you want above all else.
“You.” You let out, less than a whisper.
“Charming, but not an answer.” Maul hums, so close you can feel his breath on your lips.
“That is my answer. I want you.” You repeat. Maul seems to stop for a moment. His eyebrows furrow. You knew this look. He’s looking within you. Searching for something. Truth, maybe.
“...Just you.” You repeat. His breath catches, and he curses. The next few moments are a blur. Maul expertly
knocks your knees out from under you, catching you before you fall too far, and laying you down onto the concrete floor. It’s not the most comfortable place he’s taken you, but you’d be a fool to turn him away now. Not when you are both so close to getting exactly what you want.
You barely get his pants pulled down before he’s on you, pulling open your thighs as he takes his hard cock in his hands, sliding it between your wet folds. He curses at the sudden sensation, the head of his cock catching against your clit every time. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, but fuck did it feel good.
“Not that I’m complaining, but isn’t this a little soon?” You ask, biting your lip. “I’ve barely been able to touch you. You don’t want me to-” Maul cuts you off in a kiss, muffling your sounds against him.
“I thought you wanted me to give you a child?” Maul asks. He pulls back a little too far, the head of his cock catching on your slit for just a moment, before he continues to tease you by sliding it through your dripping folds. His hands slowly move up your body, stopping to caress your breasts for just a moment before they slide down your shoulders, his hands lacing with your own as he uses them to pull you even closer to his kneeling form.
“You’d rather me waste my seed on your hands?” He asks, unlacing your fingers and rubbing his thumbs across the back of your hands, before they move again, grabbing hold of your legs.
“Your thighs?” Maul asks you, firmly grasping the soft, squishy flesh before he pushes them up to his shoulders. He presses your thighs together, sliding his cock between the slick skin with a groan of pleasure.
“Why, My love, would I do that?” He asks, “-when I can put it right where you want it?” Maul thrusts forward, suddenly, hitting home in just one singular movement. You let out a shocked moan, adjusting to the delicious stretch of his cock that you know so well.
“Fuck.” The curse falls from your mouth, and Maul lets out a dark chuckle at the sound. He gives you a small moment of reprieve, but slowly begins to pull out, his skin pressing against your inner walls so perfectly you want to cry. He thrusts into you again, deep and sturdy, but not rough. If there was one thing that Maul was good at during sex, it was consistency. His fingers dig into your thighs, his face scrunched in pleasure as he lets out deep, low moans. Every thrust inside of you is even, reaching deep inside of you. Hard enough to make your hands curl against the concrete, desperate for something to hold onto.
The whines you’re letting out are embarrassing and outright lewd. The sounds of his hips slapping against yours echo throughout the shop, bouncing off the walls. Hell, your head smacks the concrete eventually, the impact is an instant flash of pain throughout the incredible pleasure.
Maul notices the action immediately, and he’s quick to drop your thighs, letting them fall to the side as he continues his thrusts. He snakes a hand underneath your head, protecting you from the harshness of the concrete. His other arm keeps him propped up as he kisses you deeply, his tongue finding its way inside of your mouth. His hips shift with the new position, rolling into you just right- hitting the perfect spot inside of you that only he has ever seemed to find.
You know he’s close when his steady thrusts begin to stutter. A line of split connects your mouths when he finally pulls away from the kiss, forehead resting against your own as he works through the building pleasure. He adjusts his hand, pulling you forward just a bit so that he can move his strong arm underneath your head to keep himself steady without having to compromise your comfort. His now free hand then goes south, rubbing firm circles into your clit in the way he knows drives you crazy.
The pleasure inside of you is quickly hitting its peak, but Maul is a step ahead of you. His orgasm comes with desperate thrusts, a rough growl releasing from his throat as thick ropes of cum flood your cunt in warm spurts. You’re so, so close, and Maul just keeps going. His thrusts return to that steady pace, fighting against his own overstimulation to give you the release you so deserve. The pressure on your clit and his continuous assault on your G-spot are quick to finally do you in, your thighs clenching and wrapping around him as you hit your peak. Your hips twitch and thrust up to meet his slowing pace, a whimper working its way out of your throat as he leads you through your orgasm. Maul curses at the squeezing, fluttering feeling as you cum on his cock, and you swear you feel him cum a second time as his hips finally stop.
The two of you lay there for a moment, breathing heavily. Maul’s head falls to the crook of your neck, careful of his horns as he presses absent-minded kisses to your skin.
He doesn’t let you rest on the hard floor for long. Maul rolls onto his side before grabbing hold of your arms. He maneuvers you easily, pressing your back into his chest as he brings you both to a seated position. You feel boneless, letting him move you however he wants, as long as he is still pressed against your skin.
“Did you get what you were hoping for, dearest?” Maul hums. You laugh through heavy breaths, leaning your head back against him.
“It’s going to take a few weeks before we know that, my love.” You reply to him. You slowly realise that one of his hands has woven around your stomach, reaching down to your cunt. You whimper against him as the tips of his fingers drag upwards, collecting the cum that was slowly leaking out of you. He pushes the sticky substance back into you, fingering your sensitive cunt carefully as he plunges it as far as it can go.
“Well then, you shouldn’t be wasting a single drop. Of course, I won’t be opposed to trying again."
Warnings; Canon-typical violence and threat, nightmare, bit of self hatred but comfort accompanying the hurt, Maul’s somewhat erratic/contradictory thought processes are a sign of his trauma
Pairings; Maul (Star Wars) x Reader (gender neutral as always)
More Maul… how would he comfort a partner (established relationship) after waking them up from a nightmare? What if the nightmare was about him..? I really enjoyed writing this one, let me know if you liked it 😁
Masterlist
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You were beyond exhausted. Your legs were visibly shaking, your arms all but useless. Sweat dripped down your face, neck, back. Your mouth was parched, your heart thundering, panic stricken in your chest as you failed to draw breath into your aching lungs. You could barely speak.
“Maul, please,” you hissed, staggering.
You were forced to double over, to lean against your own knees for support. Your muscles trembled. You were barely capable of forcing yourself to remain standing. Across the darkened training room, illuminated only by the crimson glow of his ignited, double-bladed lightsaber, the Zabrak glared at you with an unmatched fury. His posture perfect, he closed the distance between you in just a couple of short strides. A snarl reverberated around the room and he brought one end of his deadly weapon down in a sharp arc towards your head.
A weak yell tore from your throat with the effort it took to lift your arms above your head, to block the attack with your own single blade. Its red glow was so much weaker than his, a visual taunt of just how outmatched you were.
There was so much strength behind Maul’s swing that you were thrown down face first onto the training mat. Your teeth rang from how hard they snapped together when your jaw met the ground. You tasted blood – you’d bitten your tongue. Without missing a beat, Maul drove his metal foot into your shoulder. The force of it sent your lightsaber flying from your hand, flipped you onto your back. You barely heard your own groan over the telltale white hot agony of a dislocated joint.
“You are weak,” Maul raged above you, uncaring of or perhaps even fuelled by the frightened tears now lining your eyes.
You clutched your damaged shoulder, planting your heels and trying to shove yourself back away from him. You were widening the gap between yourself and your weapon, but it had already landed somewhere behind Maul. You doubted your ability to even get to your feet; there was no chance you would manage to get past him to reach it.
Maul leapt towards you and his lightsaber missed your throat by an inch, because you had somehow found the strength to bodily throw yourself to the side. You scrabbled for purchase on the training mats with one hand, barely getting a knee beneath your body weight before Maul’s next kick collided with your ribs. More than one cracked under the impact. The pain was too much for you to even make a noise, stealing the oxygen straight from your lungs as you collapsed for a second time. You lay there gasping for air that wouldn’t come, completely and utterly vulnerable. Your body curled in on itself instinctively.
“You are worthless!” Maul roared.
He dragged you up towards him by the throat, far too easily, your head turning fuzzy as his grip constricted your air and blood flow. His face was quickly fading into a blur of black and crimson, even though his eyes blazed like twin flames. Somehow, losing your battle with consciousness, you managed to pick up on the second glint of colour from behind the fiery orange. It was bright and hard, a reflection of the light from his blade. The eyeshine of a predator.
Maul raised his weapon slowly, deliberately drawing out your fear. He brought the edge just close enough to your jaw to make your skin prickle from the heat.
“Maul,” you wheezed, a last ditch attempt as you clawed his wrist futilely. “Maul, please…”
Your blunt nails scratched weakly at his red and black skin, his attention never wavering from you for a moment. The room was going dark. You hadn’t even managed to hurt him. He paused, an ugly sneer twisting into a facsimile of a smile.
He raised the lightsaber above his head, making a show of how it cut through the air as he aimed for your throat –
“Maul, no!”
The shriek you gave when you finally woke up to find his face mere inches from yours, eyeshine glinting through the darkness exactly like in the dream, was unholy. You scrambled back from him, hands against his chest as you shoved away from the gentle – painful, deadly – grip he had on the back of your neck. He watched you silently. The Zabrak moved a single arm to click on the bedside lamp, otherwise staying perfectly still beneath you. The light revealed his brows to be slightly raised in what you could only describe as surprise. You drew in a deep, shuddering breath, your hands shaking violently against his skin, fingers splayed over his collar. You could still taste the blood, but after a moment you realised that it was real. You had actually bitten your tongue.
Another breath while you calmed down enough to understand that you were in bed. He had been holding you to him, his arms gentle and his touch reassuring. He now had one open palm raised in the space between you, a placation and a visual reassurance that he was unarmed. Your heart thundered and your breaths were frantic to match.
You were safe. He had you, he would only ever protect you – never hurt you. You were safe.
“Maul,” you whispered, relief crashing through you.
You all but collapsed on top of him, tucking yourself into his chest and holding onto him as best you could manage. His arms were around you instantly, his hand on the back of your head grounding, protective. He watched the way your whole body was shaking, how you curled around him like he was your only hope for survival.
“My love,” he murmured, his voice ever so soft. “It was a nightmare, nothing more. You are with me now, I have you.”
You swallowed, forced to quickly blink away an onslaught of senseless tears. It had seemed so real. But Maul had never once hurt you badly during all the time you had trained with him. He was a harsh teacher, and he consistently pushed you to your limits, but he was the best fighter you knew of by a long shot. And you knew the effort he put into teaching you fairly, how viciously he avoided renewing the cycle of trauma from his own training. You trusted him with the absolute certainty that all his hatred and capacity for violence would never be turned on you.
That still didn’t make the terror dissipate quickly. Maul was more than capable of dealing you far worse damage than his nightmare counterpart, especially with how completely he outmatched you in a fight. And his words from the dream were your own fears come to light, which made them so much harder to shake off. You were more afraid still of the possibility that Maul might think of you in the same way as you thought of yourself.
You realised belatedly that your nightmare had disturbed Maul’s rest as well as your own.
“Sorry for waking you,” you muttered, your words muffled where you were largely hiding your face against his collar.
You felt him shake his head.
“No, none of that. It does not matter.”
His voice was so steady, so assured, that you felt yourself relaxing against him. He gave you a moment to gather yourself before speaking again.
“Would you like to tell me what happened?”
You shook your head vehemently. You knew well enough how his mind worked, and the last thing you needed was for him to think this proved you were secretly terrified of him, or that you thought he might one day turn on the only person he’d ever decided he could afford to trust.
“No, it’s okay,” you told him instead, thoroughly unconvincing.
“No?” He parroted. “Well, given that it was my name you were calling, I think perhaps you should.”
Your blood turned icy cold in your veins. You’d been talking in your sleep?
“Did I say anything else?” You asked, dreading the answer and knowing he would have easily picked up on your increased heart rate and shortened breaths.
“Some. You seemed to be pleading – begging, really. I couldn’t quite understand why.”
You swallowed again to give yourself a second to think. Maul’s scrutiny, even from above your head, felt like a physical weight. His voice said you held his full attention, which meant there was no way he would simply let this go. But you were too shaken to figure out what you needed to say.
“It doesn’t matter, it was just a dream.”
“Dreams can be important. As you know, they can sometimes represent visions-”
“This one wasn’t.”
Maul paused, his patience starting to fray a little at the edges. He was going to the trouble of trying to help you and you were obstinately refusing to let him.
“You know I could just find out for myself,” he murmured gently, fingers tapping the back of your head as if to the beat of some death march. “You’re hardly shielding your thoughts from me.”
Kriff.
You panicked to pull up your fragile mental walls. But you were still learning how to control them, so instead of locking the images of the dream away, you focused in on them with all your might. In the process, you projected one out which was so vivid, it might as well have been a holopic. And Maul hadn’t intended to look inside your mind, truly he hadn’t. But when he saw himself, his weapon drawn and his fighting stance accurate to the finest detail, curiosity had overtaken him.
It was over in seconds. You knew he’d seen the whole thing and you felt the moment his presence retreated from your mind like the relative calm following a roiling wave. You reeled back, supporting yourself above him on your elbows so you could see his reaction – or non reaction, as it seemed then.
An apology was the first thing to come to your lips, as if you could be held accountable for something your subconscious had invented.
“For what?” He asked, voice rich as velvet. “For seeing me as you believe I am?”
The bitter tone cut through all your fear like a bucket of ice cold water. Maul shifted as if to try and create distance between you and you followed without hesitation. You pressed your weight down on top of him for what little good that would do, unafraid as his eyes narrowed to a glare and his brow furrowed.
“That is not how I see you,” said fiercely, holding his gaze even as he challenged you to back down.
“Perhaps it is not how you wish to see me,” he conceded, “but that does not change the facts.”
“The facts being that my subconscious invented a threat for me to be afraid of in my sleep.”
When you held your ground, the Zabrak snarled. Literally. It vibrated through his chest and into yours with all the threat of a predator about to tear apart a prey item limb from limb, but still you didn’t move.
“I am not afraid of you,” you growled, because for all Maul’s posturing you were absolutely certain you were safe with him. “And I do not believe for a second that you would intentionally hurt me.”
You closed your eyes and lightly rested your forehead against his to prove your point. You sensed the way he stilled, the disbelief that you would dare to take such a risk with him. Followed hotly by the anger that you would have the ignorance, the complacency to think him so weak, so enthralled by personal attachment that he wouldn’t –
You cupped his face with both hands and pressed your lips to his. You felt his downward spiral grind to a halt as he returned the kiss, as he laid a calculated hand on your back. He was studying you with a brutal efficiency when you pulled away, thoroughly analysing everything about you.
“I don’t believe any of what you’re thinking,” you told him, brave in the face of his scrutiny. Braver now that you could still feel the warmth of his hand through your nightshirt. “I… But I know what you must think of me.”
Saying it out loud made your mouth taste like ash. You were inviting him to bring your worst fears to light and consolidate them, to let yourself hear the words in the his voice. Maul slipped a finger beneath your chin to return your gaze to his. The lamp had turned his eyes into a beautiful contrast of amber light and darkness, and they were no longer piercing or angry. The creases around them were smoothed for once.
“You may be weaker than I wish you were,” he said softly, “but you are learning. That is what matters.”
Your eyes began to prickle against your will, and when he slipped a gentle hand around the back of your head, you took the opportunity to close them. The praise, coming from him, was almost too much to bear.
“Yeah, okay,” you muttered, hardly audible because that was all you could manage around the well of emotion lodged in your throat.
You tucked your face back into Maul’s neck, allowing yourself to even out. The Zabrak’s hands traced soothing paths along your ribs and spine. He took care to repeatedly run his touch over the imaginary injuries he had dealt you during the dream, to make sure you didn’t flinch as much as to provide you comfort. Sleep didn’t come back to you for a while, but Maul was quite willing to stay awake with you regardless, just in case you needed him.
Summary: Clan Mudhorn makes its way to The Tribe and the two outsiders of the family become more acquainted with Mandalorian life.
Author's Note: I'm writing this AN at 10:47pm on May 4th after having suffered through eating the Burger King Bounty Hunter meal and going out on the hunt for Mando merch with my fiancée. As I sit here surrounded by Din and Grogu stuff I most certainly did not need with a belly full of satisfyingly ache-inducing fast food that came in special Mandalorian boxes, I feel very grateful for the release of the movie later this month. After feeling disappointed with season 3, during a horrible Marvel dry spell no less, it just feels so good to see my boys everywhere and feel that thrill inside me again. I hope all of you are just as full of sci-fi whimsy as I am, and hopefully this new chapter of Out of This World can add a little more to your heart. I love this story so much, from the bottom of my heart.
It took me a long time to get here, but here I am! I've been trying to write this chapter on and off again for about a year at this point and it wasn't until about two weeks ago that the veil was lifted and I was finally able to make it over the hump of writers block. I'm so thrilled to have this chapter out of my brain, and to be on to the subsequent chapters!
As a treat to both myself and my ever patient readers, this chapter opens with something raunchy. You're welcome.
As always, * = a break in the scene or change in character POV
Mando'a:
aalar bid jate, cyare - Feels so good, beloved
Ner verd, ni linibar bic. Aalar bid jate! - My warrior, I need it. Feels so good!
Gedet'ye, Din! Gedet'ye! Gotal'ur ni olaror! Gedet'ye, ner verd! Ni linibar bic, gedet'ye! - Please, Din! Please! Make me come! Please, my warrior! I need it, please!
cyar'ika - sweetheart or darling
buy'ce - helmet | aliit - family | riduur - spouse
riduurok - marriage vow | Ni kar'taylir darasuum - I will know you forever (I love you)
Warnings: SMUT right out of the gate. Anal. Fingering. Light bondage. Dirty talk involving Mando'a (I used a dictionary and took the liberty to make up sentences. It's imo hot, so sue me, lol). Angst over Din's helmet, from both parties but for different reasons. Conversations about life and the future. Din and E admit to being bi if you squint. Light sci-fi violence. Cursing. A few new OCs get introduced. Mentions of children dealing with loss. Grogu deals with a bully. I've taken more liberties with the canon to serve my own needs. Din's past has some new light shed on it. Din and E are so in love it's sickening. As per usual, reader is really just an OC at this point. Earthling, you are my muse and I love you dearly. I try to be like you every day.
Strictly 18+, Minors DNI
AO3
*****
“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you? That’s it, cyar’ika. Fucking hell. You’re such a good girl, love. My good fucking girl,” Din Djarin’s unmodulated, husky voice coos in your ear. Little grunts and oomphs and whines leak out of him between his words, and all the while your own fluids leak out of you. It’s all very messy in the best way.
His nose nuzzles into the flesh just above your jawline, mustache tickling your chin. “Take all of me, cyar’ika. I know you can do it, love.” Then he’s grunting, “Fuck, so fucking tight. It’s never felt like this before. Maker, aalar bid jate, cyare,” he trails off in Mando’a.
Words aren’t really an option in your current state, so you only whine helplessly in response to Din’s wanton ramblings. He’s so lost in the heat of his own passion, talking you through this new sexual experience like your own horny personal trainer and loving every second of it. It’s clear as day in his tone.
“You’re already doing so well, cyar’ika. Just a little more.” His tongue traces the edge of your earlobe for a moment before he nibbles on it, and your core flares dangerously hot in response to the new sensations he’s causing. “Almost there, fuck."
Every inch of your body is aflame in a way you’re not used to as he presses every inch of his cock into your ass, which up until about ten minutes ago was pretty much the last major thing the two of you had yet to try in the, for lack of a better word, bedroom.
It’s always like this when he’s got you blindfolded, yet somehow this time it’s all brand new. Normal touch always feels so intense with the blindfold on, but now it’s like you’ve taken a dose of ecstasy and you’re in the middle of a hard wave of it. Only there’s no drug, and tonight things have been dialed up to fifteen. Maybe even twenty.
Your hands are cuffed behind your back, your knees are practically touching your ears in the position he's got you pinned in, and Din’s thumb is shoved deep into your mouth to silence your moans as he drives into you with his damp forehead pressed to yours. As you suckle, whimpering all the while, he’s pressing the pad of his opposable digit ever so slightly against your tongue. The loss of one of your senses, along with the loss of control over your own arms and mouth, have you spiraling into a submissive mindset. Din’s here, he’s the only person in the universe you would ever trust to have you in this vulnerable of a position, and you’re loving every delicious moment of it.
The sensations taking over your body are unlike anything you’ve experienced before, even though you’ve tried anal play a few times in the past. But that was a long time ago, when you were naive and insecure. It had been another life with an ex boyfriend back on Earth you barely remember. Whoever he was certainly hadn’t been as proficient in the act of fucking you as Din Djarin is now, in this new life you wouldn’t trade for anything. With Din your entire body is always aflame in the best possible way, and right now the deliciousness of it is nearly too much for your overwhelmed senses.
“Fuck, cyar’ika. Your body feels so fucking good,” he breathes desperately in your ear, and then Din’s thumb is replaced by his tongue as he kisses you deeply.
The rough, intense neediness of it is dripping all over your essence and you know in an instant that The Force is helping you to feel every bit of his passion for you. His hands come to cup your face and it’s as if he’s willing you to feel his emotions. And perhaps he is. Wave after wave of intense feelings swirl through the either to co-mingle with your own, causing your eyes to roll back behind the pink fabric shielding them from the unknown visage of your exposed lover.
Nope, no drugs. Just the man you hope to call your husband one day with his cock buried all the way to the hilt in your ass for the first time.
He moves an index finger to softly circle your clit. Every inch of his sweaty flesh is all over yours, and it’s as if he finally found some sort of angle to make your bodies lock together more than they ever had before. It’s bliss in the purest form of the word.
“Din, fuck,” you’re whining, feeling the edge of your orgasm beginning to build. “Ner verd, ni linibar bic. Aalar bid jate!”
Din chuckles handsomely, slowing his thrusts. Both things only serve to drive you mad with need. “Speaking Mando’a while I take your ass? You really are a good girl for me, aren’t you, cyar’ika?”
His voice is just above your face, the lilt in it full of humor. “Begging me, huh? Begging me for what?”
His finger halts its ministrations, and you groan deeply in frustration as the budding orgasm quickly fades.
“You know what, goddammit,” you grunt, body suddenly unsure as to whether or not it’s growing tired of the intrusion now that he’s slowed his gyrations down nearly to a stop. It really only feels good when there’s movement.
Then a nipple is captured lightly between a set of teeth, which bare down for a fraction of a second, and a sharp cry erupts from your throat. He chuckles again, “I’m sorry, but I only respond to polite requests, cyar’ika.”
“Since when?” You bite back in a bratty tone, and unsurprisingly receive another real but soft bite to the other nipple in response. You can’t help but grin, despite wanting to play along that he’s holding some sort of power over you.
Between heavy breaths you plead, “Alright, alright! I get it. I’m sorry for being a brat. Please, Din. I need to cum so fucking bad. And I wanna feel you fill me up with yours. We never get to do that. Just the thought of it has me close. Please keep going.”
A finger finds your clit again for a moment, and then you feel the thick digit enter your neglected cunt. The gasp you let out morphs into a deep wanton moan as that finger is followed shortly by two of its brothers. Suddenly you’re fuller than you’ve ever been in your life, and Din begins thrusting into your stretched ass once more. Gently at first, then he’s bucking into you with an intensity that nearly makes you forget your own name. His fingers find your g-spot, his thumb your clit. This time when the orgasm begins to build a slew of curses and unintelligible things begin to fall from your mouth in a voice you’re not even sure is your own.
“I want to hear you beg for it in Mando’a, ner cyare,” Din demands lovingly in your ear.
Without a second thought, what is surely becoming your second language begins pouring from you, “Gedet'ye, Din! Gedet'ye! Gotal'ur ni olaror! Gedet'ye, ner verd! Ni linibar bic, gedet'ye!”
“Good fucking girl,” Din sighs happily into your neck, and drives home both his fingers and his cock until the two of you crest over the peak of ecstasy one right after the other.
*****
Your eyes flutter open suddenly, and nothing in the universe could have ever prepared you for what you see when the dust in your eyes settles. Shock ripples through your aching body when you are briefly greeted with a soft looking mess of brown curly hair mere inches from your nose. Immediately, you squeeze your eyes shut again with a sharp but quiet gasp, and all at once you know that you’re in deep shit.
The last thing you remember is laying there with your blindfolded head on his chest, so the two of you must have fallen asleep holding one another in the aftermath of your passions. Thankfully, Din is still asleep with his back to you so you haven’t seen his face whatsoever. But Jesus fucking Christ you saw the back of his head. You’re not sure it was even real, but it has to be.
Like a fool, you pry one eye open again, just to check reality, and that same brown hair is right there in front of your face. If your eye could actually slam shut, the noise would have probably woken him.
Holy fucking shit. It wasn’t your imagination. For a fraction of a moment you actually saw the back of Din’s head, and you’re not sure if you can handle what it’s doing to you. The taste of a tan ear’s soft upper slope, a sprinkle of gray mixed in with the dark brown mess of locks. It was unmistakably him while also being so foreign to you that it’s actively breaking your brain. It could have been anybody, but it was him.
It makes you both crave to see the rest of him and feel like you’ve completely betrayed him all at once.
The fucking blindfold, you think. You still feel it tied to your head, but the knot must have come loose and the thing slipped up onto your forehead as you slept. How could the two of you have been so reckless? All at once you’re losing it, and tears begin falling freely as you cling to his back.
“Cyar’ika?” Din’s sleepy voice stirs along with his body. “Is something wrong?”
“Don’t move, hang on,” you say sharply, moving to slide the fabric back down over your eyes. “Okay, you’re good to roll over.”
“Are you in pain? I know we were careful but I still hurt you, didn’t I? Shit, this was a bad idea, wasn’t it?” Din’s voice is laced with worry as he turns back over to face you. His hands are already roaming your body, looking for the source of whatever ails you.
You grab for his hands to halt him. “No, I’m okay. I’m not in pain, not really.”
He sounds sleepily confused, which under different circumstances would probably sound adorable. “Then what is it? I thought I heard you sniffle as if you were crying.”
Voice wavering, you shakily tell him the truth, “The blindfold, Din. It must have moved when we fell asleep. I-I opened my eyes and… fuck, I-I almost saw you. I almost broke your creed because I was careless. I feel so horrible for this, Din. I’m so sorry.” For a moment you wanted to debate not telling him, but that moment didn’t last very long. In your heart you know that the guilt of not telling him would eat away at you.
He’s quiet for a moment, and then you feel him move forward and cup your cheek in one hand. His thumb rubs soothing lines into your soft skin. “What did you see?” He asks, voice soft.
You’re surprised by how calm he sounds, and the tears begin flowing freely from your eyes again, soaking the pink fabric of your blindfold. “I saw your hair. And a little bit of your ear, Din. Oh god, I am so fucking sorry.”
“Please stop apologizing,” he says quietly. “Nothing happened, and you’re not to blame. Nor are you careless.”
“But I could have ruined everything for you,” you whisper in reply, terrified.
“You didn’t, though.” Din says simply. So simply that you truly do not know how to feel about his calm tones. “I am not upset with you over something that didn’t happen, and the responsibility lies on both of our shoulders. I should have put the helmet back on, but laying with you felt good and I didn’t want to just yet. That’s on me. We can use this experience as a reminder to be more careful in the future, but I promise that I’m not mad and you do not need to be afraid that you’ve done something wrong.”
Din’s words sink into your being for a moment and you allow them time to really resonate with you. Instead of spiraling about this, you consciously choose to trust him. “Alright, then. If you’re confident that we haven’t completely screwed up, I will let this go. I just never want to be the reason that you break the creed, even if it’s an accident. I don’t know if I could live with myself if that happened.”
“I know, and I love you for how much you care about this,” Din says earnestly, the loving tone ever present in his voice. He kisses you once more, and from the way he cradles you like a precious artifact you can tell that this is the last kiss you’ll get for the time being.
Once he lifts up, you breathe, “I love you too. Ni kar'taylir darasuum.”
His lips find your forehead for a moment and then they are gone just as quickly. “Ni kar'taylir darasuum. If Greef Karga had told me a year ago on this night that I would one day declare true love for you in the tongue of my people, I would have scoffed in the man’s face.”
Your heart swells at the realization of what his words mean, a grin spreading across your half covered face. “Wait a second, is that today?!”
With the sound of a hiss, Din’s voice is suddenly modulated once again. “Indeed it is, love. One year. An entire cycle of life together. A year of friendship. The Razor Crest is all the better for it.”
He lifts the blindfold from you, and the sight of his helmet clad head upon his naked body is a sight for sore eyes. As much as you plan to secretly cherish that little sliver of the human man underneath forever, his beskar face is the one you fell in love with after all.
“Well that explains why you wanted to try something different tonight,” you chuckle, feeling the effects of such intense sex throughout your body as you look him over.
Your cosmic companion shrugs, a chuckle escaping through the crackle of his speakers. “I thought it might make things feel special.”
He gets up and offers you his hands, the two of you standing stark naked in the cockpit of the Razor Crest once he helps pull you to your feet. It would surely be a sight to behold if a rogue ship were to fly by.
You can’t help but grin. “Oh, I feel special alright. And grimy. I think we could both use a good shower before we go to bed.”
“Too bad it’s not big enough for us to shower together.”
“Too bad it’s not a jacuzzi. I could really use a good soak and some jets right about now.”
“What the hell is a jacuzzi?!”
*****
Later, as Din lays pressed between the wall of the cot and your freshly cleaned, ample body, he finds himself unable to sleep while he contemplates what just transpired up in the cockpit. After an entire year of being incredibly careful, this is the closest call the two of you have ever had when it comes to his face. And honestly? Din’s really not that upset. You took the situation far more gravely than he did.
“I just never want to be the reason that you break the creed…”
Your words filter through his mind, his chest tightening in response. If there was ever a reason for Din to break his creed, you and Grogu are surely it for him. Can’t you see that?
And why are you so adamant about it not being you?
Din has a feeling he knows you well enough to understand. If he had to guess, he’d say that you’ve been blamed for things your entire life. Blamed for things that were never your responsibility to begin with. As much as he’s watched you grow in the last year, that one is clearly a wound that still runs deep.
Of course the idea of Din breaking his creed because of you would terrify you. But you haven’t stopped to consider that it wouldn’t be for anyone other than Din himself. Yes, you are ultimately a major part of why he’s been able to think about this subject positively in the first place. But so is Grogu. So are a lot of things, and he damns himself every single day.
A year ago Din thought he had everything he needed in life. He had his armor, his creed, his ship, and his mission to help the kid. Then you came aboard the Razor Crest on that fateful Nevarro evening, fundamentally and forever shifting his perspective on life in much less than a single year.
Not even three months into the arrangement, Din already knew that his existence had been incredibly lacking and incredibly lonely before you and Grogu. Stagnated in the act of endless bounty hunting and loving no one in the process. His life had been simple and repetitive, and until the two of you he thought that was all he needed to get by. But Din Djarin no longer wants to repeat himself. Din no longer wants to just get by. He wants a wife and a child. He wants a house that stays in one place.
He wants to cultivate a happy life in said house for the three of you. One without blaster fire and danger around every corner. One with a garden, a fully stocked kitchen, and a real bedroom for Grogu like you’ve talked about. A place where the two of you could raise him peacefully and without much worry.
When Din fantasizes about a life like this, often he envisions himself without his helmet upon his head. He envisions gazing directly into your eyes after waking up on a lazy, sunny morning in a huge bed. He thinks about what it would be like to see you blush up at him from his lusty facial expressions, or to make eye contact while he sends you over the edge of pleasure. Din imagines how it would feel to make Grogu laugh with silly faces, and for the two of you to truly see the love Din holds for each of you both in his dark eyes.
Din has lived most of his life as a Mandalorian, but isn’t he simply human first and foremost? What would it be like to live life as one of those for a change?
But what if you were to dislike what he has to offer? What if you saw his true face and felt as if you no longer wanted him? He can’t imagine that would be true, but there’s that little bit of human insecurity flooding his mind. Just because he thinks himself to be handsome doesn’t necessarily mean that you would agree.
Lately, when he’s alone in the fresher examining himself, he’s had the same ridiculously human questions bouncing around his exposed head.
Would you find him as attractive as he hopes he is? Is he foolish for even thinking this way? Surely the love you have for him would surpass any dislikes you may have, right?
The last time someone saw his face, he had been a child. Not a single living thing has seen the face of the man he’s become. He hopes the face of that man is one you could love, and he feels he’s an even better man today than the one who met you a year ago.
In his heart Din believes that he is a better man thanks to you and Grogu, and not-so deep down he wants the two of you to know that man completely. Face and all. The blasphemy and hypocrisy of this alone should be eating away at him, but his insecurities are doing the job far more than worry over the creed.
If anything, the blasphemous part of him is disappointed that you only saw the back of his head. What if you had seen him completely and everything was just different now whether Din is ready for it to be or not? Would that honestly be so bad? To lay here with his head on a pillow for once? To have his nose buried in your hair?
A soft moan suddenly escapes your lips as you shift around a little in your sleep, the sound of it both bringing Din back to reality and feeling even more blasphemous than he ever has before.
Involuntarily, Din’s lips purse and he moves to kiss you as if he has the freedom to do so. When the reality sinks in that he doesn’t, in fact, have the freedom to do so at all, Din’s heart plunges so deeply into his gut that he nearly moans out loud from the sting of it. Hot tears fill his eyes, and his arms tighten around you as he damns himself again for wishing his helmet was nowhere to be seen.
*****
As Grogu peers curiously around the busy streets of the little seaport town Din’s family seems to have found itself in, loud chirping noises of excitement flutter from the child. The child has always had a certain boldness about him, but ever since the agreement was made that he was to remain with Clan Mudhorn, the little boy’s voice has become noticeably louder. It’s almost as if the certainty of his future has given new life to the child.
He reaches for things and squirms around in Din’s grasp, causing a soft chuckle to hiss from the Mandalorian’s modulator.
“Easy, kiddo,” Din says gently to the kid. “We’re gonna see all there is to see. Don’t get too ahead of yourself just yet.”
Din’s been so preoccupied by his son’s squirming that he hadn’t noticed the lascivious look you’ve been throwing his way for the last moment or so. When he looks over to catch you undressing him with your eyes, however, his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline beneath the beskar.
He can’t help but smile, asking, “What’s on your mind, cyar’ika?”
An embarrassed expression crosses your features the moment you realize you’ve been figured out. With a sheepish grin and a shrug you reply, “Whoops, you caught me. You just look really sexy right now, that’s all.”
“Mm,” Din hums in response, heart straining. He’s momentarily unsure of what else to say as confusion riddles his person. He adores the compliment just as much as he damns it.
As if his lack of a response makes you feel obligated to explain further, you keep going on about it. “It's the lighting, I think. The sun is at just the right angle, so the way it’s hitting your armor is giving you an almost golden hue. God, you really are gorgeous to me, Din. I hope you know how much I mean that.”
His heart downright stings after that last remark. If only she were saying that about my true face, he thinks. But perhaps it is for the best that you cannot see how saddened he is by what you’ve said.
“I love you,” is the only thing he feels is appropriate to say, voice cracking as he says it.
“I love you too.” You smile up at him, seemingly unaware of his emotional state.
That fact alone unsettles him. Surely if you’ve been feeling how fraught he’s been lately you’d tell him, right? Or perhaps this compliment was your way of trying to lift him up because you feel how fraught he’s been?
Either way, you’ve remained oblivious to his feelings the few times this sort of thing has surfaced in recent memory. Perhaps, when it comes to the subject of his face, he’s been unconsciously trying to cloud his emotions from you with some amount of success. If you do sense him at all, you’re not letting on about it.
Instead of paying Din any mind, you redirect your attention down to Grogu. “And I love you, my little Green Bean,” you say, lightly booping his nose with an index finger.
For a moment Din feels a strange sort of panic begin to set in, but when you lift up your eyes and meet Din’s through the visor, his heart settles a little.
Neither of you says much after that, quietly continuing on with the exploration of this new town for a while. The three of you stroll further down the city street towards the public beaches and the closer the party gets to the water, the more each shop seems to stand out as a tourist trap.
Din’s head is full of inner turmoil for most of the walk, until something unrelated clearly catches your eye and blissful distraction finds his overactive brain.
“What do you think about getting Grogu some new clothes?” Your voice cuts through the noise in his head.
Din looks down at the child in his arms, then over at you, puzzled behind the beskar. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug, gesturing to a display of expensive looking children’s beachwear in a storefront window as the three of you pass by. “I feel bad that he wears that same tan robe all the time. I get that he’s a baby, but he deserves to pick out some clothes that make him feel like the best version of himself. I think he would enjoy that.”
Din considers this, thinking about the fact that his child does have fifty years, more than you or Din himself, of life under his tiny belt already. Grogu probably does think about things like that, even if he cannot outwardly express it. “I think that’s a great idea, cyar’ika. The next time we have the extra credits for it, let’s take him to a shop like that and ask him what he would like to wear. Perhaps your connection through The Force can aid us in helping him choose a garment.”
You eye Din almost skeptically, which leaves him even more puzzled for a moment before you explain yourself and he understands why. “Anything he wants? Even something you would consider to be feminine? I want him to know that he has that choice if he wants and he’ll be loved either way. That’s important to me as a parent, Din.”
Din stops walking and looks at you, skeptical in his own way beneath his helmet. “Where is that question coming from?”
“It’s just that some people back on Earth-,” you start, but are cut off by Din’s loud scoff.
He gives a disapproving shake of the head, laughing heartily as your jaw drops in surprise. “Your planet is far too concerned with trivial things like that. The mark of a backwards society if you ask me. No, I will not care if he chooses clothing that one would consider to be feminine.”
“Hey!” You smack a beskar free spot on his arm, a playful smile creeping up your lips. “Only I can talk trash about my home world, thank you very much. You better watch yourself, bucko.”
Din can’t help but roll his eyes, laughing more. “Oh, as if you haven’t said so yourself. Every other fact you tell me about Earth is negative.”
You frown then, looking at him seriously. “Yeah… but, still. I’m not backwards when it comes to that. I was trying to say I’m the opposite. Very open to all that stuff. We’ve never really talked about it and I wanted to make sure we are going to raise Grogu on the same page.”
Din nods, “I understand. And I never implied that you are backwards, love. Simply that Earth has a lot of catching up to do if they ever hope to become a larger part of the universe.”
You shrug, seeming to agree. “I mean, at least I’m bi. Not one hundred percent vanilla.”
“I do not understand what you mean,” Din says, pleased when you go right into an explanation.
“Bi-sexual. It means that I find both male and females attractive. Sorry if that’s weird for you at all. Have we never talked about this?” You sound worried, and Din feels that familiar old thing from when you first met and you were so nervous about being a bother to him. Another sign of how much you’ve grown in the last year. He hasn’t heard that sort of nervousness in your voice in a long time.
Din simply blinks at you, unsure as to why this information would be uncomfortable for him. “Oh. Well, I suppose you can call me that as well.”
Your eyes widen comically. “Wait a second, what?! When you spoke of your ex or whatever she was to you, I figured that was it.”
Din counters, “You said ‘find attractive', you did not specify that I needed to have had a physical experience for it to count. Have you slept with a woman?”
“This is a wild revelation,” you seem to marvel for a moment. Then you realize he asked you a question with a shake of the head. “And, no. No physical experience for me either. Not a requirement. I’ve kissed a few women in my time but that’s about it.”
“Then why is this information about me so shocking?”
“I guess I just really had you type cast as straight.”
“I do not understand ‘type cast’,” Din chuckles, “or straight.”
“‘Straight’ just means you’re into the old school male/female relationships. Type cast is a phrase from the movie business that means one actor keeps getting cast in the same sorts of roles in every movie they are in. Like always playing the bad guy or something like that. But obviously I used it in the context of what we’re talking about to say I just assumed the straight thing about you. Which clearly I shouldn’t have. I’m impressed.”
“Mm, well I don’t know if I could ever see myself in a relationship with another man, but I think that has more to do with the fact that I can’t see myself in a relationship with anyone other than you.” Din says honestly.
It’s not lost on Din that his words cause a reaction in you. The flesh on your cheeks turns crimson and you seemingly have to look away from him for a moment to compose yourself. All the while Grogu continues to babble in Din’s arms, and Din wonders how much of this the boy understands. He likes to think that his blatant open mindedness is not lost on Grogu, but hopes sincerely that the sexual connotation of the conversation is most certainly lost on him.
When you look at him again, the affection in your eyes is unmistakable. “I feel the same way about you. The ship of other people has sailed for me. Unless we ever decide to get really wild one day, but that’s not really on my mind at this point in our lives.”
“Really wild?” He repeats, confused. After the night the two of you just had? He searches your expression for an answer and soon thinks he’s found it. Ah. Do you mean having a group experience? That’s certainly something Din’s heard of, and perhaps felt intrigued by the idea of.
His eyebrows raise once again, and he hums out a simple, “Mm,” in response. “I believe I understand. Perhaps one day we shall, but that’s not something on my mind either.”
“Mm,” you hum back, smirking at him. “It’s a nice fantasy, though.”
“Indeed,” Din agrees with a smirk of his own, trying desperately not to imagine your face buried between the legs of another woman. Thinking like that on a family outing feels wrong for a number of reasons.
You sigh then, almost dreamily, and Din wonders out loud what’s caused it. “What is it, cyar’ika?”
Gesturing to the next window display, this one full of various beauty products, you remark, “Sometimes I miss feeling like a girl.”
Confused, Din asks for more clarification. “What do you mean? You’re quite feminine in my eyes.”
“I know that,” you agree, “but sometimes I wish I had a reason to wear a pretty dress and doll myself up, you know?”
“Doll yourself up?”
“Do my hair and makeup, wear something pretty, make myself look and feel fancy.”
“Ah, I believe I understand. Do you need a reason?”
You shrug, “No, but life in space makes it hard to justify flimsy clothing made purely for aesthetics. Doesn’t help that I impulsively chopped all my hair off, either. Sure, I know it’s like halfway grown back out at this point, but sometimes I worry that it was a mistake. I go back and forth with thinking that it makes me look less girly than I used to. But that was sort of the point. I’ve never said it to you like this, but part of why I cut my hair on Nar Shaddaa was that I wanted to rebel against what I was told was appropriately feminine my whole life. My family always held me to old fashioned Earth standards of beauty. Even after I moved out I was still terrified to truly be myself. I would look at other women who were not afraid to wear their differences on the outside and I would wish for that sort of courage. Being here with you felt like the perfect opportunity to finally be free, plus I loved the idea of having a look that my family would hate.”
Din takes in this information, nodding along with you as you explain. “I’ve never once found your shorter hair to make you seem less feminine. At times you’ve looked more so. I think it has suited you. Truly.”
“I do miss being able to do more with it. I may keep letting it grow back out. I may not. I guess I can do whatever I want, can’t I?.”
“If that would make you feel good, then I support you. But I fear there is little you can do that would make you less beautiful in my eyes.” Din says sincerely.
You squeeze his hand. “Thank you for saying that. Maybe when we get Grogu some clothes I could find myself a dress or something as well.”
“It is true that I’ve never seen you in classically feminine attire. It would certainly be different.” Din’s chest warms at the thought of it, imagining you in gowns of karlini silk.
You grin up at him. “One day you will, chrome dome. One day you will.”
*****
Once on the beach your party walks about two miles down the faintly orange shoreline to find a less crowded area where Grogu can play in the creamsicle colored sand away from any onlookers. You’re so far away from the rest of the public area that you can’t see or hear anyone anymore, having taken the natural curve in the beach around what is essentially a corner of rocks and odd looking palm trees.
You can’t help but grin, looking over at Din as he sits the child down while he surveys the group’s surroundings. This is the first time you’ve been to a proper beach in years, and that was just a crappy boardwalk on the Atlantic. This beach is pretty darn close to the more tropical ones on Earth, aside from the small cosmetic differences in environment. Places you longed for but were too scared to travel to by yourself, and never had the right person in your life to be your travel partner. Gratefulness for this opportunity washes over you in this moment.
“Any sign of your tribe yet?” You ask your cosmic companion gently. He’s been a little weird about this whole thing, and his emotions feel all over the place. It’s been nearly impossible to get a read on him since the tribe’s beacon first appeared, save for when he was inside you the night before and the tribe was clearly the furthest thing from his mind.
Din shakes his silver head, bright sunlight bouncing off it in certain places. “I didn’t see anything to indicate their whereabouts in town, but I can’t imagine they are far off. They usually keep somewhat close to towns or cities for the resources, but far enough away to stay out of trouble. Let Grogu play for a while, then we will keep looking.”
So play you do. You teach Grogu the age-old art of making sandcastles as best you can without any equipment. Then you bury him waist deep, which you regret the moment you realize the bottom half of him is covered in sand as a result. You carry him over to the cool teal waters to rinse him off a little, and a gorgeous shiny opal shell catches your eye as the foamy liquid ebbs and flows over it.
Looking down at Grogu, you get the urge to explain a little more of your culture to him. “On my home world it was always a tradition to pick one shell from the beach to take home. Something to remember the place where your heart felt full of wonder. I think we should take this one home, what do you say?”
Carefully, you pluck the spiraled thing from the sand, only to realize that the shell is much bigger and heavier than you’d anticipated. After a moment the mystery of its weight is revealed when a palm sized mustard yellow hermit-crab-like creature falls from the shell’s hole and lands on the sand with a tiny thump. The thing looks up at you with irritation in his beady little eye stalks, and you swear it even shakes a claw at you in anger before it burrows down into the grains of sand and disappears from view entirely.
“Whoops, sorry little fella,” you laugh, eyebrows jumping up in surprise.
Grogu watches the creature vanish, and just as soon as the last orange grains settle back into place the child’s big eyes are swooping up to meet yours with an open mouthed expression, ears pointed downward. You feel a little mixture of astonishment, worry, and amusement flowing from him. Only a taste but enough for you to name each of the feelings with some certainty.
With a shrug and a soft giggle, your response to Grogu is one you hope comes off both like it’s not a big deal and that he is right for taking the hermit crab’s loss of a shelter seriously. And, that sometimes these things can be funny as long as we understand when the line is too far. Odds are that crab-thing will find a new shell to live in before the day is through. In the off chance you’re wrong and he just became some bigger creature’s food, then hopefully the circle of life can be enough to ease any guilt over the small animal’s fate.
Sending a smile his way, you reassure your child as best you can. “I guess that’s a good lesson for you, Grogu. Always check these things for animals first. If I had looked inside I would have seen him. We don’t wanna uproot too many critters from their homes just because we think a shell is pretty. That doesn’t always mean it’s ours to take, but I think it’s okay if we take this one. That crab-thing should be okay. We compromised his security so I don’t think he would want this one back. Animals have natural instincts to keep themselves safe just like we do. If I had to guess, he’ll already have a new shell by nightfall. And it’s okay to laugh a little bit when something you don’t expect happens, we just want to make sure we’re still treating our mistakes with respect. If I had really hurt the crab, even by accident, it wouldn’t have been very funny. I hope all of this makes sense.”
A pang of something sad flows through your being then. You’re not quite sure if it’s coming from you, one of the boys, or all three of you. But the realization hits you that all three of you are here on this beach together because each of you had been uprooted from your homes at one time or another. Not one of you has had a secure home since losing your first. Grogu, long before you and Din were even born, in a war you could never begin to understand. Din, when his home world was destroyed. And you, when your ex-grandmother used a legal loophole to steal your beloved house.
Sure, the Razor Crest is the next best thing. But you’re suddenly wishing for a real home on a plot of land you can call your own. Somewhere that stays in one place, where one can cultivate their garden of life the way it’s intended to be nurtured.
A question works its way up your throat as you hand the boy the shell, and suddenly you find yourself asking your son out loud, “How would you like it if we had a real house one day, buddy? Kind of like this shell, but big enough for you, me, your dad, and Jupiter? You could have your own room one day, full of toys and anything else you may want.”
Grogu looks up at you with wonderment in his big eyes, and you can tell the question fills him with a distinct kind of warmth you don’t feel from him too often. Perhaps having a real home is just as important to the boy as it is to you. This child hasn’t had a stable home in decades, so it would make sense. How many of his fifty years have been spent on the run? How long has it been since his birth parents first gave him to the Jedi? Tears fill your eyes at the thought of it, knowing in your soul you could never give Grogu up now that he’s yours. No matter what greater good it may serve.
“I would like it,” Din says softly from right behind you. It startles you enough to make you jump.
Squinting up at him through the sun, you bring a hand to your forehead and throw him a half hearted shrug. “I guess I shouldn’t be asking him things like that when I haven’t even talked to you about it. I don’t mean anytime soon. But one day we will be too old to live in space twenty four seven. And Grogu deserves a real childhood. With a bedroom, school, and friends.”
Din squats down to be at level with you, nodding his silver head as it glints in the harsh light. “I think on this subject you and I are in agreement. I’ve thought about this quite a bit myself. A home that stays in one place certainly sounds appealing these days. I’ve lived in space for a long time. Without bounty hunting or a mission to keep me steady, the lifestyle of constant travel is beginning to make less and less sense to me."
“Well I don’t mean to put any undue pressure on you. I have no idea how we would make that work. It’s not like either of us has a real job right now and I know we’re running out of money.”
“Work is easy enough to find. Perhaps I could take Greef up on filling Cara’s position if it hasn't already been filled. He’s always telling us we have a home on Nevarro if we want it.”
“I could work at the school again,” you offer hopefully.
Din nods, humming, “Mm. And Grogu could go with you. He could get to live the life of a real child once and for all.”
“I think he needs that, Din. And I think you and I need to enjoy our time with him. We all need rest.”
“We will, cyar’ika. We will find our place in this galaxy and we will build a life there. But until then, I love the life we have on our ship.”
“I do too. I love our Space R-,” suddenly your words morph into a hideous shriek, “VEEEEEEEEEE! DIIIIIIN!”
*****
Din screams your name and watches in stunned horror as your body gets dragged through the sand and into the turquoise waters faster than he can blink. Beside him Grogu begins to cry, and just as Din is about to get to his feet he notices a blue-gray tentacle inches away from snatching the child as well.
“Grogu!” Din shouts, launching himself forward and grabbing the boy just in the nick of time. He rolls across the sand with the child in his arms, and the tentacle angrily rises from the water, pointing itself at Din almost accusingly. Din scrambles to fire a blaster from where he lay sprawled and the offending appendage retracts under the cool surface.
A large creature covered in eyes and teeth begins to rise up out of the deeper waters several yards away, along with it the tentacle holding you around the waist. Din hauls himself to his feet as he hears you sputter and cough, screaming for help.
“Oh, thank maker she’s alive,” Din says to himself, moving quickly to sit Grogu on a far away rock and ready himself for battle with this thing to get you back.
Only, by the time he’s turning around with weapons raised, it would appear that a small group of Mandalorians are already beating him to it.
*****
You only half-register the feeling of the tentacle wrapping itself around your ankle, and by the time you fully understand what is happening to you, it’s too late. You’ve got a face full of sand and you’re already starting to drown as the thing pulls you fully into the water. It begins snaking itself up and around your waist. The thing then squeezes you so hard that any air you’d managed to hold onto gets ripped violently from your lungs. You start to fade, but then suddenly it’s yanking you above the surface and you can breathe again, spitting and sputtering in terror.
You see Din and Grogu several yards away on the beach, and then the thing is yanking your body under the water once more.
Everything that happens in the next few minutes is a blur of being ping ponged in and out of the water. Moments of blissful silence but zero air, to pockets of air you can barely catch a taste of and the sounds of chaotic violence accosting your ears.
Then you’re under the water for a long time. Long enough that you’re really starting to get scared in a way you weren’t before. Long enough for your vision to fade.
But something changes just before you begin to pass out. The grip of the tentacle around your waist loosens, and a strong pair of human arms are there to replace it in an instant.
Then there’s air. Beautiful, glorious air which you suck in as hard as possible once you’ve coughed up the salty water in your throat. The darkness at the edges of your vision is replaced with blinding light. You feel your body floating midair until it’s suddenly being placed on the uneven sandy ground.
Above you, a Mandalorian helmet hovers in the sun.
“Din, thank God,” you murmur, reaching for him.
“I’m afraid not, my dear,” a female voice responds. The accent sounds almost British.
Shock rocks your system as your eyes fully adjust to the light and you realize that the helmet above you is one painted a bronzy gold, with a tiara of spikes decorating its forehead.
Looking around, you sit up in the sand to see that you are surrounded by five Mandalorians of various shapes and sizes.
“Cyar’ika?” Din’s voice is behind you, sounding scared shitless and relieved all at once.
Relief floods your own system as you turn to see your love and your child, sighing heavily as you lay all the way back down in the sand. A laugh bubbles up your throat, and though you are surrounded by strangers you say what you're thinking regardless. If nothing else, just so that Grogu knows you're okay. The fear coming from the boy is palpable inside your brain, and even in this state easing his worry is the only worry of your own.
“Never a dull moment to be had in this galaxy, huh boys?”
*****
“Din Djarin has returned to us,” says the female Mandalorian with spikes upon her beskar clad head. She’s the one who saved you, and who you rightly guessed to be the Armorer shortly after. The room is quiet as she announces your cosmic companion to the Mandalorians of varying ages scattered around the room. Some stand, some sit. Some are alone and some are clearly with a partner or family. All of them have distinctly different armor, giving a wide variety of looks in a room full of beskar faces. Most of which are pointed in your direction.
The Armorer's voice projects inside of the vast cave you now find yourself in, echoing slightly whenever she pauses. You and your family are in what you would consider to be the main room in a large network of clay caves. There’s an orange glow to the space from the various fires and torches being used for light, enhancing the natural color of the walls. Its entrance turned out to be only a few miles from the beach where you nearly became fish food, at the base of a deadly looking cliff that most of the locals actively avoid.
The gaze of the woman’s visor falls upon you, looking you up and down. “And he has brought an outsider into our midst, as we see,” she says skeptically in your direction before addressing Din again. “You do know we will have to relocate again now that she has seen us, don’t you? Or have you spent so much time away that you have forgotten our ways?”
You’re still half soaked, battered, and very much traumatized after having nearly been drowned and eaten by some sort of nasty fucking space-kraken not even forty-five minutes ago. But you’re alive, your son is in your arms, and the man you love is by your side. Right now? You’re truly thankful to be alive with these two people.
You could give or take the room of two and a half dozen Mandalorians all glaring daggers at you under their helmets, though. You don’t need a connection to The Force to know that much is true. For the first time in the year you’ve known Din, you almost wish for a helmet of your own. Having your face be exposed in front of these people is wildly uncomfortable. It’s a far cry from your experience with Bo and her crew, and they’d made you uncomfortable for a whole different slew of reasons.
Din steps forward, bowing respectfully. He tells the Armorer your name. “She is my companion. She does not wish to take the creed at this time, but I have been teaching her the ways of our people. Please allow her entry as one of my own. She will keep this place a secret just as I have taught her. I do not bring an outsider with me lightly.”
“But she is not your riduur?” The Armorer interrogates. Your eyebrows raise at that, knowing she just used the word for spouse. Mando’a doesn’t have separate words for husband and wife. It’s all the same word, because Mandalorians see themselves as equal partners in a marriage.
“No, not presently,” Din says after a quick glance at you. He’s aware that you know the word’s definition. It was in a recent ‘test’ as he likes to call them. You squint at him briefly, hoping he gets a hint of the ‘we’re going to talk about this later’ behind your eyes as you will him to feel it.
The Armorer presses on, “Are there plans to take the vow of riduurok?”
The vow of marriage. Another word you know. Din glances at you again, and you reach over to squeeze his gloved hand.
Din squeezes your fingers back as he says, “She is the one I spoke of when you and I met on Nevarro.”
“You told her about me?” You ask, forgetting yourself as a smile creeps up your lips.
The intimidating female Mandalorian again directs her attention to you briefly. “Indeed he did. From how he spoke of you, I would think the ritual would have been performed by now.” Her head snaps back to Din. “And what of the child in her arms? Are you still on your quest?”
Your cosmic companion shakes his head, and Grogu coos.
“I am not,” Din explains, “We completed my quest. I found a Jedi on the forest planet of Corvus named Ahsoka Tano. She and Grogu communicated using The Force, and Grogu has chosen to stay with us and learn the ways of our people. The Jedi are not his kin anymore. He has chosen us to be his parents.”
“Grogu?” The Armorer asks, voice lighter than it has been as she says it in a questioning tone. The baby coos at the sound of his name being said by a stranger, wiggling in your grasp.
“That is his name,” Din says, his voice sounding the slightest bit defensive.
The woman nods. “If Grogu has chosen to remain with you, have you begun his teachings as well?”
Din shakes his head. “Yes, but he is clearly too young to take the creed.”
After a moment of consideration, the Armorer agrees. “Then he will remain your ward until you see fit to adopt him as your own.”
“How do we adopt him?” You ask, feeling like a novice as soon as you say it.
“You must perform the ritual, of course,” Paz Vizsla, as Din pointed out to you, says this from his vantage point to the right. Pointedly, the man places a gloved hand on the left shoulder of a young boy with chin length brown hair and a bit of a sneer on his young face. Not sure what else to think, you assume from context clues that the boy must be Paz's own adopted son.
You hadn’t noticed another human face in the crowd until now, and find yourself wondering idly if the boy had been hiding behind Paz. The child, helmet-less, smirks at you as if you’re the dumbest person he’s ever seen. It’s all you can do not to glare in return.
Din sounds rather fed up with all of this questioning, stepping forward as he, in your opinion, speaks from his chest. “Armorer, please. I am aware of the severity of my actions. I know that it was a risk to bring her and the child here. But she is ner cyare. She and the child both. They mean more to me than you can know, and though I have not made it official, I consider them both to be a part of my clan. These two are ner aliit. Clan Mudhorn is a clan of three, rituals or not. We only just completed the mission recently, and we haven’t stopped our travels much since. I have not had the proper respite to clear my head or consider what our next steps will be. The rituals should be performed with clarity and mindfulness, should they not?”
Your heart nearly leaps from his chest at hearing him speak about you in such a way, and about Grogu. In front of his entire tribe, no less. In front of an elder he respects the opinion of. Reaching over, you squeeze his hand again and kiss Grogu on the back of the head. Lips tugging upward, a satisfied grin spreads across your face.
The Armorer stays silent for a while, looking at the three of you as she considers this information. After what feels like twenty minutes, she finally nods in the affirmative. Clearly she liked Din’s answer.
“Let it be said, the child Grogu and the woman,” she says your name, “are members of Clan Mudhorn. They are Din Djarin’s aliit. We will treat them as such, in return they will keep our home here a secret. When it is time, their connection will be written in song. This is The Way.”
Every single Mando in the room, including Din, repeats almost in unison, “This is The Way!”
You lamely try to get it out as they say it, but the phrase dies awkwardly on your tongue. It felt right when you said it to Din the night before Grogu officially became yours. Saying it now in this room full of Din’s militant brethren makes you feel like a poser and a half.
People begin to disperse after that. Din sighs deeply with irritation beside you, and before you even notice his presence walking up, you know a sigh like that can only be reserved for someone like Paz Vizsla.
“Djarin,” Paz says with a nod.
“Vizsla,” Din says, nodding in return.
The bigger man gestures to the boy at his side. The kid seems to be around twelve if you had to guess. “This is my son, Ragnar. He joined my clan recently, after we saved him and a small group of children from an abandoned space station before we settled here. Tomorrow he will take the creed. This planet was home to a well known underground beskar dealer. I retrieved the beskar for his helmet myself.” Paz finishes this last part with obvious pride.
“Congratulations, young one,” Din says respectfully to the child. Then to Paz, “What of the other foundlings?”
“We have them set up in a nursery of sorts. Some of them are too young to take the creed, much like yours. Some do not know if this is the path they wish to take. None of the adults have stepped forward to take any of them on yet besides me.” Paz says this last part almost judgmentally, and you realize that most of the things that come out of his mouth must sound judgmental. No wonder Din has issues with this guy. He comes on strong right from the get go.
“I’m the oldest,” Ragnar interjects, clearly needing some attention. It’s quickly apparent how much the kid’s trauma affects him, and though he seems like a bit of a brat your heart goes out to him. “When the adults all died I was our leader. I kept us alive until my new dad saved us. That’s why I’m gonna take the creed and become a real Mandalorian like him. I learned how important it is to take care of one’s own. Loyalty and solidarity are The Way.”
“That’s very noble of you,” you say to the child, noticing how he and Grogu seem to be preoccupied with each other. “Would you like to meet my son? This is Grogu. He joined our clan recently too. So did I, I suppose. He loves to play if you’re looking for a new friend. And I’m sure he’d love to meet the other kids too.” You tell Ragnar, heart swelling at how confident you sound and feel calling Grogu your son to this boy.
“Hi, Grogu,” Ragnar says, tentatively reaching a finger up to one of Grogu’s outstretched hands.
Grogu coos and chirps in response. For a moment you see the stony resolve slip away and Ragnar just looks like a normal kid to you. It makes you sad, and it makes you wonder how similar this boy is to how Din was when he was a child. Din’s said himself that he was an angry kid after his parents died. It sounds like this boy Ragnar not only had to witness his parents die but was immediately thrust into a position of responsibility he never asked to be in right after.
“What happened to the adults on your space station?” You ask tentatively.
Paz answers this, “A virus. It wiped out the entire adult population. Children who have not yet progressed into their teens are immune, and carry the antibodies in their blood.”
“You are a brave one, Ragnar,” Din says softly beside you.
A chill runs up your spine at that. If you’re not mistaken that sounds like the plot to an actual horror movie you saw at the theater when you were a teen yourself. This child lived through that? Okay maybe he gets a bit of a pass for being a brat. But his dad has no excuse as far as you know.
“I see the numbers have regrown since Nevarro,” Din says, obviously trying to make idle conversation while he has to, but trying to gear towards ending it.
“Grown enough, yes,” Paz agrees. “We found more of our kind scattered in hiding than we thought we would.” Then he looks right at you and says, “but we always need more.”
Ugh. Alright, then. Maybe Paz is just not worth the time of day. The energy he gives off is fairly cultish, and you really don’t want Bo-Katan to be right about that.
When the two of them go off to their respective places, you turn to Din with a question flowing from your lips, “Is the Mandalorian who adopted you here?”
Din’s head whips to you sharply, his tone sharp as well, “What?”
“Is that not how it works? I guess I just assumed that any Mandalorian who saves a child becomes their parent. Like you with Grogu or Paz with Ragnar. You’ve mentioned having a mentor, but nothing else about him really.”
“He never adopted me,” Din replies evenly. His emotions flare within him, several all at once. Anger, hurt, betrayal, guilt, confusion.
Shit.
“Oh, crap. Din, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bring up something painful. We’ve never had a conversation about this and now’s definitely not the time.” Your stomach sinks as the words leave your lips. You’ve never felt this specific pain from him before.
His voice is stony, “It’s fine. He left our tribe a long time ago. I didn’t know him for more than a handful of years.”
“But, still. I shouldn’t have assumed. That was wrong of me.” You reach for him, and he pulls his arm away, turning to walk out the way your party came in.
Coldness radiates from him. “Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s go get the Crest.”
Oh, but you most certainly will worry about it. What the fuck did you just do? What can of worms was meant to be left alone?
*****
The Razor Crest gets relocated to a secluded spot close to the Tribe’s caves, and it’s decided that Din’s clan may remain for as long as is needed. It’s after this that Din and his family return from the ship with the beskar spear gifted by Ahsoka Tano. Din takes it straight to the Armorer’s workshop while you and Grogu go off with Ragnar to find the group of foundlings from the space station.
“What is this?” The Armorer asks, voice laced with disapproval as she looks at the weapon.
Din holds the spear out to her with two hands, head bowed slightly. “It was the gift of a Jedi. The one who helped us with Grogu. It can block a lightsaber. It could prove useful.”
The Mandalorian elder clicks her tongue. “It can also pierce beskar armor. Its mere existence puts Mandalorians at risk. Mandalorian steel is meant for armor, not weapons.”
Din holds the spear out to her even more. “Then forge it into armor, please.”
The Armorer takes it from him, moving to place the tip of it on the great flames of her forge. The beskar begins to glow red within moments. Din takes a seat nearby, feeling the urge to press his most trusted elder about some of the information he’s learned over the last few months.
“Have you ever heard of Bo-Katan Kryze?” Din asks, curious as to how this is going to go.
The Armorer turns to him, nodding. “Bo-Katan is a cautionary tale. She once laid claim to rule Mandalore based purely on blood and a weapon known as the darksaber. But it was gifted to her and not won by Creed as it was supposed to be. Bo-Katan Kryze was born of a mighty house, but they lost sight of The Way. Her rule ended in tragedy. They lost their way, and we lost our world. Had our sect not been cloistered on the moon of Concordia, we would have not survived the Great Purge. Those born of Mandalore strayed away from the path. Eventually, the Imperial interlopers destroyed all that we knew and loved in the Night of a Thousand Tears. Only those that walked the way escaped the curse prophesied in the Creed. Though our numbers were scattered to the winds, our adherence to The Way has preserved our legacy for the generations until we may someday return to our home world.”
Din takes a deep breath before telling her of his discovery, nervous to bring up such a subject but desperate for answers. “I met her on my travels. She helped me to secure Grogu’s safety from the Empire and find the Jedi who gave me that spear.”
“And what did you learn?”
“Her people show their faces. At first I did not want to trust her because of this, and I’m not entirely sure that I fully do, but she fought alongside me with honor. She is now leading a crusade to reclaim our home world, and she believes that uniting all the clans regardless of their beliefs is the only way to truly make that happen.”
“A fool’s errand,” The Armorer retorts, shaking her bronze head as she pushes the spear further into the flames. “They do not walk The Way. Coexistence is impossible.”
“But does that make them any less Mandalorian than we are? They speak the same language. They wear the same armor. I am starting to wonder why there has to be only one Way. Perhaps coexistence is the way to preserve the future of our people. This lifestyle of shadows and caves cannot be sustainable forever.”
“Something has changed in you, Din Djarin,” she declares, not looking up from her work. Then she asks him the question he’s been both expecting and dreading this entire time. The question which makes his heart both speed up and sink to his feet all at once. “Has your woman seen your face? Have you removed your helmet for her?”
“She has not seen my face,” Din replies evenly, hoping to any deity listening that she will leave it at that.
She does not. Repeating slowly, “Have you removed your helmet for her?”
Fuck, he thinks, using the term like you do in his head. You can do this. It's one tiny syllable. Din licks his suddenly dry lips, forcing himself to utter a soft, “No.”
The Armorer doesn’t respond at first. She merely melts down the rest of the spear, leaving Din to sit there in a pool of his own sweat for a few moments. The longest few moments of his life, practically.
Then she turns to him and his breath hitches in his throat. They stare at each other for what feels like a full minute, and then she casually asks him, “What shall I forge for you, Din Djarin?”
Din feels like the mudhorn sitting on his chest just got lifted midair by his Force-wielding son, trying desperately not to be too loud as he exhales with relief.
Should he hate himself for lying to the Armorer? Probably. Does he? Not really. The bond Din has with you means more to him than anything else at this point. If he has to take what the two of you do in private with a cloth over your eyes to his grave then so be it.
“Not for me,” Din finally replies. “Something for a foundling.”
“This is the way,” she responds.
“For a specific foundling. Grogu.” Din adds, just in case it wasn’t clear that he was referring to his foundling. “And if there is enough left after that, I have another request.”
*****
While Din conducts his business with the Armorer, Ragnar and Paz show you to the room where the orphans from the space station are being watched over. It's not far down the corridors from where that huge meeting took place earlier, and like every part of the caves it's well lit with torches in every wall.
Inside the room are five makeshift bunks, one of which Ragnar proudly announces as his own. He then announces you and Grogu to the four other children playing in the open area.
Upon entry, a female Mandalorian with intense armor painted in a black and red design looks up from playing with the youngest child, and you instantly feel skepticism dripping from the woman's energy.
"Paz," she greets Ragnar's father with a single nod. Then her head shifts so that her visor is pointed at you. "And Djarin's woman," her thickly accented voice is laced with animosity. She vaguely sounds eastern European, while not at the same time.
"I have a name, thank you," you bite back, stating as much. "What's yours?"
The woman shrugs you off, and Paz chuckles beside you. "Teckla is one of the few who have volunteered to help with the children until they are taken on for adoption or apprenticeship."
"The pleasure all is mine, I'm sure," you mutter, pleased with yourself as you whip out one of your favorite Earth phrases. Never mind that it's lost on these moody Mandos.
Grogu squirms in your grasp, unperturbed by the adults as he chirps and grabs air.
"Ragnar, can Grogu please meet your friends?" You ask the brown haired boy, ignoring the other two grown ups.
You sit Grogu down on the rough ground, watching as he pads forward towards the group of kids.
There are five of them all together including Ragnar. The one playing with Teckla seems to be the youngest at around four or five, a blonde girl with pale skin and big sad eyes holding a stiffed bantha. Two of the kids are identical twins a few years older than the first girl, with dark skin and two very different haircuts to help tell them apart. The final child is not human.
A child about the same height as Ragnar steps forward, holding up a green hand to wave down at Grogu. You're intrigued to note that the tips of his fingers appear to be suction cups. This child is of a species you have yet to encounter until now, being both obviously humanoid and very unique all the same. His skin is comprised of greenish-blue scales, with pointed fin-like ears and a thin ridge of spines leading up the back of his head to where two antenna protrude from his forehead. His dark eyes are much larger than a human's and in lieu of a nose the boy has a snout.
"This is Klo, my best friend," Ragnar introduces the alien boy proudly.
"Nice to meet you," Klo says politely with a nod.
"Who's that?!" The little girl asks loudly, pointing right at Grogu.
"This is Grogu," you say, moving forward to squat down behind your boy. "My son."
"He doesn't look like you," she says, mouth scrunching to one side in thought as her nose wrinkles.
With a soft chuckle, you explain, "That's because he's a different species than me, but he's still my son regardless. What's your name?"
"Nayea," she says, smiling as she bounces on the balls of her feet. "Can Grogu play with me?"
"Sure, as long as you ask him nicely and say please."
The twin with the long hair tied into an intricate braid moves forward to get a good look at Grogu, announcing them-self to be Shari, and their twin sibling with a cropped haircut as Nix. You notice that the child never uses male or female pronouns to describe them-self or their sibling, and both seem to be in androgynous dress.
Pocketing this information for the future, you allow the children to become aquatinted with your own child by standing back up to join Paz where he has been quietly observing. Teckla stands to join the adults as well, coming to your side with her arms crossed in a standoffish stance.
"Will these children really all become Mandalorians?" You ask, voice lowered so that the kids themselves cannot hear you.
"Some, probably not the entire group," Teckla says confidently.
"What if no one takes them on?"
"Then one of us must take on the responsibility of returning them to their own kind," Paz answers.
"Like Din and Grogu," you murmur, intrigued by the notion of this happening to orphaned children all across the galaxy.
"Most children choose to stay once they form a bond with one of us," Teckla adds, her black helmet with red accents giving her an intimidating presence as she explains their culture to you as if you're dumb.
"Like Din and Grogu," you repeat as if she's the dumb one, rolling your eyes slightly. "Are you planning to take one on?"
She nods, "Nayea has become very attached to me. She's too young to truly begin her training, though. A couple who recently took the vow of riduurok will likely take on the twins. Klo has not decided if he wishes to stay or return to his home world of Rodia."
"It's so sad that so many young ones had to experience this loss at such a young age," you muse, lips twitching from a sad frown to a grin as Nayea makes Grogu laugh. "But how fortunate that they get a chance for a new life here."
"This is The Way," both Paz and Teckla say in unison.
*****
The following day you find yourself standing in the mid-morning sun on the rocky beach just outside of the covert's caves with the entire group gathered once again. This time even the children from the space station are in attendance with that woman Teckla keeping them all from acting up.
Everyone is gathered round the Armorer as she addresses her tribe with the same vigor she used the day before.
"We gather here today to witness Ragnar Vizsla take the creed. Step forward, child."
The crowd reminds quiet as the boy steps forward, squinting in the harsh sun up at the Armorer.
"Repeat after me," The Armorer commands in her accented, booming voice, "I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors..."
"I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors..."
"That I shall walk the Way of the Mand'alor..."
"That I shall walk the Way of the Mand'alor..."
"And the words of the Creed shall be forever forged in my heart."
"And the words of the Creed shall be forever forged in my heart."
The Armorer slips the child's new helmet, a similar blue color to that of his father's, upon his small head. You hear that same hiss you hear from Din's sometimes as she secures it on the child's head and both of them say in unison, "This is the Way."
"This is the Way!" The crowd repeats.
That's that. The kid can never take that thing off again. What a wild thing to really realize, and to witness. Is this what it had been like for your cosmic companion all those years ago?
Next to you, you note that Din either mumbled the Mandalorian catch phrase so quietly that you could not hear him, or he did not say it at all. Something is going on with him and you're determined to get to the bottom of it, but you're starting to think that here with the tribe is a terrible place to do so.
After a moment of respectful silence, you whisper over to him, "That's it?"
"Not entirely," Din says, nodding forward to redirect your attention.
"Now you must choose your first challenger," the Mandalorian elder tells the boy.
Ragnar's visor scans the beach, until he lands directly on you. Or rather, the child in your arms. Oh hell no, this kid is not about to choose Grogu.
Thankfully, his attention moves to another child wearing a green helmet standing somewhere behind you. "Harak," Ragnar announces.
And then you have to awkwardly stand there watching two adolescents spar on the sand, waiting patiently until Ragnar overpowers Harak and shoots him three times in the belly with the Mandalorian vambrace equivalent to a paintball gun.
Paz cheers for his boy, congratulating him and hoisting him up on one of his huge shoulders. It's then that you assume you're good to disperse, and it's then that you are very wrong.
The Armorer calls your name and asks you to step forward. "Bring the child with you," she demands.
Din follows close behind as you tentatively approach the intimidating woman. Next to her booted feet in the orange sand lay two spears and a small, lidded crate. She squats down to lift the lid, visor looking at you all the while.
"Din Djarin claims that he has been teaching the two of you our ways. I would like to put this to the test. Grogu will spar with Ragnar." The elder announces coolly.
She pulls out a tiny little version of that same wrist shooter Ragnar used against his opponent, holding it out to Din.
Din takes the weapon and nods to you, strapping the mini vambrace onto Grogu's little arm while you hold him. "Don't worry, buddy. You'll be fine. You know what you're doing. I've seen what you can do, now it's time to show them."
"I don't think he does know what he's doing, Din. Don't you think he's too little for this?" You gently argue with a forced smile, aware of the fact that strangers are watching you.
"I do think he's a bit young, but we both know how capable he is," Din pushes back. Then he whispers, "Trust me, cyar'ika. Please." The genuineness to his tone is hard to ignore, so you cave rather quickly after that.
"I don't know what any of this is about, but I'll trust you," you whisper back with a shake of the head.
Watching Grogu tentatively approach Ragnar with his arm raised, you listen as the Armorer explains the rules of this challenge. The first to land three hits to his opponent wins. Din squats down to reassure the child once more with a pat on the head, and you find yourself shaking your own once more in disbelief.
Ragnar lands the first two hits, which instantly annoys you because now Grogu's robe will have to be washed, but it upsets you even more when your son looks back at you as if he wants to cry. Oh hell no. We're not doing that. Soccer mom is coming out.
A voice you're not use to using finds its way out of you, waving your arms and shouting supportively, "Come on, Grogu! You got this, buddy! Dad's right, show these Mandos what you're made of! Woo-hoo!"
That's when a feeling of courage flutters through The Force, and you watch with delight as your son dodges Ragnar's next attack by flipping over the shot, then quickly raising his arm to rapid fire three shots into the older boy's chest.
"Hell yeah, Grogu!" you and Din shout together triumphantly.
Waves of pride flow through Grogu's being in The Force, but off to the side you feel a mix of embarrassment and shame from the tribe's newest member. Whoops. This was probably not how Ragnar envisioned his special day would go.
You look over to see the child burry his helmeted face in his adoptive father's stomach, and you realize in this moment how interesting it is to be a parent. To feel such pride for your son's achievement, but for that achievement to come at the cost of another child's feelings. The notion of it pulls at your heart.
"Grogu has proven his skill. He is well on track to apprenticeship. Now," the Armorer says your name, causing your head to whip up and mouth to drop open in surprise as she announces, "you shall spar with Teckla."
"What?" you hiss, grabbing for Din's shoulder as you whisper fiercely, "What the fuck, Din?"
"You're great at sparring, cyar'ika," Din replies simply.
"With you, not with a scary stranger!"
"Think of this as an opportunity to make yourself proud. Don't worry about me or the others. Prove to yourself that you're as strong as I've always known you are. Remember your warrior's heart. You're ner verd too, you know." Din's voice is so sincere, and the love flowing from him feels like a calming weighted blanket wrapping itself around your energy in The Force.
How can you say no to that?
"Damn you, Djarin. That was a good speech," you mutter, conceding to your fate.
"I know it was," your love replies, voice cheeky as he moves to bump his forehead into yours.
You step forward, smiling down at Grogu as you pass by him even though inside you're freaking out. Teckla, who seems to hate your guts simply for showing your face, is already standing beside the armorer with her arms crossed over her beskar chest plate. From her stance you like to think she's raising an expectant eyebrow or wielding a crazed grin under her black helmet.
As you approach, the Armorer kneels down to retrieve the spears from the sand. She hands one to each of you as she stands.
"The first one to get their opponent to yield wins," she states simply, backing up. "You may begin."
Before you can really register what's going on or think about getting ready, Teckla is charging you with her spear raised and a modulated war cry in her throat.
"Fuck," you blurt, squatting low to dodge her attack. You've only practiced with a staff one or two times at best and that was months ago training with Cara on Nevarro. Din doesn't use one in his own daily life and the razor crest is just too cramped for it. Any other weapon would have been preferable to this long obstructive thing in your hands.
"The best thing a Mandalorian can do in the face of battle is be adaptable," Din's voice rings through your mind just as Teckla whips around to send another swiping attack your way. You roll across the sand, moving back up into a squat as you face her with the pointed end of your spear raised in warning.
Okay, be adaptable, you think. And then you and Teckla are clashing weapons head on. The scrapes and clanks create a strange beat with the waves crashing in the background of it all. She swipes and you dodge. You jab forward and she jumps back.
"Come on, outsider," the woman taunts, accent thick. "This really the best you got? That kid of yours had better moves than this. Djarin," she calls to Din, "you can't teach worth shit!"
Din and Grogu watch from the sidelines, and you know that they heard that. You know that this woman is trying to make you look foolish in front of your family. You know that this woman is trying to make you feel small. Well guess what? You left every single person who could make you feel small back on Earth, and this person has no power over you. Anger flares within you, and while she takes a moment to laugh at her own insult you take a powerful step to launch yourself forward.
You're not sure where this move even comes from, but suddenly you're stabbing the spear hard into the sand, using the leverage it to lift your legs and vault yourself forward towards your opponent. With enough momentum you manage to gain some air, both of your boots making contact hard with the beskar chest plate protecting her heart.
Teckla goes flying backwards with a startled cry, and within seconds you're kneeling on her gut with one knee. The tip of your spear points at her exposed throat just below the base of her helmet.
Between panting breaths you defiantly ask, "Do you yield?"
Teckla doesn't answer at first, hands coming to grip your spear as if she will fight back. You press harder into both her stomach and her neck.
"I said, do you yield?!" You repeat.
"I yield!" Teckla finally submits, practically throwing you off of herself once you let up some.
It's quiet for a long moment, and at first you think that you're about to be shunned publicly. Then suddenly the crowd of Mandalorians all cheer triumphantly and your worries subside.
"Great job, cyar'ika!" Din says proudly, coming up to you with Grogu in his arms. "Tell your mom she did a good job, buddy."
Grogu coos at you, and you know that he's telling you as much in his own way.
Your heart swells with pride for yourself, and for your family. "Thank you, boys."
"Impressive," the Armorer says. "I would like to see you and Grogu in my forge."
*****
When you take a seat before the Armorer and her great flaming forge, you realize why sitting in her presence feels so important to Din and his people. Sitting in her forge feels a bit like what you assume sitting in a confessional both must feel like. To have one on one time with the most revered elder, to feel as if whatever this person is about to say it must be important in the grand scheme of your own life.
Din is waiting for you somewhere in the common area of the caves, having stated that this experience is one he feels you and Grogu should experience on your own. The child in question is seated beside you, with a tiny hand resting on your thigh. He seems in awe of everything happening, the light from the forge's flames dancing in his big dark eyes.
When the Armorer turns to face you both, she is holding up what looks like a small t-shirt made of chain mail. She presents the shirt to Grogu with a bow of the head.
"Din Djarin requested that I forge this garment of protection for you, Grogu. The steel from Ahsoka Tano's beskar spear aided in it's creation." She lays the garment in front of the boy, and then turns back to her forge once more. She picks up a small silver disc and begins tinkering with the hardware on the inside of it with some sort of sci-fi screwdriver.
"It is tradition in our culture for each to donate a small portion of what they earn to the foundlings. It is with these scraps of beskar that I forged the next piece of your armor." The tribe elder comes to kneel before your son, presenting him with a round shield-like piece the size of his torso. What really gets you is the mudhorn skull carved into the steel. It's identical to Din's. "Mandalorian steel with keep you safe as you grow stronger. You will grow into this rondel as you grow into your station, foundling Grogu."
Grogu coos at the Armorer, more pride flowing through him.
"Grogu's shirt was not the only request your companion made." The Armorer speaks to you now, standing to return to her forge. With her back to you she adds, "Din Djarin asked that I make something else should there be enough steel left from the spear. I was not convinced that he was just in asking for this until I saw proof of your skills on the beach today. It is true that you impressed me. But being able to fight is one thing. What of loyalty?"
Thoughts swirl in your mind, unsure as to how you should answer such a question. Eventually you settle on, "I have proven my loyalty to Din and Grogu countless times. I took a life for the first time in order to protect them from harm. It was not easy for me to kill another living being. But if it meant keeping those dear to me safe then I would do it again without hesitation."
"Yes, the Anzati foe you killed on Smuggler's Moon. Djarin told me of this."
"Then you know I am serious."
"What of your own death? If it came down to you or this child, what would you do?"
"I would forfeit my own life for the sake of his."
The two of you look at each other for a long moment, and then the Armorer nods and begins working with her tools once more. She says nothing as she works on something, presumably for you from the way she was talking. A piece of beskar all your own? That certainly wasn't what you'd been expecting out of this. No wonder Din was being weird about encouraging the fight on the beach. It had clearly been a test, and had you been prepared you probably wouldn't haven't proven yourself under pressure.
Sounds of hammering fill the dimly lit room. The only true light source is coming from the flames of her forge. Torches light the room's entrance, but that's about it. Beside you Grogu hold his little chest plate up with wonder in his big eyes, and looking at him gets you to thinking about his relationship with Din. Which leads you to thinking about Din's relationship with his own Mandalorian mentor.
"May I ask a question?"
The hammering stops briefly. "You may."
"Where is the Mandalorian who Din was an apprentice to? The one who saved him on Aq Ventina?" You ask the question that's been burning in your mind for twenty-four hours.
"Din Djarin has not told you of this?" She asks, voice weary.
"He has not," you reply evenly. "And when I brought it up the pain he gave off was very concerning, but he would not talk to me about it. Did this man hurt Din in some way?"
The Armorer continues her work as she explains, "Only in the sense that he hurt all of us. Castyl Vanda is an apostate. He removed his helmet for an outsider and left us when Djarin was still in training. Every Mandalorian master must take his or her apprentice on their journeys throughout the galaxy. It is how we learn about life, and how to survive. When your companion was sixteen and off on his journeys, Castyl suddenly dropped him off with us one day and simply never returned. I continued with Din's training myself, but the wound it left in him was one that did not heal for many years."
Shit. This makes total sense now that you understand the context.
"Why did his master choose to become an apostate?" you ask.
"Love, so it would seem," the Armorer replies evenly. The disappointment in her tone is evident.
Jesus. No wonder he was nervous to bring you here.
"Well, I want you to now that I've told Din many times how much I respect his way of life. I would never ask him to give this up for me. I am content to only know the beskar face he displays."
"And yet you do not wish to take the oath yourself?"
With a sigh, you tell her honestly, "I came to this galaxy from a place that was not very kind to me. I was never really allowed to be myself on my home world. When I came here it was like I finally met myself, and I liked who I met. But I'm sill learning who she is. I'm not ready to sacrifice any of her freedoms just yet. I can appreciate your culture and uphold its values without a buy'ce on my head." Hopefully that little hint of Mando'a earns you a brownie point.
The Armorer takes in your response with a nod, "A wise response."
"Really?" You're shocked by her reaction.
"The Mandalorian creed should only be taken when one feels sure. It's not something to be taken lightly. But Din Djarin was right when he said your have the heart of a Mandalorian. And that is why you have earned this pauldron," the woman says as she turns to face you with another silver piece in her gloved hands.
Your heart skips a beat at the sight of it. Almost identical to the pauldron on Din's right shoulder but a little daintier in size and shape. A mudhorn skull is engraved in the steel just like Din and Grogu's. The Armorer helps to fasten it to your shoulder, and an odd feeling of accomplishment rolls through your person.
*****
“Is Paz getting a tattoo?” You ask, shocked to see such an Earthly thing occurring in this cave filled with Mandalorians on a planet billions of light years away from the place. Across the common area, Teckla is using some sort of a laser device to carve out some sort of design on Paz's exposed forearm.
“Tattoos are commonplace in our culture," Din replies with a shrug.
Looking him up and down, you're almost certain that he's bare of any ink. “How come you don’t have any? Unless you have one on your face you never mentioned?”
He chuckles handsomely. “I do not. Never had anything important enough to put on my skin like that. Most of us use it as a way to commemorate our clans.
Ragnar's little voice appears out of nowhere to your right. "He's getting my name!" The child declares proudly. "And our clan signet. We are a clan of two."
"Huh," you marvel, glancing down at your shoulder where the unfamiliar weight of your beskar armor sits. Your beskar armor. Din just about passed out when he saw you coming towards him wearing it. Confusing as all of this Mando stuff is, the feeling of pride that strikes within your heart is unmeasured.
"What if we got mudhorns?" You ask him seriously.
"You mean like on our armor?" He asks, voice light with the question.
Our armor. Christ the butterflies in your stomach are going to start flying up your throat if your let them.
You grin. "Yes, just a thought. I always wanted a tattoo on Earth but I also never had anything that I felt like getting permanently. But now that I have you and Grogu, I feel like I do."
"Mm," Din hums in response. "I do like the sound of it. We can talk."
Ragnar interrupts the adults to ask, "Can Grogu come play with us?"
You look at the child in your arms, brain accessing that part of it in touch with The Force. "Do you want to play with your new friends, sweetheart?"
*****
“Why is it that you never call me ‘baby?'” Din asks, breaking you from your train of thought. He's got you cleaning weapons and polishing armor while the kids play.
With a soft laugh, you inquire, “I’ve actually got an answer for this. Why do you ask?”
He shrugs. “It seems like that’s a popular, what did you call it? Pet name? It seems like a popular Earth pet name for the one you love. It’s in every other song.”
“I didn’t realize how much you’ve picked up on that. Does it bother you that I don’t?”
“No, I suppose not. I’m just curious.”
“Well, to me, you’re so far removed from Earth. Calling you an Earth pet name like that has never felt right to me. I call you ner verd when I feel the need to call you something. You’re my warrior.”
“Mm,” Din hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know why, but I like 'baby'. The way it’s used in the songs about love and romance creates an oddly warm sensation in my abdomen. I realize that your people are using it differently than the word's true definition, which is certainly very odd. Baby Be Mine, for example. That song makes me think of you, not of Grogu."
Before you can remark on how adorable Din sounds, something stops you. The grin which had been about halfway across your face falls instantly. That now familiar fuzzy feeling in the back of your mind flares up suddenly, and this time there’s so much intensity to it that it causes you to audibly gasp and drop the blade you’ve been cleaning in the sand.
“What is it, cyar’ika?” Din asks, voice concerned as his head turns sharply to look at you.
“Something’s wrong with Grogu,” you say, worried. You’re getting onto your feet, already moving for him before the sentence has left your lips.
Din quickly follows, asking, “Is it The Force? Do you feel him?”
“Yes, and he’s upset. More upset than he usually gets. This feels different for some reason, Din.” The foreboding way in which that came out of your mouth was unintentional. It doesn’t feel as if he’s in mortal peril, but Din doesn’t know that.
In your mind, an intense pang of fear flares from your cosmic companion just as his silver head whips forward and he’s rushing past you.
When you round the corner up ahead just after he does, you’re met with a sight you weren’t ready to see.
Grogu is standing there, angrily sobbing with both shaking little hands raised up. One of the children he’d gone off to play with is on the ground about fifteen feet away from Grogu, groaning in pain as he rolls around in the sand. It's Ragnar, to be specific.
The rest of the children are huddled around each other, looking confused and nervous.
“What is going on here, children?” Din asks sternly, using his father voice in full force.
Two of the children, the twins, both look at each other with worried expressions. They seem to have some sort of silent sibling communication for a moment before Shari nods to their sibling, and Nix takes a deep breath before looking up at Din.
“Grogu wanted to play in our game but Klo and Ragnar didn’t want him to. Klo said he was too small and he wasn’t going to get it. I think that made Grogu sad, but then when Ragnar called him a tiny cry baby Grogu got mad.” Nix explains.
“I can see that,” you say with a worried frown. Then you look the offending boy up and down for a moment before asking, “Are you okay, Ragnar?”
The child nods, helmet glinting. He’s definitely about to cry. You can hear the sniffles clear as day, and you can feel how fraught his energy is in The Force. Whether he’s about to cry from pain or embarrassment, it’s hard to hell.
Din seems to be less concerned with Ragnar’s feelings, stating firmly to him that, “Mandalorians should never exclude each other. Our people are already scattered across the galaxy. There aren’t many of us left. We must build a community around those we do have and remember to respect one another. Grogu may be small, but he’s just as capable as the rest of you.”
“But he’s not part of the covert!” Ragnar shouts, voice filled with angry confusion as his fists ball up at his sides in the orange sand. “He’s an outsider! My dad says all of you are! Even you!” The helmeted child angrily points at Din. Strange that just a day ago the boy's face had been on full display.
“Your dad and I grew up in this tribe together. He just doesn’t like me,” Din begins to correct the child with a chuckle. “He never has.”
"Then how come you spend so much time in space? Why not live here with us?" The angry child bites back.
Din explains, “I am a part of this covert, and Grogu is my son. By creed, he is a part of this covert too. We may not live here all the time, but our people are here regardless.”
“I think Grogu has cool powers!” The very little girl shouts, interjecting with her own opinion. Afterwards her shyness returns to her, and she burrows her face in the stuffed bantha she never seems to put down. Her name is Nayea, if you remember correctly.
“I think he does too. And he must learn to never use them in the midst of hard feelings,” you tell the girl gently, thinking back to what Ahsoka said about the Jedi and their emotions.
But Grogu isn’t a Jedi. Like Din just said, Grogu is your son, and you have another opportunity to teach him something valuable about life. Moments like this feel completely terrifying, but it’s also a thrill to realize that this is exactly what being a parent is all about.
He looks so scared of you when you walk up to him, and the very notion of that breaks your heart. You don’t need to feel that fear pressing against your mind. It’s clear as day on his tiny face. He understands how serious this is, and he’s so scared that he’s going to get punished harshly for it.
“Hey, my sweet little boy,” you say to him, smiling down to try and reassure him that you’re not angry. He looks relieved, and you try your best to push that feeling toward him in The Force as you kneel down before him.
After a moment his lip begins to quiver, and you reach a tentative hand out to him. He lets you touch him with ease, so you move to rub soothing circles into his upper back. “We need to have a conversation about this with your daddy, sweetheart. But we’re going to go do that in private, okay?”
Grogu nods, looking ashamed of himself as he dips his gaze away. You move a finger under his chin to gently make him look at you. With misty eyes, you’re smiling at him so genuinely as you say, “I’m not angry with you. This is something you need to learn from, but that doesn’t mean I’m angry. Okay? Please trust me, Grogu. I love you very much.”
“She’s right, Grogu. I’m not angry either,” Din says from behind you. He must be looking down at the kid from his full height, because Grogu has to really tilt his head to look up at the beskar clad father figure. “But we need to have a serious talk about when it’s appropriate to use your powers on another person.”
The two of you make sure the other children are fine to be left alone, Ragnar being the main one you’re worried about. It’s less that you care about the little bully, more that you want to make sure something like this isn’t going to happen again.
But, he’s a bully because he’s been through serious trauma. And that speaks to you on a personal level. It occurs to you in this moment that the Mandalorians of Din’s covert are all trauma bonded in a way. All of them are there because they’d been orphaned at one point or another. It makes you look at Ragnar more kindly, and gives another opportunity to explain the concept of this to Grogu.
Din, Grogu, and yourself make your way out of the network of caves and over to the shore of the beach, far enough away from the Covert that there’s a true sense of privacy and far enough from the water to avoid another sea creature incident. Din sits Grogu down on a Rock, and then the two of you sit down in the sand in front of him. All three of you are at about eye, or visor, level with each other.
You look over to Din, and he nods once at you. Taking that as a silent encouragement to speak first, you nod back and then look right at your child.
“We want to start by saying that we are so proud of you for defending yourself. That being said, there is a time and place for you to use your powers like that and this was not one of those times.”
Din adds, “When you feel that your life or the life of someone you love is in danger, that is when it is okay to use your powers on another person.”
You nod, “And occasionally when it’s for something fun or silly that’s okay too. As long as you mean it in a nice way.”
Din seems to agree, then continues with, “The battle you fought today is the type of battle that can be won with words. I know you cannot talk yet, but sometimes actions speak louder than words do anyway. Your body may be small for now but when you live up to your own values then you can be the biggest person in the room. Act like the bigger person even when it feels hard to do so. Do not let your anger rule you. And if that doesn’t work, we can speak. We are your protectors while you are too young to defend yourself. Instead of relying on the power of the force, rely on the power of your family. Next time, come and get one of us and we’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“It’s okay to feel your anger and process it, it's not okay to take it out on people. I’m sorry that kid hurt your feelings, though,” you add. “Anytime you need to feel hard feelings, your mom and dad will try to help you through it. That’s what we’re here for.”
“Ragnar owes you an apology, but it’s easy to understand where his behavior comes from. He’s just an angry little boy who doesn’t know what to do with such big feelings, and he took it out on you.” Din seems to be speaking from the heart, and you can feel that coming from him. “I was like him once. He’ll learn his lessons in due time. All you can do is ignore him and keep your own head up.”
Grogu looks at Din with understanding and determination behind his dark eyes, nodding up at his father.
You decide to add one more thing, drawing from a line in a movie which always stuck with you. “Life is going to always have moments like this. Some kids will be nice to you, and some kids will be mean. It’s up to you to react in a way you can feel proud of later. Besides, I think he was jealous that you beat him this morning. Remember that it's more about how he feels about himself than it is about you.
“Mom’s right on this one, buddy,” Din says, and you can hear the smile in his voice, love radiating off of his energy in The Force.
“I love you boys so much,” you blurt out, eyes suddenly filling with tears. “We really do make a good family, don’t we?”
author's note: i just really, really love this man. this story is self-indulgent as hell and i'm not sorry
pairing: luke skywalker x fem!reader
warnings: confessing feelings, fluff
It really isn't fair. It's hardly even possible.
You push the ship faster, the stars dazzling as you zoom on. Cold panic drizzles in your veins as you hold the shifter forward, managing the jump to hyperspace despite the way your eyes hardly focus on anything in front of you. You just need to run…
How could this have happened, and right under your nose at that? A night at the cantina, with friends, positively ruined now. It isn't often a bounty hunter, especially one as revered as yourself, gets this sort of leisure time. You should be swindling at the poker table with Han, while Leia watches on amused and Luke gets the drinks—
A rather violent shake of the head, one with a fruitless attempt to remove the chance of that scene turning any more slice of life than it has the right to be, precedes your eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to blot out the light. You're a bounty hunter. A no-nonsense, one woman army with an arsenal to destroy planets. An endgame that wasn't on the battlefield was never in the cards, had never even crossed your mind before.
Not until you fell in love with the Jedi.
It was too easy, your mind too lax. Luke, so soft-looking and radiant as he smiled and enjoyed the company of those around him… And his lips seemed so soft, too, like a press of them would melt against your lips. He'd caught your eye from across the table, gazing at you over the rim of his drink with those damned dreamy eyes…
Then the flash. An idea of Luke sitting across from you, just like he was in that same moment, but with a sexy, sneaky wink and a golden glint coming from that left ring finger…
No, no, no, no, no.
Tears brim as you rush away as fast as you can, as far away from the softest parts of you that you could ever imagine.
Running from a Jedi isn't a smart idea.
From the moment you left the cantina, Luke saw through the flimsy excuse you gave. A high dollar bounty? So what. You'd never, ever ditch your friends over cash, not like that. And the faster and farther you go only affirms his belief that this is over something much more serious. If it's trouble, he'll be right there with you. And if it's something more selfish, or stupid, or petty or…
Well, it doesn't really matter what it is. He's going to be by your side, even if it's with a bit of scolding. He urges the X-wing faster, following the feeling in the Force that brings him right to you, always.
When he catches up, you've already landed and busied your mind with the work of tidying up the ship as you wait for a bounty, one for any price and any place, to flit across your scanner. A distraction, just one, will go so far…
That was the idea until your ship’s hatch opened up, anyway.
God damned Jedi.
You're cornered now, in your very own safe space at that. Luke, looking so perfect and wrought with worry, approaches you with confused eyes and a gentle frown, his brows lightly knitting together more as you purposefully look away. “Luke…”
“Tell me the truth; why did you leave?”
“I told you already, I got-”
His jaw firms as you lie to him, that stubborn bastard with a quick temper he's always been at heart bubbling to the surface as the baby blues narrow. “I said the truth.”
“You should go.”
Black boots click gently on the swept floor of your ship, though taking only a step or two closer still sends shivers down your spine at his proximity. “I can help you, if you would just let me. Please… The truth. Why did you run? I thought we were having a good time…”
Your teeth worry your bottom lip, heart rattling against your ribs for spare change as you face the Jedi you've fallen for. “The truth changes things.” You finally mutter out, turning to stare out the windscreen of the ship. Anxiety thrums your leg with a nervous bounce and your empty fingers are restless, itching to grab onto something for stability’s sake.
“Things will change as they must. You're worrying me.” Luke is soft, so gentle as he does his best to understand, even with the absolute nothing you've given him in this capacity.
Eyes dart away from meeting in your reflection and soft lips that often contain the brightest smiles and heartiest swears twist as you grab a small wrench from the repair you'd finished just the other day, twirling it between your hands. “I… I was having a fine time. A great one, even. I look forward to when we all come together.”
“As do I.” You can feel the force of his stare on your form, and it's just impossible for you to get away from this. Luke is just too damn perceptive, knows you much better than you wish he did.
“And, um…” The inside of your cheek faces a soft bite and you clear your throat more than necessary. “I…”
“You…?” Again he moves forward, doing his best to restrain his impatience as you stutter and stumble around your answer. He can't quite gauge if you're attempting to lie or if the truth is just that unbearable to you. Regardless… He can't quite ignore the way his chest hurts at the idea that you don't trust him enough.
“Luke, if I tell you, it really does change everything… Please.”
He reaches you finally, his gloved hand resting gently on the small of your back while he takes to your left, taking your smaller palm into his warm, caring grasp. He smells so nice, and oh you've always been a sucker for those dark clothes on him… “Have you considered that change does not necessarily equal something bad?”
Your eyes meet, and his strength inspires you as you gently curl your fingers in his. “Luke… I just realized that… T-That I…I…”
Another flash in your mind. Here, with that same golden ring on his finger and his eyes smiling for you before he leans in for a kiss softer than the clouds…
Your lids slip shut. A bounty hunter with many battles behind her, too afraid to confront her feelings. It's always just been easier to pretend they weren't there… But for Luke, they exist and goodness the way they bleed for him... Your heart that beats just for him will never quell its anxious thrum when he's around, not for as long as you pretend it does not.
His warmth is like the many suns in the galaxy, and you feel gracious at the allowance of bathing in his light. And a gentle wave of calmness gives you just enough courage to confront your most authentic self; and damn if Luke Skywalker isn't the perfect man for the task of getting even a brick wall to search its feelings.
“I'm in love with you.” The whispered admittance is a ghost across your lips as your lashes kiss your skin, your courage in short supply now.
Carefully, as if your face is made of the finest porcelain, Luke touches your cheek with the backs of his fingers, rubbing softly against the smooth skin of your cheek. “I can't say I expected that.” He starts off so tenderly, like he's afraid to even raise his voice to speak in a normal tone. This is far too delicate for an inexperienced farmboy to handle halfway decently, yet he's trying anyway.
“I wouldn't call it far-fetched.” You mutter, leaning into his glass touch. “You're special, Luke. Unlike anyone I've ever known before… I see the absolute worst of this galaxy, and every time I see you I manage to find a glimmer of hope that it's not all bad. I-I admire you so much and—” A hiccup interrupts your word vomit, thankfully saving yourself from further embarrassment as you're able to grasp a shred of self-control again.
“Tell me.” A tipping of your chin brings you to meet his crystal gaze. “Why does this frighten you?”
“Because you're… Luke, you're not only a dear friend that I couldn't stand to lose over this, b-but a Jedi! With destiny far greater than a bounty hunter and her pointless feelings—”
“I am Luke Skywalker, a Jedi, yes. But I…” Luke curls his gloved fingers with yours just a little tighter, his knuckle that was grazing your cheek making way for the comfort his entire palm can give. “Am also Luke Skywalker, a man. One that lives and breathes, eats and sleeps the same as you. And feels…” A soft, pink blush blooms across the apples of his cheeks and this time he's the one to break eye contact as you lose those baby blues to severe bashfulness, seeing more of the gentle farmboy than the famed warrior within him.
Your heart absolutely aches for this man. This truly wonderful, special, one of a kind man.
He comes back to you, a sparkling resolve in his eyes as the pink corners of his lips stretch over perhaps the prettiest smile Luke has ever levied. “... And feels very, very much the same as you do.”
“You—?”
Luke's grin only brightens, his pretty eyes crinkled at the corners as he moves in closer, both hands now holding your face as his lips descend. Its softness cannot shadow the passion, the eagerness of the kiss you've both longed for manifesting in soft pants and the gentle tugging at one another for a closeness unachievable.
“I love you,” The blond manages a whimper against your captivating kiss, though he's quickly once more fully invested. His hands finally settle, resting at your back to keep you right where he needs you.
Your reply isn't much more than a feathery whine, but Luke is more than willing to bask in your actions instead anyway. Nimble fingers touch his face, so scared to shatter an illusion that it's a mere graze in comparison to what you've done to him in your dreamworlds; once your confidence returns he'll surely be in for a ride, but admittedly he hopes this essence of sweetness remains. You're rarely vulnerable, and he doesn't need much! He just feels so special knowing that, for him, you've lowered a wall or two and let him in close to your heart. He wants to stay there, nestled into his own cozy little crevice just for him.
As your chest burns with the need for air, your lips leave Luke as your arms compensate for the loss by slinging around his neck and gently playing with his soft hair. Your face comfortably tucks into the perfect space between his neck and shoulder, and your lashes kiss your skin. His arms feel like a home— that's something you haven't had in many years.
Luke's eyes close, a vision flashing as he does. He, a successful Jedi, being wed to the woman he loves, a legendary bounty hunter. An unlikely pairing at first glance, but as the days close in on that vision coming true, he knows fully that destiny got this one right.
where it truly lies. | a star wars tale
chapter xvii - sense
he looks in the eyes of someone he had once failed.
full work
[Anakin Skywalker x Reader]
The doors of the briefing room hissed as they parted.
The sterile recycled air of the hallway hit your face in whiplash as you exited the room shortly after the formal dismissal. The more walls you passed, the more they became cold and unforgiving, and they felt no different than a cage - and, much like the confinements of a cage, all you wanted to do was go elsewhere.
Anywhere but the vicinity of the unknown, of the one variable that, no matter how hard you had tried to ignore, the Force always found a way to put right back into the equation.
Unknown was something you had stopped being afraid of a long time ago, for not many choices had been presented to you - not knowing if your belly would have been full into the night, or if your ship could have withered one more hit through the ion storms, had trained your mind enough to develop the courage to dive headfirst, regardless of the consequences.
It was survival, after all - that never changed, whether you found yourself on a daunting warship or the leveled moon, and it did not listen to your excuses stemming from fear or hesitation alike.
It demanded motion, movement, action, for they were the only answers it had ever accepted, and every fiber of your informal training obeyed, much against the heartbeat in your ribs that kept calling a name you could never forget.
The question of where answered itself in the frantic thoughts of your mind that threatened to match your motions, as you had very limited choices before facing the wrong end of a blaster.
The ship.
Your ship, the one that carried you across worlds, the one with the damaged starboard panel, the one holding your trusted droid safely occupied. The one that seemed like the only familiar place to run to, the only constant that you could name, as the halls were foreign, the overhead lights were too bright, and the air suddenly felt too dry to breathe in.
The heat that had burnt enough to scar within your sternum grew colder with each step treaded.
The boots that had seen the grime of the Outer Rim hit too hard against the polished durasteel, too fast, in a hurry that they had not been in a while, with intention in mind, your memory not failing you yet to map the turns you had walked through a mere hour ago.
They kept up.
They did their job of lining up your feet, one after the other, keeping you as stable as they could when your gait threatened to falter at any given moment, holding up the slight buckle of your knees with the shock running through your limbs.
Yet, they could not be fast enough, for you did not make it far before a heavier, louder stride made the steel echo, with a frequency you could never mistake for anyone elses.
The low static in your mind that had hummed since the first step onto the warship, now erupted, spreading across all your senses, your limbs, and took over your thoughts in the only way it knew how to.
Instinct, the honed edge just under your skin that had kept you alive, that had managed to extract you out of impossible situations in one piece, was left defenseless against the mere proximity after a decade of distance, and the sheer possibility of an exchange after a decade of silence.
Of all moments, across the stars and the space and through the days spent wishing, it chose this one to break resolve - when a voice you had lost all hope in rang through metal with a certain plea.
“Wait.”
------------------
“Wait.”
In the moment that your body moved to turn, an otherwise instant motion that stretched reality this time, etching itself very well into his mind - Anakin Skywalker could swear he felt the galaxy fall, right through his fingers, star and planet alike disappearing into oblivion the moment his eyes locked into yours.
War, he could prepare for.
He could train endlessly in the salles, swing and push until he was drenched in sweat, obliterate any obstacle to perfect his form. He could review approach plans till the rotations slowed and blue of the holotable became one with his vision. He could read maps and create tactics in the hopes of surviving a siege in a clever way, bending the rules just a little when he needed to.
War, at least, was something from which he could come out victorious.
The fastening heartbeat that echoed against his ribcage reminded him, almost instantly that, from this, there was no parting with a win.
It was a ripple within the Force so strong it dragged deep cracks across the surface as if the very fabric of the universe was mortal durasteel. It was the clash of many truths he had once attempted to sweep aside, by his own hand, finally landing to show face.
This, no rule he had ever come to know could contain. There was nothing, nothing in the whole wide galaxy, that could have prepared him for just how this would feel.
Nothing would ever account for the collapse of all that held him whole, from the very instant he had felt your signature in the thread of the universe, to this moment where his feet had dragged him towards you, without permission, without a second thought.
The corridor, the standard sleek design of the Republic’s finest warship, that often bore the coldness he had gotten used to way too quickly, now pulsed with the warmth of the thread that refused to be tamed.
His pulse had found a new tempo, a new rhythm that the war had not yet taught him, one that lived in the marrow of a boy who had once pressed his cheek to a viewport in a ship that would fail to keep promises.
What lived beneath the walls he had once built with bloodstained hands, the very emotion he had refused to name even in the privacy of his own mind, had never disappeared through the years that, unknowingly, inevitably, all led to a singular point in spacetime - and, they tugged onto the pull that lived in his sternum to awaken it.
They did not have to try for long, for the thread was no longer a dormant, silent being once filtered out by his own doing, for no wall, no mind trick could ever contain scorching warmth.
Following the pull, his reflexes moving against the will of his mind, the movement of his eyes betrayed the difference of rank that hung in the air.
And, at this moment, perhaps with a hint of shame, he allowed himself to take you in, for the war did not afford the recognition often, for the weight of long lost years demanded it so.
The dreams that had often woken him up in sweat and gasps, the faint visuals that rendered him unable to fall back into slumber could not do justice to what the galaxy had carved out of the girl in the desert.
Innocence was a long lost feature that no longer coated your face, as fate and decision alike had rendered it infeasible to stay. Your flight suit, a dark synleather number he had noticed you zip up with haste prior to leaving, spoke of a thousand runs, of rattled seats and metal that pierced through on a hit taken too hard, yet, above all, of all the hits that you had survived.
The lines of your figure had gotten sharper, leaner, taller than the girl who had once fit under a workbench. The faint traces of definition along your limbs were molded by a life spent from one cockpit to another, a life of survival that he had been too afraid, too occupied to witness.
It all added onto the tender tragedy of your face, one he had not been ready to read, one he thought he had memorized every letter of in his mind once, yet, still, the inscription was of a language he had forgotten how to speak.
It was a face that would haunt his living and breathing moments, one that had stolen the air in his chest before he could protest, one forged in fire and molded by pain, one the galaxy had no right to make this beautiful.
And, Maker, your eyes. Those eyes that had shone with the fire of building, of winning, those familiar irises that overlaid themselves to the expanse of his dreams, of his conscience, of the memories that threatened to resurface regardless of the many tactics the Jedi had taught him.
From the day you had pranced into the junk shop, ever since the formation of that unforgettable memory he etched onto his heart long ago - Anakin had known those eyes would be the death of him.
And now, they were, unapologetically, staring right into his, making him wonder just what you were seeing, and what exactly mirrored the defiance in your gaze in the depths of your soul.
The general, hardened by the weight of decisions he had to make, scarred by fire and ash alike, was reduced to a little boy on the desert with sand in his hair and the suns blinding his eyes.
It was no longer the warrior that stood in the spotless halls, but rather the little boy who had also once stood in a shop, and believed, with all the certainty of childhood, that there would never be a force strong enough to take you away from him.
He was, with all that was left of him, at that moment when the ship stood still, the boy that had promised you the stars.
The strength that often came natural to him, dwindled as it decided to let fate take over - and it was evidenced by words finally finding voice, finally dragging themselves from his dry throat, low, unbelieving, and raw.
“It’s you. You - you are alive.”
As the admission left his mouth with a tremble in his voice, nothing seemed to matter.
Suddenly, the war disappeared from his thoughts. Voices that belonged to the routine of the ship quieted, the distant murmur of clones and officers moving through the belly of the vessel no more than residual noise.
There was nothing but the resurrected pulse within his chest, echoing the vibrations in your signature, screaming, kicking, yet silent.
There was nothing but the very reflection of all he had once held close to his heart, standing on a pair of dusted boots, shining with the blinding light of the suns that the galaxy could not succeed in dimming.
His gaze flickered across your face with a helplessness he despised in himself, in an attempt of attaching memory to a face, of digging what he had buried with his own hands.
He hoped, in the depths of his heart, that the child from the desert was in there somewhere, whose laughter was subdued for survival, who was forced to grow up too soon. It was in the almost defiant way you held his stare and did not flinch under recognition, in the faint tension along your jaw that spoke of secrets than aggression, as they all materialized into the sharp silhouette that the lowest places in the galaxy carved out of you.
Then came your voice, dry but purposeful, and it proved to be enough to rip the galaxy apart in the depths of his conscience.
“It seems that I am, General Skywalker.”
The title, uttered from voice he had only heard in dreams finally finding tone, struck him like a blaster bolt, making his jaw twitch.
It did not carry the warmth of the nickname you once had for him, one you never dropped from your tongue when he had to rewire, one that you had screamed across the stars at his rising ship. It was pure ice, for it sounded wrong coming out of your mouth, after all these years. It was too clean, too deliberate, shaped by a restraint that made the thread ache between his ribs.
It awakened something in him, born out of the ashes of recognizing yet always falling short - a certain melancholic denial that he was told, countless times, to let go as a Padawan.
The words left him before his discipline could stop them, his training falling short yet another time, as shame could not act fast enough to drag them behind his teeth where they belonged.
“That is what you are calling me?”
The simple question hung in the sterile air, followed by the slight breathy chuckle that carried the disbelief of a man who had heard his own rank spoken to him thousands of times across the war, across each rotation, and had never once felt it tear open a wound up until that moment.
However, you seemingly did not care to share his disbelief, as your gaze remained on his with a stillness that, at first glance, could have passed for indifference. Yet, the burning feeling beneath his ribs had another thought as it tightened in a way that made the empty space between your bodies some uncharted territory no voice dared to cross.
“It is your rank.”
The obvious truth sounded nonchalant as it spilled from your mouth, yet the rank did not belong to your voice, not to him, for there was once a shorter name you had for him that had carried a different melody in the warm air.
Anakin, with the stubbornness that had won him battles, made it his unspoken mission to uncover what the decade had eroded whatever was left of the sparks that once erupted in your eyes when they had landed on him, whether the name you had for him still rang close to your heart or if it had been swallowed along with many words that never came to the tongue.
“You know that is not what I meant.”
Your hands went back to clasp themselves, assessing, in the same way they did when you had been inspecting his wiring under the panels, when you had watched him attach servomotors to half-finished droids, with a certain maturity carved by sand that many children had not possessed that young.
To an outside observer, to the passerby clone heading to his post, to any other pilot or soldier, it would be seen as a harmless, natural gesture of a lower-ranking officer when faced with the general of a legion.
To him, it was a blade, rough along the edges, lodged into his skin deeper with each beat of recognition - yet the memory managed to outweigh the pain as it earned a softening in his electric blues, for your hands, beneath the icy enigma of your stance, still spoke the same language, even when your mouth refused to.
“I am afraid you are going to have to be more clear, sir.”
He did not know what he had wanted or what he had expected, for he had imagined all the possible scenarios seeing you would bring, over the years, often in the darkness of his bunk or in the corners of the training salles. He had imagined this a hundred different ways, often times with a gentle hug, or an angry outburst, a sobbing yet smiling face, if the Force had given him the blessing of sparing your life enough to meet again.
It had, and along with the light, it had also given him the dark.
The guise of recognition that the heat in his sternum denied viciously, the relaxed body language that you never broke as if it was strict formation, the words that concealed their true meaning under formality, the closeness of a mere three meters yet all the distance that came with it - brought out what he had often forgotten about.
It brought back, in the flesh, the boy in the desert, the relentlessly stubborn yet kind demeanor, with the childish anger stemming hot and anew, the one his masters and their doctrines had attempted to bury under the sand, yet could only hope to succeed.
His gloved hand flew to the back of his neck, a restless, frustrated motion of a body that refused to stand still in front of a ghost from the past, in front of the one, singular, constant truth that the galaxy had never succeeded in taking away from his soul.
“Don’t.”
That earned him a slight tilt of your head, your eyes relentless in their calm hue as they kept contact with his, a slightly confused expression settling into your gaze.
“Don't stand here and act like - don't talk to me like you don't know me."
His breathing shifted into something more urgent, the rhythm of it slowly losing its resolve, following the tightening of his jaw, yielding to him even before the implications of the words could fully take a shape. Hints of frustration, something no Jedi should have ever housed within, crossed his face more evidently now, turning more unguarded by the second.
He was a man who could command armies with precision, yet could not command a single sentence right there in that corridor, against the patient voice of a woman who, seemingly, had all night, and had no intention of giving anything away.
"I know who you are, General. Everyone on this ship knows who you are. Half the Outer Rim has heard your name by now."
And, before the silence could engulf the air, before the meaning could land in his mind and soul, your voice carried on its steady pursuit which showed no mercy to the fire in his ribs.
“I also know where we stand.”
Something behind his eyes shifted, the light in them dimmed as if the flame that kept his protest alive got extinguished. His shoulders, broad and tense beneath the robes that had always, somehow, seemed to belong to someone older, someone steadier, dropped into the quiet stance that spoke of defeat.
It was a surrender for a battle he had not been given a chance to negotiate through, for he had already done so, when he had boarded that ship in the middle of the dunes, when he had sealed your name into the void with bloody hands in the desert.
Words rose, still, like ash swirling in the wind to make it to the skies. All the sentences he had silently screamed, all the apologies, the regrets and explanations that came with them, all ten years’ worth of utterances, yet none of them felt worthy against what the years had carved out of you, and none of them felt sufficient to cover what he had owed.
He wondered if they ever could.
They did not make it past his teeth before your voice rang in the sterilized air again, sending his heart into a frenzy.
“Now, unless there is anything I can help with, General,” you spoke, voice cold, dry in a way that could never reveal any emotion underneath, “ - I have a mission to prepare for.”
And, once again, in his troubled blue eyes, he carried the look of the nine-year old boy under the suns, watching your parting figure disappear into a sandstorm - only this time, the sand was durasteel, and the storm was one of his own making.
The thread, the one he had buried alongside every promise he had broken, every plea he had failed and every vow he had made, stretched taut between as you turned the corner without awaiting formal dismissal - and it did not grow cold.
It only shone brighter - and, he knew, through echoes of his destiny etched onto his very bones, through the pulsing pull of the thread, that it would burn him whole one day.
Summary: Qimir was searching for a pupil when he found you, a soul in need of saving. You never spoke, never asked for anything, yet you stayed by his side, bringing warmth to his cold existence.
The marketplace was thick with the scent of sweat, spice, and desperation.
Merchants called out their wares, peddlers whispered of hidden treasures, and beyond them all, in the shadows, Qimir watched.
He was looking for something, or rather, someone.
An acolyte.
Someone worthy of the knowledge he possessed, someone capable of wielding the power the Sith had to offer. So far, the search had been fruitless.
Until he saw you.
You stood stiff, tired, and quiet, your fate being bargained over like a mere object.
Your captor, a greedy, disgusting man, was finalizing the sale.
Your sale.
Qimir could have ignored it. He could have walked away and let the Force guide him elsewhere. But he didn't.
Instead, the air shifted.
One moment, the merchant was reaching for his credits, the next, he was sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath, clutching at his throat.
Qimir’s eyes gleamed as he turned to your captor, who barely had time to protest before he too collapsed, a sudden, violent snap of his neck ending his miserable existence.
Qimir hadn’t expected gratitude.
He hadn’t expected anything, really. He had simply seen something- someone worth saving. And yet, you followed him.
And he let you follow him.
He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was his need for a pupil. He wasn't sure.
But he took you to his home.
Days passed, then weeks.
You never spoke a word, not once.
But you stayed.
His home was simple, secluded, and meant for a man with no need for comfort. Yet, it had changed in your presence.
The fire was always lit, the scent of food drifted through the rooms, and everything had a way of being cleaner, and more organized, as if you had quietly claimed your place there.
Qimir never questioned it.
Never questioned you.
He let you exist in his space as if it were always meant to be shared.
And then, one evening, everything changed again.
He had been training. You had been watching.
Of course, he noticed your presence, but he thought nothing of it until the next morning.
The next morning when he stepped outside and found you mirroring his movements, your body flowing through the strikes and stances he had practiced the night before.
Not perfectly, but close. So very close to perfection.
He didn’t make his presence known until you stopped as you turned and saw him.
He stepped forward, you stopped, frozen in one place.
When he spoke, his voice was low. “Who taught you to move like that?”
You didn’t answer. You only watched him, hands curling into fists at your sides.
“No one,” he realized aloud. “You were watching me.” A slow smile spread across his lips, something dark yet amused flickering behind his eyes. “And you learned.”
You nodded.
That was the moment it hit him. The realization. Just like an acolyte.
He had spent so long searching for a pupil, someone who could wield the Force with natural ease, someone who had the instincts of a warrior. And here you were, silent, determined, and strong.
Exactly what he had been looking for.
But something else settled in his chest, something deeper.
A feeling that had crept in quietly, without him realizing. The way he had come to enjoy your presence, how he found himself looking forward to seeing you in his home, to feeling the warmth you brought to it. To him.
The Sith did not teach love. They did not encourage attachment. But Qimir had never been one to follow rules.
One step forward brought him closer to you. He reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek, fingertips caressing your skin with care.
He expected you to flinch but you didn’t.
“You are more than I ever expected to find,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer. “More than just an acolyte. More than just someone I saved.” His thumb traced your jaw, slow, caring. “You are mine.”
Finally, you spoke, your voice breaking the silence between you for the first time. “And you are mine.”
His lips found yours then, a kiss that was both a promise. The dark side might have claimed you both, but his heart was yours and yours was his.
It always had been.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
thinking about this so lol enjoy more blabbering. i really went off on so many tangents SO sorry about that. kind of a jumble of thoughts i wont lie
its rare when you get to wake up next to each other since you have different schedules, if youre both even on the same system. he is always on the move whether its for a mission or looking for jedi artefacts
even if you don't fall asleep cuddling, you always wake up with his arms around you. he wants to hold you and snuggles up to you in his sleep
luke always appreciates a nice warm blanket, growing up on tatooine where its boiling during the day and freezing at night, other planets (and space travel) are sometimes tough for him to acclimatise to
you like it the best when its not a cold planet so luke doesn't wear a top to sleep and his skin is all warm and comforting when you wake up
everybody has seen the empire strikes back. EVERYBODY has seen his arms.
yes i want to wake up with THOSE arms around me ok.
he is a jedi!!!! i've seen him do his lightsaber training in the comics!!!!! ok back on topic
luke wakes up before you, always an early riser since he was a kid having to go and work on the farm
if its on a base where his quarters has windows, he likes to look at the way that the morning sun is streaming through and hitting your skin. he thinks you look so pretty like that
if its on a ship going through hyperspace, the blue of the star lines travelling past out the viewport lighting up your face. he definitely marvels at that
(actually imagine you fall asleep in the copilot seat and he puts his cloak over you like a blanket and gives you a kiss on the forehead)
(i would definitely steal it all the time and use it as a blanket. and hed be like getting dressed for his day at jedi school as the teacher and i'd be like honk mimimi with it)
(remind me to do something else with stealing his stuff)
he wakes you up with soft, extremely gentle kisses across your shoulders, up to your cheek and your hair
when he senses you waking up he begins to murmur in your ear. "good morning, beautiful"
he's so lovey in the mornings that you get to wake up together
he gives you a little squeeze
when you wake up you groan a hi to him before turning around and snuggling into his chest, wanting to go back to sleep. HE is the early riser here. you don't have to start your shift until later and you want to maximise this time
luke continues to whisper sweet nothings to you as you rest your head on his chest. maybe he isn't busy until later either. even though he's already awake, he is content to stay there with you, letting you sleep
once you fall asleep again luke ever so gently runs his fingers through your hair and caresses the skin of your neck, shoulders, back
maybe you recently got an injury during a mission and there's still remnants of it healing on your back
a luke who is more developed with the force would use it to soothe you as you slept, helping you feel more relaxed and refreshed when you wake up
he can't get over how much he loves you, how beautiful you are, how smart you are. how lucky he is
he lets you sleep a little while longer before waking you up again, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand
no matter what happens, you always feel safe being held by luke
on the other hand, you waking up before him...
you carefully shift around so you can look at him without waking him up. luke never gets to sleep in, never gets to relax. he's always on the go and you want to let him rest even for just a few more minutes
it was always a rare occasion
you study his features the same way that he does to you when the roles are reversed
his eyelashes are so long and pretty (weve all noticed this right.)
your favourite though, is when the sun is peeking through. he is a tatooine boy and the sun suits him so well
it makes the strands of his hair look even more golden and blonde, shining in the light. the way it falls on his forehead, all messed up from sleeping
seeing luke asleep, you can see how young he really is. he is finally able to relax, even just for a moment
he always has the weight of the whole galaxy on his shoulders but all he cared about as he sleeps is holding you in his arms and keeping you safe
you're the first thing that he sees when he first wakes up, and he wishes he could have that view every day
despite being used to waking up early, luke still needs a little time to adjust
if he could, he would spend his morning letting you sleep in, having a blue milk and a dustcrepe for breakfast (hes just a boy from tatooine at heart), relaxing and waking up before waking you up with lots of kisses and getting you to actually eat breakfast
you love his hoarse voice in the morning, it always meant he actually slept well
his bed head was your favourite
you love when lukes hair was a little bit messy regardless, whether it was your doing or from training or on a mission, or even after taking of his helmet
of course you sleep in his tshirt
every rebel got the same basic tshirt and sweats for pyjamas. you liked when the base/ship was warmer because whilst you stole his tshirt while sleeping in his quarters, he would opt not to wear the sweatshirt.
you hate to wake up and be faced with reality of soon not being pressed up against his chest while he stroked your hair
eventually youd have to get up and start your day but in your own little world with luke everything was ok for the time being
