Beneath Beskar

by spacing_in

Summary:

It was easy enough to flirt with the Mandalorian when the cantina counter lay between you, letting you slowly develop feelings for the mysterious, aloof bounty hunter you sensed had a softer side. That is until you’re thrust into close quarters, living together on the Razor Crest, where suddenly there’s nowhere to hide.

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Notes:

hi! this fic is written in 2nd person with a bit of a fleshed-out mc - she has a backstory and all that. I imagine reader as female-presenting and using she/her pronouns, but i try to keep it vague and use they/them pronouns in case anyone wants to better immerse themselves in the story. i've written a fair chunk of this already so expect consistent updates. i hope someone enjoys this as much as i like writing it 🖤

Chapter 1: A Mandalorian Walks into a Bar

It began as a night like any other.

On the backwater planet you’d been born and raised on, working the bar of a seedy cantina, in a settlement that barely passed for a city.

People had gathered from all across the galaxy to assemble in this space, meeting here to drink, laugh, gamble, and engage in other less honest pastimes.

The cantina band plays in the background, soft and lively, adding a nice layer of ambiance to the multi-language chatter and clinking of cups and cutlery.

And there you were, fighting to keep your eyes open.

There was once a time that you were excited to be working here, seeking this job so that you could meet people from all across the galaxy.

Listen to their stories of adventure beyond the dry terrain of this little-known planet, hoping one day to save up enough credits to leave on your very own ship.

To reach for the stars, quite literally.

But once you actually landed the gig and did the math, you realized it would take years before you could break through the atmosphere.

That fact has been weighing on you ever since, and your lifelong motivation to do something better, be something better, began to falter.

In its place was an odd feeling, as if you were standing in front of a door that was open just a crack.

You could see the light on the other side, feel the warm breeze as it tickled your face, but you didn’t reach for the handle.

It felt as if you had to wait for someone else to open the door on the other side and let you in. To show you the way.

The cantina chatter fades into silence, chatter dying out and the band letting the half finished tunes hang in the air.

In its place is the whistling sound of the wind coming from an open door, and the sound of a cloak flapping in the breeze.

Is it closing time already? How long were you out for? You open your eyes, half expecting to see an empty room. What you see instead hits you like an ice-cold shower.

The cantina is just as full as it was two minutes ago, except everyone is completely still, totally silent.

Their heads are arched towards the doorway, trying to get a peek at whoever just entered.

You tilt your head to the side, craning past the slouching Rodian sitting with his back to you.

Looming in the entryway is the silhouette of a man.

Shrouded half in darkness, yet to step into the light of the cantina. Intimidatingly tall and impossibly wide, his shoulders are broadened by the hulking armor that covers his body.

His cape billows in the breeze behind him, making him take up even more space than he already does.

Atop his head he dons a sleek helmet that he doesn't go to remove, generating an aura of mystery that makes you feel all the more curious.

It’s as if his presence fills the entire space, robbing everyone of their breath as they await what happens next.

When the man finally takes one step into the cantina, it’s like the crowd collectively sighs — music resuming and chatter picking back up again.

It happens so fast that you wonder if people are intentionally keeping themselves busy, trying not to look in the direction of this commanding figure as he weaves through the tables, deeper into the cantina.

Which is saying something, considering most here are scoundrels and bounty hunters themselves.

As he approaches the bar, you notice a spherical object floating by the man's side, piquing your curiosity even more.

There’s something special about this armored man, something untamed — which you admit is a little thrilling.

”I wouldn’t let him catch you staring if I were you,” the slouchy Rodian in front of you drawls, nudging you on the shoulder ”He’s one of the top guild bounty hunters, that one.”

You raise your eyebrows, taking note of the warning and averting your eyes.

”What's with all the armor?" You question, hoping the Rodian has some more info for you on this mysterious man.

"You ain’t never seen a Mandalorian before? Y’know, that creed a' warriors that was wiped out by the Imps." He utters, spitting over his shoulder at the mention of the Empire.

The words hit your gut like a Gaemorrean gut punch. A ‘weapons are my religion’, born to fight, hunt-to-kill Mandalorian?

From what little you knew of the creed, it was enough to realize you were in the presence of someone incredibly powerful.

You suck in a lungful of air, hoping he didn’t notice you staring.

That helmet didn’t look like it had great visibility, so you pray he didn’t see your wandering eyes amongst the sea of faces.

The Mandalorian sits down at the bar, and the sphere lays on the seat next to him. He throws his cloak over the object before you can get a proper look.

The patron you were speaking to gives him an anxious side-eye, before turning his back to you, leaving you to serve the new customer.

With a quick and subtle inhale you turn around, coming face-to-face with the steely armored Mandalorian.

"Anything I can get you? A spotchka, ardees?" you offer, pulling a glass from under the counter and placing a hand on the keg tap.

The Mandalorian's helmet tilts, as he looks you up and down excruciatingly slow with his steel grey gaze, helmet tilting as it finally locks onto your face.

You hide the tremble that takes over your body, the hair raising on your arms.

Working in a cantina, you were used to being checked out, but never like that.

"You have soup?" He asks, his baritone voice modulated through the helmet. So deep, the feeling of it reverberates through your ears, makes your chest flutter.

"We have soup." You nod, hand still on the keg, trying to steady yourself from how lightheaded you were suddenly feeling.

"A bowl of soup, then."

"Nothing to drink with that?" you double-check, and in response to your question, his gloved hands creak into fists.

"With a small spoon." He adds slowly, and you cock an eyebrow at the odd request.

Nonetheless, you head to the kitchens to grab a bowl of steaming soup for the Mandalorian.

When you return, you place it before him with a thick slice of munch-fungus bread on a napkin, accepting the payment and turning to serve another customer.

Watching him through your peripherals, you expect the bounty hunter to take the helmet off and eat, but he instead takes spoonfuls of the liquid meal, feeding it to something, or someone, in that metal sphere beneath his cloak.

That's how you first knew there was more to the Mandalorian than meets the eye.

Now and then he would stop by the cantina you worked at, sometimes covered in the dust and grime of a faraway planet, or splattered with blood and mud fresh from the fight, or at times even with perfectly polished armor, and each time oozing power and a tension that couldn't be quelled.

Each time he ordered the same bowl of soup, sneakily feeding it to whatever was in the strange steel sphere tucked beneath his cloak, and each time you tried to crack open the armored shell of the enigmatic bounty hunter a little more.

Despite knowing you were playing with fire, you wanted to know more, finding yourself inexplicably drawn to him.

"What you got under there? A pet?" You'd asked him one time once you'd plucked up the courage.

"Something like that," he'd replied, vague as always.

"I had a pet once, a tooka I named Sneaky. He kind of adopted me. Little guy turned up at my place one day and wouldn't leave." you quip, turning on your heel and serving another customer before you could get a response.

You were used to your interactions being muted, only veering on the edge of amorous. This time, however, was different.

"I don't blame him." the Mandalorian's voice says lowly from behind you, and you bite your lip in response, glancing over your shoulder to find him staring straight at you.

His head cocks, as if beckoning you to respond, but your heart flutters and legs feel weak and it's all you can do to turn your head and pretend you never heard him.

Over time the Mandalorian's shell starts to crack, and the glimpses you see underneath the metaphorical armor lead you down a path you can't turn back on.

He's gruff yet strikingly witty, with a splashing of sarcasm and a mean streak that shows whenever you get bold with your usually coy attempts to flirt.

Knowing he'd come to you after hunting elusive criminals across the unpredictable Outer Rim territories, enduring the elements of dangerous planets, upped the thrill even more.

You were captivated by the Mandalorian— that was undeniable. And, judging by the way he came back time and time again, ordering that same bowl of soup from you and indulging in the same delicate small-talk, you had a hope that he might feel the same.

But it was all a game that the two of you played, maintaining distance with the bar counter between you, never getting up close and personal and seeing where the chemistry and allure could take you.

Until one day, when the matter of your proximity is taken out of your hands and you're both forced into close quarters, leaving nowhere to hide.

---

"It's not like you to sit in a booth. Expecting company?" You ask the Mandalorian as you approach.

He's seated in one of the back tables in the shadier parts of the cantina today, where the less-than-legal business deals took place.

His helmet turns ever so slightly to greet you, and you hear the modulator crackle as he hums in reply. That'd be a yes.

"What can I get you?" You ask, leaning against the table as you look him straight in the visor, where you imagine his eyes to be.

"Two spotchkas. And a bowl of soup." He replies, his baritone voice making your stomach do flips.

You call out the order to the kitchens, giving you a moment longer with the Mandalorian before you fetch it.

“What’s on the table today, then? Super elaborate business deal, top secret bounty hunter stuff? Or are you just catching up with old friends?” you wonder.

"All of the above," The bounty hunter replies, shrugging as he leans back into the booth seat, spreading his legs wide.

It always amazes you how much space he manages to take up, taking the air out of your lungs with it. All that armor, and the muscle that undoubtedly lies beneath…

"Talk about multitasking," You shoot him a smile as you stand up straight, ready to run to the kitchens and prep his order.

But before you can leave, the man of few words has more than a couple for you.

"I'm a Mandalorian, you know. Most people know better to look the other way, let alone try to make conversation." he drawls, and you throw him a smoldering look over your shoulder. Suddenly the air is thick with tension, and you can't help but wonder if his eyes are burning into yours beneath that helmet.

His words edge on a warning, but the composed way he says it reveals to you that he’s testing the waters, trying to gauge your reaction.

When you don't immediately reply he shifts in his seat, leaning forward so the space between you shrinks.

"Well," you sigh, sweeping a cleaning rag across the table as an excuse to lean over and look him straight in the visor, "I guess I'm not most people."

You stay there for a moment; prickling tension filling the air and holding you both in each other's gaze. It only breaks when you hear your name being called and you head to the kitchens to grab the food and beverages he'd ordered.

When you return, you find the Mandalorian is not alone. He's flanked by company, two scruffy-looking Niktos each with a particularly pissed-off expression on their face.

You place the soup and spotchka down and slip away, busying yourself with cleaning the next booth over as you listen in.

"We've got a score to settle," snarls the larger of the two, and you instantly know this is not a friendly conversation.

"That last bounty was ours." the other chimes in, equally as hostile.

"Stop fooling yourselves. You got your asses handed to you so Karga gave me the job." The Mandalorian drawls, and a shiver runs down your spine as you hear how unbothered he is.

"Fuck Karga, Nevarro went to hoth because of him, and you!"

You hold your breath, on edge by how quickly the conversation was escalating.

"What's in that little box of yours, huh? Maybe we can accept it as compensation." you hear hands pulling back the Mandalorian's cloak to reveal the sphere, and the guttural sound of a fist making contact with a gut.

"I knew this deal would be a load of bantha crap. Walk away before you make me do something I'll regret." the Mandalorian grits, and then there's the sound of a blaster pistol cocking.

"We're not leaving until we get what we came for." the bigger of the two growls, and there's the sound of a second blaster pistol cocking.

"Hey," you warn, turning around at the sound "No weapons in here. You've got a problem, take it outside." The Mandalorian has two blasters pressed in his sides, and his hands hover on both his holsters.

"Stay out of this, schutta," the smaller Nikto hisses, insulting you in Huttese as the other throws more derogatory expletives at you.

Two blaster shots ring through the cantina at once, and you flinch as the two Niktos fall limp, slumping onto the bar counter.

You stumble backward, clutching onto the table behind you as you stare at the Mandalorian with wide eyes.

"For the love of the Maker, I said no weapons!" you cry at him, heart thumping with adrenaline.

Before you can hear the Mandalorian’s reply, someone stands up and cries out, a glass is knocked off a table, and the cantina descends into chaos.

One blaster shot leads to another, and then another, and before you know it everyone is fighting, too drunk and jacked up on spice to know who's against who.

The Mandalorian jumps over the table, diving in front of you as a stray shot pings off his chestplate.

"When I say go, take cover behind the bar!" he calls over his shoulder to you, and it's all you can do to bring yourself to nod, feeling all-encompassed by the towering bounty hunter that's protecting you from the chaos.

"Go! I've got your back!" he commands, and you run into the bar and crouch behind it's walls, cursing in frustration.

This wasn't the first time there'd been a fight in the cantina, but they were usually fistfights between drunken patrons, not blaster riots between pissed off bounty hunters in cahoots.

You can hear the Mandalorian getting closer, his grunts of exertion as he takes down another violent patron that comes for him.

Then he's hopping over the bar, landing with a heavy metal thud beside you, that strange steel sphere tucked under his arm, blaster raised in the other.

"You okay? Not hurt?" he asks with a ragged breath, reloading his pistol.

"Fine, I'm fine— what in the fuck is going on?" you splutter, part panicked by the fight, part flustered by being closer to the Mandalorian than ever before.

"Let's just say I don't have many friends on this planet," he drones, aiming and firing at an armed Ubese that approaches the side of the bar counter.

"And now you're dragging me into this," you snort, half-joking, and before the Mandalorian can reply a hand reaches down and grabs you by the hair, trying to pull you up from behind the bar.

You scream, clawing at the hand in a panic, and in an instant the Mandalorian's leaning over you, wedging his blaster into the person's neck and firing an unnecessary amount of times.

The grip is released, and you slide back down onto the ground, chest heaving.

The Mandalorian's kneeling in front of you, his arms on either side of the bar.

His chest swells with breath, and you swear you can't breathe.

"Looks like you were going to get dragged into this either way," he says, voice low and dark, and you know he's not just talking about the gunfight.

"Then help me get out of it," you challenge, making the Mandalorian lean back onto his heels.

He turns to look at the steel sphere beside you, lifting it into your arms and tugging off his cloak, throwing it over the object.

"Take this and meet me at my ship, the Razor Crest. It's on the east side of the shipyard." he instructs "I'll give you a ride to anywhere you need in the galaxy."

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, knowing that this planet was all you knew of the galaxy and you’d have no idea where to go, but with no other option you take your chances and start to sneak to the exit, metal sphere floating beside you.

The Mandalorian grabs you by the wrist, firm enough to be urgent yet still gentle.

"Be careful," he insists, and his protectiveness makes your heart flutter.

After managing to sneak your way out of the cantina, you flit through the dusty streets and rundown buildings, making your way to the south of the city where the shipyard lies.

You don't stop until you're standing outside what you assume is the Razor Crest—the only ship both large, old, and ugly enough to fit the descriptions the bounty hunter had shared of his starship before.

Sighing, you lean against one of the legs of the ship, catching your breath.

Now you feel safe, you finally take a look at the strange object that follows the Mandalorian everywhere.

Sliding your hands across the metal, you come across a small button on the underside.

You press it and the sphere begins to open, and what you see makes the breath catch in your throat.

It's a kriffing baby.

A tiny, wrinkly, flop-eared green baby.

"Well hello there!" you gasp, taking the bundle of joy in your arms. He cooes, looking up at you with huge beetle-black eyes you've never seen the likes of before.

And he smiles back at you, resting a three-fingered hand on yours.

A feeling permeates through your chest, a sensation you can't describe even if you tried, and you realize instantly that the child must be very special.

You pass the time sitting on the landing gear of the Mandalorian's ship entertaining the kid, and it doesn't take you long to decide that he's the cutest little creature you've ever had the pleasure of meeting.

You face away from the direction of the town, trying to ignore the occasional gunfire and shouts that spill out onto the streets. All in a day's work for the Mandalorian; but not something you signed up for when you took the job at the cantina.

The Mandalorian comes to you bloody and dusty, and it's somehow relieving and intimidating all at once.

"Thank you," he grits out once he's standing in front of you, his filtered voice tight and weary "for keeping him safe."

The child starts to squirm in your arms at the sound of the Mandalorian's voice, reaching out for the dusty, dirty bounty hunter.

Despite seeming exhausted, he takes the child from your arms as if by instinct.

The child, who for the most part had seemed restless during the time he was in your care, settles immediately once in the bounty hunter's arms.

"It's the least I could do. Besides, it's nice to finally know who's been enjoying all that soup," you chuckle, smiling down at the kid as he takes hold of the Mandalorian's gloved finger and begins to chew it.

The bounty hunter doesn't seem to mind one bit.

"What's the situation like at the cantina?" you ask, hoping things deescalated from the heat of the moment when you were caught in the crossfire.

"It's gone," the Mandalorian says matter-of-factly in that deep voice of his, shifting from one hip to another, and you raise an eyebrow.

"Gone? How is an entire building just gone?"

"Someone set off an incendiary missile," he says as if it's the most regular thing in the world, like you're discussing hyperspace lanes or fathier racing.

"A MISSILE?" you splutter, tearing your eyes over to the town for confirmation, and you do in fact see a plume of smoke rising from between the buildings.

"B-but my things… everything I own—" you gasp, barely able to form the words, let alone the thought.

The fact that everything you own in this world is at threat of burning up in the fire of a rogue missile.

"Haar'chak— tell me where your stuff is. Where?" The Mandalorian urges, handing you the child and taking a few steps back, fists clenched and back arched.

"Back hall, second door on the right. I— I don't have much, but—" your words are cut off by the roaring sound of a jetpack, as the Mandalorian shoots into the sky and back to the burning cantina.

"But it means a lot," you whisper, only to yourself and the child.

When he returns, the Mandalorian's arms are full to the brim with your belongings. He lays them on the ground gently, and you sink to your knees as your eyes scan across your treasured possessions.

"I grabbed all I could," he exhales, and you can hear the tension in his voice crackle through the modulator.

You make a mental note of everything that lays before you, and you soon acknowledge that everything you care for is right here.

"This is everything. Thank you," you murmur, gratitude and relief washing over you, and you swear you see the Mandalorian ease up a little.

You grab a bag laying among your stuff, and begin to scoop it all into the sack.

The Mandalorian crouches down beside you to give you a helping hand, and you feel so relieved you're not sure whether to laugh or cry.

"Who the kriff carries a missile around, anyway?" You scoff, and the Mandalorian hesitates before answering.

He stands, shifting on his hip, looking down at the child as they gurgle away beside you.

When you stand up and look at the Mandalorian, your eyes focus on an empty slot of his jetpack, and it all clicks.

"It was you? You blew up the cantina?" you state matter-of-factly, too shocked by the situation to let it sink in.

"Someone tried to take off my helmet." He states, a spark of hatred in his voice.

"Ah." you bite your lip, heat creeping to your cheeks. It instantly makes sense.

There's a pause, and you wonder what the face beneath that helmet looks like. Surely not like the little green guy?

“You’re not the same species as him, are you?” You ask, pointing to the kid. The Mandalorian tilts his helmet at you, as if he can’t believe you asked such a thing, but he still humors you with a reply.

“No.”

Ears like that could hardly fit under there. No, the Mandalorian sounded human, albeit a bit robotic sometimes.

“Wait, are you a droid?” You blurt, wondering if all this time you’d been conversing with a bunch of 1’s and 0’s.

“No.” the bounty hunter grits, and your eyes widen a little “I hate droids.” He adds, before finally answering “I’m human.”

Oh, so he is human. Heat creeps up your cheeks again as your imagination starts to conjure images of the face that could lie behind it all.

In a bid to distract yourself, you avert your gaze over to the kid, who the Mandalorian has picked up and is currently letting devour his gloved thumb.

"What's his name?" you ask.

"He's known by most as The Child. But I call him kid. Or womp rat, when he's being extra annoying." the kid's ears twitch at the various monikers he's called by, and he even giggles when he hears the last one, telling you the bounty hunter has used that nickname often for him.

"And what's your name?" you murmur, imagining you're pushing your luck— Something tells you his lack of name goes hand-in-hand with the helmet rule.

"Most call me Mando." he says low and measured, tilting his helmet to the side in suspicion, as if he can sense where the conversation is heading.

You go to open your mouth, ready to recklessly grill the stoic bounty hunter with yet another question until he stops you.

"Enough questions. Now, get on the ship before I change my mind about giving you a ride," he replies gruffly, pressing a button on his vambrace that opens a side door of the starship.

"That's a strange name, mister get-on-the-ship," you smirk, met only with a steely glare.

He starts to walk up the ramp but you don't follow him, your words heavy as you get them off your chest.

"It doesn't matter if you change your mind or not— I can’t come with you. This planet is all I know."

Your reply roots him to the spot. He turns, stepping back down the ramp until you're face-to-face.

You gulp, looking up into his visor, awaiting his next words.

"You’ve never left this planet?" His voice sounds monotonous coming through the modulator, but his words are personal.

You look down at the child to distract your wandering thoughts, answering his question as nonchalantly as possible despite the way your heart rate quickens.

"I… Yes. I was raised in a settlement north of here. Never been off-planet." You state, and in a way, you're ashamed to admit it.

Seeing all the well-seasoned travelers come and go in the cantina, hearing their stories of planets beyond this one.

It almost feels as if spending your whole life planetside makes you the odd one out.

If the bounty hunter thinks less of you then he does a good job of not showing it, instead of asking another question after a momentary pause.

"Well… Do you know how to repair a ship? Fly them?" he prods, and you chew on your lip as you listen to his words.

"As a matter of fact, I do. My parents owned a junkyard growing up. I managed to get an old skyhopper working. I spent every damn moment I could in that thing— most times I wouldn't even fly it. Just sit in it and study the controls." you reply, surprising yourself at how easy it is to open up to an emotionless helmet.

Something shifts in his body language then. The Mandalorian makes a curt nod which could almost be taken as approval.

You shift from one foot to another in a bid to feel comfortable.

Under the scrutinizing gaze of the Mandalorian, it feels impossible, especially with the slowly rising sun bringing light to the city, not giving you the benefit of hiding your emotions in the darkness of night.

But then he asks you one more question, and your attempts at hiding your feelings are entirely useless.

“Do you have anything keeping you here? Family, friends?”

You freeze. Was there anything left for you on this backwater planet?

You already knew the answer to that question, but you just couldn't bring yourself to verbalize it.

You had no real family, nor any true friends in this place. You'd spent your whole life clawing your way up from nothing, your biggest goal being to leave this planet behind and never look back.

The cantina was meant to be a stepping stone, but it soon became a tether. Yet, now, you were freed from all of that.

They say silence speaks a thousand words, and this must be the case now because the Mandalorian goes ahead with his proposition without hearing your reply.

"I could use someone to accompany me— us, on the Razor Crest." The gravelly edge to his voice is almost gone, leaving his words sounding smooth and as rich as dark chocolate.

"Someone to help with keeping an eye on the child, maintaining the ship, potentially flying," the bounty hunter elaborates.

"You're asking me if I'd be up for that?" you murmur, not quite believing his words.

“It’s the least I can do.”

At that very moment, the sun breaks up from the horizon, casting everything in the brilliant light of the morning sun.

You squint and place a hand over your forehead, looking up at the Mandalorian and realizing how little space there is between you.

You let yourself admire the way his helmet reflects the sunlight, even under a layer of grime.

"In return, I'd offer you a share of the credits from the bounties… And my protection."

A certain feeling cascades through your body then; a pleasant buzz that sends tingles to your fingers and toes, tickling your belly and setting something ablaze in your heart.

It would be easy to blame it on the rising sun, but you know deep down that a fire has started within you that you've spent your whole life trying to light.

Maker, this is it.

The door that you've waited your whole life to go through has just opened, and the person that let you in was a tall, broad, and heavily armored Mandalorian with a voice like treacle, all sweet and dark.

All that's left to do is say it out loud.

"Yeah," you finally say, your voice sounding more sure than ever "I'd love to join you."

At your words, the child lets out the most adorable squeal of joy, baring a smattering of teeth in a grin that spreads across his tiny, wrinkly face.

You can't help but giggle at his reaction, indulging the child in a little head-pat.

Mando looks down at the kid, and the tiniest noise emits from his helmet; the faint wisp of a chuckle.

"Before we continue, there's something we need to make clear," The Mandalorian speaks up, and you notice the subtle way he rolls his shoulders back before he speaks, as if he's preparing himself mentally for what he's about to say.

The slight body movement piques your attention, and you tilt your chin up in a bid to show your attentiveness.

"Do you know what it means to be a Mandalorian?" he asks, turning his helmeted head back to face you.

You shrug, unsure, and eventually shake your head. You’d tried to do some research, browse the holonet for more info about the mysterious creed of warrior people, but the results were thin and conflicting.

"I live my life by the creed. Weapons are part of my religion," he explains, his voice returning to a strained, toneless output that tells you he's said these words many times before.

"No living thing has seen me without a helmet since I swore the creed, and only a select few know my name. That's the way it will stay," He continues, and you notice the way he grips the child tighter as he speaks, as if his vigilant instincts are kicking in.

A chill traces down your spine at his words. The prospect of traveling the galaxy with this enigmatic man, knowing that you'll be the closest to him than anyone else probably ever has.

"I won't ask about either," you confirm. "You have my word."

“Yeah? Good.” He replies, a hint of relief in his voice, and he ascends the ramp of the starship again, beckoning you to follow.

And so you take your first step onto the Razor Crest, leaving behind the ashen terrain of your home planet, the dusted remains of what were once dreams now becoming a reality.

Chapter 2: Goodbye, Planetside

Summary:

Reader says goodbye to her home planet and adjusts to life on the Razor Crest with tin can daddy and his little green child. Also, Mando POV. Check the end notes for translations of the Mando'a phrases used.

Notes:

Tysm to everyone that's commented, kudos'd, bookmarked, and read the first chapter! im honestly blown away at the initial reception to this story 🖤

I also wanna shout out my girl Sofia for being the most AMAZING beta reader i could ever ask for. this fic wouldn't be uploaded if it weren't for her, she's read the whole damn thing and is 100% invested even though she'd never read a mando fic before. also we traded obsessions and now i love bucky and she loves mando so it worked out amazingly if you ask me

The Razor Crest could be described as a deceptive ship—from the outside, it's a huge bulky thing, but its interior is vastly different.

No more than a few meters wide at its largest point, most of the space in the ship is taken up by what you assume is storage and engine components.

Once you head up to the cockpit and sit down, reality starts to hit you. You're finally leaving this kriffing planet for good.

Mando seats himself in the pilot seat, so broad his pauldron-clad shoulders span out from the sides of the red leather seat.

His orange-tipped gloves work the dashboard as if it's muscle memory, and you're so absorbed by watching him that the sensation of the starship shooting up into the air startles you.

A little yelp slips out your mouth as you grab onto the side of the seat, causing Mando to cock his head to the side, visor honing in on you.

"You okay?" he asks, and even through the modulator, you can hear the earnest nature of his words.

"I, uhm, wasn't expecting it—" You gasp, clutching your abdomen "It felt like I left my stomach on the ground,"

Mando's helmet leans further out from the side of the seat, and if it weren't for the way it reflects the light you'd have missed it.

Something deep down tells you he's looking right at you. It's the way the skin on your arms prickles, and you feel the need to sit up straighter in your seat.

"But are you okay?" he repeats, low and slow, the timbre of his voice vibrating through the helmet.

"I'm okay," you confirm sheepishly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

He hesitates for a moment too long before turning to face the dashboard, and the gesture leaves your mind musing.

Taking in a deep breath, you try to draw yourself back to your surroundings; the sensation of flying again.

You remember getting a similar feeling from flying the skyhopper as a kid. A feeling you relished in back then, though it was nowhere near as intense as flying in a ship as large as the Razor Crest.

But today the feeling in your gut is a little different, as you gaze ahead at the viewport, watching as the ship breaks through the clouds.

You feel different than you had before, because blocking half of your view is the towering, fearless Mandalorian bounty hunter you'd spent months skirting around.

The man you somehow knew and simultaneously barely knew at all — having spoken with him countless times in the cantina, stealing glances and prodding with conversation and almost flirting.

That was all so easy when the cantina counter stood between the two of you, a no-man's-land between the little game you’d played.

But now, as you sat here in close quarters, practically rescued by the Mandalorian and given the chance to start a new life with him and his little green companion, things suddenly got very real.

The child makes a noise, grabbing your attention to point a tiny finger ahead, and your attention is diverted to the viewport.

You watch in awe as the sky darkens, even though the sun has only just risen, and it takes you a moment to realize exactly why.

You're breaking through the atmosphere and entering into space.

Time seems to melt away as you sit there, taking it all in, the child content on watching the sky with you.

At last, the stars begin to reveal themself, at first only a few burning bright, until eventually hundreds, thousands, endless numbers of them scatter across the pitch blackness of space.

There're so many stars you wonder how there's any room to fly, let alone travel for weeks on end without seeing a thing.

The most entrancing part of it all is watching the Mandalorian, the way the stars streak across his armor as he presses buttons in quick succession and pulls a handle on the dashboard, sending the Razor Crest rocketing into hyperspace.

Mando stands up measuredly, walking over to the durasteel doors but hesitating before he walks through them.

He tilts the visor down to look at you, still seated, and it becomes apparent just how cramped the Razor Crest is going to feel with the two of you in it.

It's a little tantalizing, veering on the edge of intimidating as he towers above you — a feeling you'll have to soon get used to, now you're in such continuous closeness.

"Need to get cleaned up. Are you okay with him?" the bounty hunter asks, gesturing to the child, but your eyes are focused on his armor, still covered in the dust and grime of the now faraway planet.

"Of course," you reply, and he nods once, stepping through the doors and leaving you and the kid alone in the cockpit.

You stay seated for a long while after that, watching the blue tendrils of hyperspace as they stretch across the viewport, unable to tear your eyes away.

The Razor Crest glides through the silence and emptiness of hyperspace, passing through the space between everything as you travel across the galaxy.

The silence will take some getting used to, you think to yourself.

Your time on your home planet was filled with endless noise, be it people, starships, nature, or the rush of your own thoughts. But here in the liminal, the silence is all around, cocooning you like a blanket.

And it surprises you how easily you get used to such a thing. In fact, it soon dawns on you just how much you needed it.

The quiet gives you time to think, relax, to observe your surroundings. You spend some time exploring every nook of the ship, kid happily perched on your hip.

You’re fascinated by how much stuff can be crammed into such a small space, and what you see starts to paint you a picture of the austere bounty hunter.

He's a man of few possessions, living a modest life with the barest necessities tucked away in various corners of the starship.

The razor in the medicine cabinet tells you he shaves, and your imagination is left to fill in the gaps of how often, and to which form.

His cot is both bare and clean, with not even a blanket laid out in the dimly-lit alcove adjacent to the fresher.

There's a tiny hammock above that looks perfectly sized for a tiny green baby, and when the child reaches out to go lay in it and you ease him in, you can't help but crack a smile.

The thought of the helmeted Mandalorian resting his head in this space, while the kid swung to sleep above him.

Something that strikes your attention is a pendant of a horned creature's skull, hanging above where the Mandalorian would rest his head.

You admire it from afar, not wanting to clamber into the bounty hunter's bed and touch his stuff. Still, you can't help but wonder what the emblem means, recognizing the shape from the symbol stamped onto his armor.

The main thing that strikes you as you look around is that, despite the Mandalorian's profession, there wasn't a single weapon or round of ammo to be found scattered across the hold.

With the curious child aboard the ship, it seems the responsible thing to do, but you still can't help the way your heart swells at the considerate act.

You barely hear the Mandalorian approach you as you sit on the floor of the hold sometime later, studying an open circuit panel in the hopes of learning more about the inner workings of the ship.

"Fresher's yours if you want it." Mando lets you know, and your heart jolts in surprise at his deep voice cutting through the silence suddenly.

"Okay, thanks," you reply breathily, wondering how a huge armored Mandalorian managed to sneak up to you so quietly.

But once you look up in his direction, you realize that the bounty hunter is stripped down of his plate armor.

The dark padded jumper and tactical trousers that remain outline the shape of his body, enhancing what was clearly already there, even before all the armor bulked him up.

He stands with one arm leaning against a crate in the hold, the other gloved hand hooked into his belt loop in place of his regular resting spot of his bandolier.

And with that action comes the fleeting sensation of a fire being lit in your belly, feeling the urge to submit to the commanding presence the bounty hunter emits.

His helmet tilts to the side, angling down as if focusing on the fact that you're currently rooting around the inside of his ship, and it dawns on you that you've been staring at him for slightly too long.

Your head snaps back to the exposed panel on the wall, hoping to hide the blush as it creeps up your face.

"It's my first time looking at a starship of this era— I might've gotten a bit carried away." You explain shyly.

The Mandalorian lets his gaze rake over you, taking you in as you sit on your heels beside the exposed wall panel, tucking in a couple of loose wires.

“Not a problem. Look away,” he offers, and his voice is like gravel. Kriff, you could really use that fresher right now.

You stand up with a little too much energy, eager for the sonic blasters of the fresher to rid you of the dust and dirt that lays on your skin.

"The kid's fast asleep," you let Mando know, relieved that the kid went out like a light in the hammock, leaving you with some time to get your footing and study the ship.

Sauntering past Mando, the scent of fresh soap and a hint of woodsmoke meets your nose, along with something else more intoxicating.

You lock yourself in and start the shower, surprised by the water jets that spray from the wall as you turn it on.

With the age of the ship, you hadn't considered that it wouldn't have a sonic shower, instead boasting an old-fashioned water jet device.

Though not nearly as time-effective as sonic waves, the feeling of the hot water hitting your skin was unbeatable.

Which leaves you to spend an extortionate amount of time in the refresher, mulling over the events of the day, thinking of the adorable child and his mysterious guardian.

---

Mando wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up with you as a permanent companion on the Razor Crest.

He hadn't made the decision consciously, at least. No, it was instinctual— something snapped in the bounty hunter when he'd realized you had nothing left on the backwater planet you'd come from.

It was a split-second decision, driven by the heart.

So if he was being honest with himself, he was sure of how you joining him had come to be. He'd been in this position before, the first time he laid eyes on the child and felt the instantaneous need to protect him.

Protective. He felt protective of you, dank farrik.

All those times going to that cantina and seeing you there, watching you smile and saunter back and forth between customers, thanking the Maker that the helmet made it imperceptible how much his gaze was trained on you.

Because he looked at you. A lot. More than he cared to admit. His eyes were magnetized to your figure, watching as you went about your shift, all while his body stayed perfectly still, conditioned to remain an aloof beskar shell of a person.

He questioned himself at first — after years of contented solitude, why in the galaxy was he drawn to you so much?

Again, it was another question he knew the answer to, but couldn't bring himself to admit.

The first time he visited the cantina, he hadn't spoken to or seen another human being for weeks.

And when you'd greeted him with a smile, asking him kindly what he'd wanted and not flinching or scowling when he'd answered you with gruff hostility, he would be lying if his cold heart hadn't eased a little.

From that moment on, Mando found himself making excuses to swing by your planet and grab a bowl of soup, relishing in the banter and pleasantries that teetered on the edge of flirting.

It was easier to converse with you, then. When you weren't entrenched in such proximity. In that seedy cantina, leaning across the bar and occasionally plucking up the courage to speak with you.

Because stars, you were beautiful. Breathtakingly so. And Mando found it hard to ignore that. To acknowledge that he felt an insatiable urge to be closer to you, to get to know you, to be there for you.

The last thing the Mandalorian wanted to do was complicate things. He had invited you on this ship for your safety, and he was going to make sure it stayed that way. That meant not making you feel uncomfortable in any manner.

Yes, Mando was going to stay in control when it came to his thoughts about you.

He was a Mandalorian, for Maker's sake, being distant to aruetiise was a part of his way. The Way.

Well, at least the kid finally got what he wanted, Mando muses to himself. He'd had to stop him from escaping his cradle far too many times on hearing your voice.

He was a curious creature by heart, that much was true, but never had he seen him react so strongly to someone before. As if meeting you was the most important thing in the galaxy.

Mando shakes his head, staring out into the stars and trying not to get carried away by his thoughts.

---

After your shower you find yourself feeling cleaner than you had been for a long while, your damp hair making you shiver a little in the cool, dry air of the Razor Crest.

Mando's working away at his plate armor down the other end of the hold, and beside him is the child who slumbers in his cradle.

With the kid asleep, you take the opportunity to curl up in one of the passenger seats of the cockpit and watch the stretches of shooting stars as you glide through hyperspace.

It's been a long day, you realize. You worked almost an entire shift at the cantina, before abruptly saying farewell to your life and leaving on the Razor Crest.

You figure it would be sometime in the afternoon on your home planet now, and stars, does your body feel it.

You're usually passed out before the sun rises after working a night shift.

You hum to yourself contentedly at the thought of not having to do that again.

Perfectly at peace, it doesn't take long for your eyes to droop closed, and soon you're dozing off in the red leather seat.

When you awaken you find yourself toasty warm.

For a moment it all feels like a dream— the cantina fight, meeting the child, leaving with the Mandalorian. Seeing space for the first time in your life. All of it.

But then you crack open an eye for a second, and seeing a flash of the cockpit is enough of confirmation to let you close your eyes again, at ease.

Wriggling in the seat, you realize you're so warm because there's a blanket covering you, woolen and expansive.

You're content on staying curled up there for a little while longer, head resting on the cool durasteel as you listen to the whirr of the ship's engines and the chirps of the dashboard controls.

Then a frustrated cry of the child grasps your attention, but before you react, the voice of Mando makes you hesitate.

”Alright, ad'ika, it's yours. Just try to hold onto it this time, okay?"

You freeze. You haven't ever heard the Mandalorian speak as softly as he just did.

Gone is the gruff edge of his words, leaving behind a silky baritone murmur that melts your heart.

The child coos at Mando in reply, and you crack open an eye to see the bounty hunter unscrew a silver ball from a joystick on the dashboard, depositing it into the child's grabby hands.

You blink a couple of times, trying to rub the sleep out of them to take in what you're seeing.

You notice that you've left hyperspace, and the pitch darkness is interrupted by a giant red planet that fills the viewport.

Before you can react, the child turns around and sees you're awake, babbling and pointing at you.

The ball that was in his hand drops to the floor and rolls away, causing a modulated sigh to escape from Mando's helmet.

You reach down and pick up the silver ball as it hits the base of your chair, moving over to the child in Mando's arms and crouching beside him to hand him the ball.

"Dropped this, little buddy?" You ask as the child takes the ball from you with glee.

Mando's helmet twitches slightly in your direction, his focus on piloting the ship with one hand.

"Here, why don't we give Mando a break," you tell the kid, lifting him from the Mandalorian's arms and placing him on your hip.

"You sleep okay?" he asks you, and the heat rises to your cheeks as you pray you didn't drool or snore.

"Really well. I never imagined hyperspace to be so calming," you admit, your attention captured by the desert planet that looms before the three of you, the cracked red surface spanning the entire viewport.

"You should get seated. We're making our descent, and this planet has a rough atmosphere," Mando says, his modulated voice miles away from the soft tones he used when speaking to the child.

All of a sudden the ship begins to shake, causing you to grip the pilot's chair with your free hand to steady yourself.

You place the kid in his seat and strap him in, leaving him with the silver ball to occupy himself.

The darkness of starry space turns lighter with the break into the planet's surface, shining through the panoramic transparisteel of the cockpit and filling it with light.

Once you make it to your seat you're reminded of the huge piece of fabric that you woke up to find covering you.

Lifting it to inspect it, the smell of woodsmoke and the dust of a hundred planets hits you, and it dawns on you that Mando must have covered you with his cloak when you were sleeping.

You clutch the cloak tightly as the Razor Crest makes its descent, trying to admire the planet as it rolls into view but letting your eyes hover over the man-made of metal instead.

---

"Need you to stay on the ship with the child. Don’t let him out of your sight or he’ll have you halfway across the galaxy in the blink of a parsec."

Those are the first words Mando says to you once the dust of your landing has settled.

You're parked in a narrow valley between two orange dusty mountains, shielding the ship from sight while still giving enough of a view of this foreign planet.

Stepping out of the cockpit, Mando turns his head to the side and makes a beckoning motion with two leather-clad fingers.

Follow me, he's silently asking. You follow.

You take the kid and cloak with you and follow the Mandalorian to the hold of the ship. He presses the button on the wall, revealing a hidden weapons arsenal. Ah, so that's where it all is.

Picking the most compact blaster of the bunch, he turns it in his hands, as if inspecting it.

"Do you have any formal combat training?" he asks you.

“I know how to protect myself if it comes to it," you reply. Life on your home planet wasn't easy, to say the least, so you had to learn certain tactics to wreak havoc when need be.

He places the blaster in your hand and you freeze, having never held a weapon before.

"Know how to fire this thing?"

"No," you admit. Mando's head tilts ever so slightly, and you wonder if behind that t-shaped visor he's looking right at you, analyzing the way you look down at the weapon with intrigue.

He then breaks out into a stride down the hold, pressing a button on his forearm that opens the back of the ship.

He draws his blaster out from its holster, holding it up in the air.

You nearly stumble over your footing to keep up with him, standing to a halt beside him as you look out over the barren desert before you.

The kid coos on your hip, preoccupied with his silver ball.

"Aim, squeeze, fire," Mando says, using his blaster as an example as he targets a rock, shooting the exact spot multiple times.

He takes the child out of your arms and you grip the blaster with two hands, peering down the sights and squeezing the trigger.

After a few tries, you hit a rock some way away, surprising yourself. Once, twice, three times in a row.

"I like those odds," the bounty hunter notes, a lighter lull to his baritone voice.

He passes the child back to you and you take him in your arms, tucking the blaster into the back of your pants.

"No funny business, you hear me?" Mando points a gloved finger at the child as he speaks, but the kid merely giggles in reply, making no promises.

And then the Mandalorian pauses for a moment, helmet darting back up and locking on your face.

You stare into the darkness of the visor, seeing your own two eyes reflected at you, waiting for either of you to say something.

The air is thick with tension, and it’s like you’ve forgotten how to speak, to joke and quip like you used to.

Not now you're standing face-to-face like this, with a fluttering in your chest that simultaneously unnerves you and makes you warm all over.

"Oh," you exclaim softly, bundling up the fabric you'd placed on a stack of crates and handing it to him "your cloak."

He takes the bundle of fabric from your arms, throwing it over his shoulder and wrapping it around his neck, but struggles to tuck the ends into the front of his chest plate.

"Here, let me," you offer, reaching up and tucking the material beneath the chest plate. As your fingers slide between the metal and his body, you notice just how tense he is.

"Thanks," he grits out once you're done, his voice as rigid as his armor and the body beneath it.

Your eyes run across the sleek metal armor that dons his body, and as you stand this close to him you can discern that there's something different about the material, something distinctly high quality.

"Your armor. It's pretty unique, right?" you dare to ask. His chest swells at your question, lessening the already minimal distance between the two of you even more, and you take the excuse to shift the kid from one hip to another, stepping back ever so subtly.

"It's beskar," he starts to explain, holding out his arm and letting the vambrace that covers it shine in the sunlight "Mandalorian iron, forged in the flames upon the genesis of my clan, Clan Mudhorn."

"You're in a clan? With who?" you ask, curious as to who the lone Mandalorian works with. Did it have something to do with the emblem on his armor and hanging in his cot?

"That's a story for another day," he says lowly, turning to face the outside world, and your interest is only piqued even more.

“Good luck out there,” you utter, and the only reaction you get is the creaking of his gloves as he looks to the ground and up again, shifting the weight between his soles.

He looks so powerful standing there, his broad figure outlined by the stark backdrop of the barren desert. Shoulders broad, stance wide.

The giant rifle slung across his back makes him look all the more intimidating.

"I'll be back soon. Be smart," He replies, voice low and oddly soothing, and just like that, he leaves.

You watch the retreating figure of the bounty hunter until he crosses the valley and disappears over the horizon.

The doors of the ship close and lock, and thus begins the wait for the Mandalorian to return with his quarry.

For your first time on another planet, you can't help but find the experience not quite what you expected.

Tucked away in a ship and only able to see it through transparisteel, staring out at miles of desert that to you looks like a different shade of your home planet.

The initial excitement of being on another planet wears off after a couple of days, and you're left with your wandering thoughts as you care for the child.

You wonder where the Mandalorian is, how close he's gotten to catching the quarry.

Does he sleep while he's on the job? He had a bag slung over his shoulder, but surely that couldn't hold enough supplies for a man the size of him.

You think of the way his cloak smelt of woodsmoke and you imagine him hunting down creatures for sustenance, roasting them over the open fire.

He's such an enigma to you, and despite your willingness to respect his boundaries, an untameable part of you wants to learn more.

On the third night, you awaken from your curled-up spot in the cockpit chair, the place you'd taken to sleeping, to the sound of a durasteel door hissing open below.

It startles you at first, and you reach for the blaster just in case, but once you peer down the stairs to the hold below and see a flash of beskar dragging a cursing quarry, you know that there's nothing to fear.

Mando's back. You're safe.

You listen out for the sounds of the carbonite closet hissing open, and once the quarry is thrown in and sealed you feel the urge to head down the ladder and greet Mando.

You spot him standing in the middle of the hold, hand pressed against the wall where the door to the carbonite closet is as he catches his breath.

"Hi," you say, and immediately the Mandalorian stands to attention, unholstering his blaster and cocking it.

As soon as he sees it's you he yields, holding his hands up and letting the blaster scatter to the floor.

Regardless, you yelp in surprise, hiding behind a metal beam as your heart feels like it leaps out of your chest.

"Haar'chak!— sorry… forgot… you were here," Mando's voice comes out as strained, breathing labored.

You peer around the beam with wide eyes, seeing that he's leaning against the wall with one palm, head hanging low.

Your eyes drop to his lower half and you notice he's leaning on one leg, not putting any weight on the other.

"Are you hurt?" you blurt out.

"M'fine… Just need a minute," he assures you, and he leans to his left where he reaches for a first-aid kit on the wall, pulling out a bacta syringe.

"How's the little womp rat been?" he asks you, voice strained.

You watch as he unstraps the beskar from his thigh, letting the plate clatter to the ground, and your stomach drops as you wonder how badly he's injured himself.

"He's good. Won't stop chewing on that silver ball," you note, thinking of the number of times you caught him up on the pilot's chair trying to unscrew it from the dashboard.

The Mandalorian stays silent as he places down the syringe and starts tugging at the layers of armor from his midsection, until he reaches his belt, hand hovering at his belt buckle.

His helmet locks onto you expectantly, and you blush from head to toe as you realize he needs to undress to tend the wound.

"Oh, sorry," you gasp, whipping your head around immediately to give him some privacy.

The sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor makes your toes curl, and a mixture of lust pools in your stomach. Maker, control yourself.

"How're you holding up?" Mando asks you through gritted teeth, and in your imagination you can see him with his pants down, injecting his bare thigh with the bacta shot.

"Fine!" you squeak out, voice unnaturally high.

You clear your throat and try again. "It's been quieter than I'm used to. The little guy isn't the best at holding conversations," you add, and after a while, you hear the sound of a belt buckle being closed and a zipper being zipped up.

"Can't say I'm much better," Mando replies, his voice back to normal, and you peek around the doorway again, hoping the heat in your face is not noticeable.

"All good?" you ask, gesturing towards his patched-up leg. Mando looks down and shrugs, walking past you with his weight on both legs like it's no big deal.

“What happened?” You ask, morbidly curious.

"Got struck by a poison arrow. Had a couple of minutes before the toxins started to curdle my blood," Mando says dismissively, and you hear him walk up to the ladder behind you.

Your jaw drops in shock over what he said. Poison arrow? Curdled blood? A couple of minutes? How was he acting so calm?

"Is it like this on every planet? All desert and bounties and poison arrows?" you blurt, turning around to face the Mandalorian, your eyes boring into the back of his helmet.

"Sometimes. The galaxy can be a brutal place," he admits, and as he places a boot on the first rung of the ladder.

"Maker, really? I don't know if I can make it out here if the galaxy is really this… this…" You suck in a breath, the air thick with anticipation as Mando turns around to look at you.

"You don't need to worry about that," he utters, low and slow. His calm tone should be easing your worries, but everything about this moment is making you feel light-headed instead.

"But why?" you ask, too flustered to catch on to what he's implying.

His whole body angles to face you as he says the next words, consuming the space as his arm grips onto a rung above his head.

You gulp, not even sure where to place your eyes, too busy roaming the armor you now know as beskar to even think coherently.

Once your gaze locks on the endlessly dark t-shaped visor of the Mandalorian's helmet, he finally answers your question, voice low, slow, and smooth as ever.

"Because I've got you."

Notes:

Aruetiise - an outsider, someone that isn't Mandalorian
Ad'ika - son, daughter, little one
Haar'chak - damn it

Chapter 3: Across the Dune Sea

Summary:

Starts with a time-skip. Then we're off to Tatooine! Also, Mando POV.

Notes:

hey! here's a song I listen to whenever I write Mando POVs https://youtu.be/2Uxq-kIAMBM
I listen to the slowed version to really get in those feels. These lines especially make me think of Din:
"A hundred pounds of heavy steel, it feels so loud
Tied to my chest, it feels so loud"
Do you have a song you listen to when reading/writing Din? lmk, I'd love to hear!!

It's been a while since you took the leap to cross the stars with the Mandalorian and the child, and during this time you've found yourself getting accustomed to this new way of living.

Each planet you landed on was an entirely new experience. From dense tropical forests where everything was lush and blooming, to barren arctic tundras with snow so white it made the Razor Crest glow.

Sometimes you’d venture out with Mando, gathering supplies or eating a hot meal on planets that were so different from anything you'd seen before.

Mando made sure you and the child stayed right by his side the entire time, his body tense, sentences clipped. Always on guard.

Having no formal fight training, it was safer if you and the child stayed on the ship, which you opted to do often.

All the time you'd spent with the kid had meant the two of you developed a special bond, though sometimes it felt as if it had been there all along.

You'd look into his wide eyes, deep and endless like the depths of space, and you'd feel so calm. Despite his words being limited to mostly babbling, the two of you understood each other and got along well.

It broke your heart every time the kid had to say goodbye to Mando as he left for a hunt; the way his little shoulders would drop was unmistakable, and for the rest of the day he'd mope about until he took his afternoon nap and perked back up.

Each time the Mandalorian left, sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for several days, you watched from the bubble of the Razor Crest as day turned to night and day again, caring for the small green child and admiring the planets from afar.

Until Mando would appear on the horizon again — the treeline, the crest of the mountains.

Dragging along with him a quarry that he hauls into the carbonite chamber, sometimes with a fight, other times without.

And then he'd dust himself off, grunting in a mixture of pain, frustration, and exhaustion as he'd remove his armor and dress his wounds.

Even in close quarters, the Mandalorian remained a man of few words, so your conversations were fleeting and something you valued highly.

But with the times you did speak, you'd come to learn more about Mando and his little green kid — enough to get the bigger picture of things.

Though the man beneath the beskar still remained a mystery, his and the kid's journey until this point was something you now had some insight into, and your heart softened at it.

"Locked in, ready to leap." Mando's words cuts through the silence of the cockpit, and you finish strapping the kid in his seat and dive into yours.

It's only after the sound of you getting seated that the Mandalorian pulls the lever on the dashboard, and space begins to streak into a mass of swirling blues, silvers, and indigos.

Hyperspace.

Your time in the in-between of hyperspace is spent trying not to get under the Mandalorian's feet, hoping to prove yourself a useful and valuable member of this ship.

You find things to fix, items to clean, ways to keep your hands busy with the kid by your side.

You respect Mando's boundaries, minding your own business as he spends hours in the hold, mostly tending to his armor and weaponry, organizing rations and medicine, or working out.

But every time you find yourself in the bounty hunter's presence, each time he looks your way, staring at you through an unreadable black visor, you feel your blush deepen and that feeling grow in your chest.

The days of your easy banter in the cantina were no longer. The air between you had supercharged, leaving you dancing around each other in the tiny little ship and not daring to be as subtly flirtatious as you were before.

The tension between the two of you seemed electric, leaving you breathless with every little interaction.

Truth be told, you found yourself wanting more of him.

Each night, as you curled up in the passenger chair of the cockpit and dozed off to sleep, you questioned just why your desire burned for a face you hadn't even seen.

But then your mind trailed over everything else, and it all made sense.

His rich, smooth, deep voice, crackling measuredly through the modulator as though he'd thought through every single word he shared with you.

The way he worked the dashboard of the Razor Crest, gloved hands skirting over the controls like muscle memory, their dexterity feeding into the depraved side of your mind.

The slight tilt of his helmet every time you stumbled over your words — and the way he'd lean up against the wall or a crate, crossing his arms and getting comfortable as he listened to you tell him how the kid had been that day.

The fact that he towered over you, dizzyingly so, all decked out in that unbreakable armor, his gaze trained in your direction through an enigmatic black visor.

And how could you forget the gentle tone he used when he spoke to the kid when he thought you weren't around?

And yet this soft side of him mixed with something else, a thrillingly dangerous streak that sucked you in like a black hole.

He was a hot-blooded man, made of beskar and born to hunt, a bounty hunter who sent cantinas into waves of silence and could take down entire gangs single-handedly.

Stars, the mere thought of him made your toes curl. And you were part embarrassed, part hopeful, but from the bottom of your heart, you knew you didn't want to mess up the good thing you had.

So, you tried your best to bury those thoughts, feelings, desires. How were you to know what Mando felt about you?

He treated you the same as always, perhaps offering you more distance than you liked. Forever remaining a mystery, which was sometimes a treat, and other times torture.

There was no reaching the man beneath the armor. Or at least, that's how it felt.

For a brief moment, things seemed reassuringly predictable. Yet that's exactly where you went wrong: trying to predict life with the Mandalorian.

"This next place we're landing… You and the kid will be staying planetside." The Mandalorian tells you, breaking the silence of the cockpit as the ship glides out of hyperspace.

You'd come to accept that the job required you to stay on the ship except for the occasional breather, due to the dangerous nature of the planets Mando's quarries were located.

"Planet? What planet?" you ask, unable to hide the caution in your tone.

"Tatooine." He replies, and you try the name out in your head. You hadn't heard of it before, and something tells you it's lightyears away from anywhere else.

You stare at Mando's reflection in the viewport blankly, and you realize he must have been watching your reaction judging by what he says next.

"It's a desert planet located in the Arkanis sector. Not much there but Jawas and Banthas" Mando adds, in an offer of an explanation.

"I understood about half of those words," you admit, and you swear you hear a wisp of a chuckle come through from the helmet's modulator.

The sound of it makes your chest tighten.

"I have a contact there. She's taken care of the child before. It's safer for you and him than staying on the Crest alone." Mando elaborates some more, and you nod slowly, taking it all in.

"Uh, sure…" your stomach is amiss with butterflies and knots. Judging by the fact that Mando doesn't really keep friends, you assume that this person must be decent enough.

But if they're not? Well, maybe you can find a kindly Jawa or Bantha to take you in. Whatever the hell those things are, anyway.

Your feelings must be written all over your face, because Mando swivels the pilot seat to the side, looking directly at you.

"Hey," he calls, the faintest hint of tenderness crackling through the helmet modulator "Do you trust me?"

It's something about the way he says it that gets you. Like he can imagine exactly what's going through your mind.

The fear of something new, the unknown. Staying in a place you don't know, with someone you've never met, on a planet that's totally unfamiliar to you.

But you weren't just traveling with any old person, no. You had the Mandalorian by your side.

It was hard to feel unsafe when the unstoppable bounty hunter has your back.

"Yeah," you murmur, locking eyes with the visor that's trained on you "I do."

---

The first thing you decide upon landing on Tatooine is that you won't be befriending a Bantha or Jawa anytime soon.

Your walk down the gangplank of the ship and into the dusty desert town of Mos Eisley is suddenly interrupted when a group of huge, horned, shaggy mammals stampedes across the docking bay.

Chasing after them is a small, cloaked figure shouting what you can only assume are profanities.

With one hand resting on his bandolier, Mando takes the opportunity to point at the commotion and give you a little lesson on the Tatooine sights.

"Bantha," he says, pointing to the behemoth on the loose "Jawa." He directs your gaze to the small figure stumbling after it.

"Bantha, Jawa." You repeat with a firm nod.

Mando strides down the remainder of the gangplank, body seeming rigid and ready, yet somehow loose at the same time as if he knew anyone who dared to play games would be as easily exterminated as a fly.

A cloud of dust gusts in, billowing his cape in the wind and obscuring your vision of the town as you tail him.

When the dust cloud clears you remove your hands from shielding your eyes, and look out at the rows upon rows of domed sandstone buildings that make up this little run-down settlement.

People both humanoid and alien meander by, some standing around in groups, speaking in low murmurs.

The kid cooes from the bag you've slung over your shoulder as if reminding you he was there.

"I know little guy, you wanna be the center of attention," you joke, giving the child a hearty scratch in between the ears.

Mando leans towards you, reaching into the bag and covering the child with the blanket you'd placed in there as cushioning.

His gloved hand brushes your clothed form, and whether it was an accident or not you don't know, but the sensation leaves you lost for breath.

"Need you to lay low while you're here. Best not to draw attention in a place like this," the bounty hunter warns, and his words urge you to scan the area a little more intently, getting a feel of the people of Mos Eisley.

It's then that you notice all eyes are on you, or more specifically, on the mirror-metal bounty hunter that's strolling beside you, the shape of his helmet and array of weapons slung on his tense body sending off a very clear signal.

The hushed conversations have ceased, and in their wake are gaping mouths and darting eyes.

On a street corner, a group of aliens of all sorts gathers by, sneering at the sight of the Mandalorian and you walking beside him.

Startled, you step closer to Mando, bumping into him in the process.

For a split second, the blanket covering the kid shifts, revealing the giant green ears of the child, but you're quick to hide him once more, hoping nobody saw.

"Easy, now," Mando hums, his hand momentarily gripping your elbow to steady you, making you feel both grounded and dizzy at his stabilizing hold.

People stand and stare, frozen in time as if they're waiting, expecting something to happen. In these parts, bounty hunters surely are common. But Mando isn’t any old bounty hunter.

He’s one of the last Mandalorians, a creed of hardened warriors. The prospect of that sends a thrilling shiver down your spine.

"You know, it's hard to blend in when you're walking beside a shiny hunk of metal," you breathe almost silently, not intending for him to hear it.

"I heard that," he warns in that rumbling tone of his.

You stifle a laugh at Mando's disgruntled reaction, hearing a muffled giggle from the kid in the bag which only makes you chuckle more, much to the Mandalorian's distaste.

You walk through the sandy streets of Mos Eisley a little longer, the Mandalorian bodyguard by your side making you feel protected on these unknown roads. He takes you down a path that leads to a secluded hangar sitting below ground.

A partially dismantled Lambda-class T-4a shuttle takes up the majority of the hangar space, and the rest is covered in various parts that you can only assume came from the taken-apart ship.

Three rusted robots wander around the area, and with your knowledge of mechanics, you identify them as pit droids.

As soon as they see Mando at the top of the hangar they scatter, and you're reminded of the bounty hunter's abhorrence of droids.

The Mandalorian heads down the sandstone steps first and you follow, patting the leather bag to make sure for the umpteenth time that the child is tucked away safely.

The place seems devoid of human life until Mando walks up to the dismantled shuttle and pats a gloved palm onto it, creating an echoey thud that draws the attention of someone underneath.

A pair of legs appear from under the ship and jolt to a stop, cursing, before continuing to roll out to reveal a woman.

She's wearing a worn jumpsuit, her wild coiled hair pulled away from her face with goggles that sit atop her head, and she has a sour look on her weathered face.

"You!" The woman says, and you realize by the tinge of surprise in her voice that your arrival was not entirely expected.

"Peli," Mando addresses her as she stays laying horizontally, continuing to work on the underbelly of the starship.

"Back on Tatooine, huh? Last time didn't scare some sense into you?" The woman asks, but before she gets an answer she's moving on to the next topic as if she already knows that Mando is a man of few words.

"Y'know, next time you're here you should give me a little more warning. Might've been able to get this hunk 'a junk out the way and make room for the Crest."

Keeping the ship here would have been nice, you think to yourself. Safer.

"So," The woman sighs, rubbing the grease from her hands onto her overalls and standing up "where's my big-eared fella at, hm?"

You take the child out of his hiding place in the bag and present him in your arms.

She walks over with a spring in her step and takes the child into her arms, smiling down at him and saying hello.

"And you must be the newest addition to Mando's one-man crew," The woman notes, looking back up at you.

You nod, face prickling a little as her scrutinizing gaze looks you up and down.

"I can't say he's told me much about you, but then again he hasn't told me much about himself either," The woman says flatly, and then she throws her head back and barks with laughter.

Your gaze flits to the Mandalorian who's stood behind her, and with the subtle way his head moves you imagine he's rolling his eyes under that helmet.

"Before you ask, shiny. Yes, I'll keep an eye on the kid while you're out wreaking havoc on the Dune Sea," She rolls her eyes as she says it, but you can tell she's not being serious in her annoyance. Then the woman turns to you, smiling lopsidedly "I’m Peli Motto. I'm assuming you'll be staying with me while Mando heads out to do what he has to do." The woman introduces herself verbally, her hands full with the child, and you introduce yourself to her with a smile.

"And I'm leaving," Mando says once the pleasantries are over. He turns to look at you, reminding you of his request.

"As I said, lay low while you're here. Stay with Peli in the hangar and keep the kid by your side at all times." The words that leave the helmet are spoken in a voice you've only heard him use a handful of instances.

Only ever in risky situations, like that one time on that dense jungle planet when he warned you not to open the door — even if it sounded like it was his voice was demanding to be let in.

Or when you docked at an orbital station, and he left you and the child in the sketchy cantina while he disappeared momentarily, only to come back and hightail it out of there, warning not to look behind at whatever, or whoever, was following you.

"Come back in one piece. I don't fancy trekking across the Dune Sea to find you!" Peli berates Mando, giving him a poke in the chest for good measure.

You hold in a laugh as he looks down at her finger, and you imagine his face in a mixture of disbelief and annoyance.

Mando steps towards you and addresses the child, giving him a gentle pat on the head as he always does.

"Behave for Peli, you little womp rat." You feel a glint of beskar hone in on you, and you look up to meet the Mandalorian's gaze.

You lock eyes with the dark visor of Mando’s helmet, focusing your vision where you imagine his eyes to be.

You rarely shared goodbyes, as his absence was always temporary.

But something about being out here in the open, on this strange planet that leaves a bad feeling in the pit of your gut, urges you to leave with some parting words.

“When will you be back?” you murmur, and the ache in your voice is insuppressible.

“As soon as I can,” He replies, and you swear amongst the monotonous drawl of the modulator is a hint of something else more emotional.

"Well… Be safe, okay? I know you don't need to hear that, being a Mandalorian and all, but—" you cut off your words prematurely, embarrassed by the blush creeping up your face "You know what I'm trying to say, right?"

There's a pause, the air between the two of you prickling with tension. Mando turns his head to the ground, watching the child as he stumbles about the hangar.

"Yeah," he says finally, and his steely gaze turns to meet yours as he repeats your words from earlier "I do."

---

After Mando departs, you're left to get acquainted with Peli Motto and settle into her humble hangar.

It doesn't take you long to pick up on the fact that Peli has a personality. And a big one at that.

She makes it clear from the get-go that you're expected to pull your weight around her workshop, but once she learns that you know your way around a ship, you feel her warm up to you a little.

Peli Motto talks your ear off. It’s no surprise she’s acquainted with Mando because she’s the kind of person that could befriend anyone by speaking at them.

You don't mind it one little bit, welcoming the white noise as you lean on the side of the shuttle, working on removing the carbon scoring that's built up on the old starship.

She talks about her life here on Tatooine, this dangerous desert planet with the most beautiful binary sunset you'll ever see.

She recounts the story of how she became acquainted with Mando and the child, and that she got the shock of her life when the kid walked out from the Razor Crest all by himself and into her arms.

"Good thing you're around to keep an eye on the little green guy, Mando has a hell of a lot to learn!" Peli barks, but you don't entirely agree.

Mando might not always know how to deal with the child, but his life as a high-profile bounty hunter doesn't leave him with much time in between.

And besides, you'd heard the way he speaks to the kid when nobody else is around, his voice heavy with the kind of tenderness that only a parental figure can give.

The twin sunsets arch high in the sky and you look up at them now and then, feeling grounded in a way that you don't often feel in a spaceship shooting across the galaxy.

Eventually, the suns dip out of sight, casting the docking bay in shadow.

The pit droids scatter around to illuminate the place with various lamps that dot the area, and you and Peli turn away from working on the ship to unwind with a game of sabbac and two flagons of ardees.

As the suns sink below the horizon and darkness falls on Tatooine, Peli shows you to your bed, a cozy cot nestled in an alcove of the sandstone walls of her dwellings.

A shelf that's carved into the wall makes for the perfect spot for the child to rest his head and judging by the blankets that already lay there, that was Peli's exact intention.

"I expect to see you at the hangar first thing in the morning. Just because you're a friend of Mando's doesn't mean you won't pull your weight while you're here!" Peli chuckles, but her words are completely serious.

She gives the kid a scratch behind the ears and leaves the two of you in peace.

"Well, babybug, guess we'd better get some rest. We've got a long day of hard work ahead of us." the kid's beetle-black eyes stare up at you in wonder as you speak.

You'd taken to giving him a nickname when it was just the two of you, one that you felt fit perfectly with his giant, bug-like eyes and an adorable gap-toothed smile.

You kneel on the bed and tuck the child into his little makeshift bed, but he just won't settle. Wriggling and complaining about something in high-pitched babbles.

It's easy to let frustration take over in times like these, but the time you've spent with this special child has taught you that he rarely makes a fuss over nothing.

Instead, you try to seek the root cause for the kid's distress.

After a quick check, nothing stands out to you. Why could he be so cranky?

You almost want to give up, lay down in bed, and let him cry it out until you listen and try to decode what the child is saying.

"Patu! Patu!" he exclaims, and the word reminds you of something, someone.

"Patu?" You ask the child just to be sure, and when he repeats after you but quieter, you know exactly what he's trying to say.

"You miss Mando, right? And being on the Razor Crest?" The words leave your body with an exhale, and the child goes silent, looking up at you with his glassy eyes as if listening to every word.

"Me too, little guy. But we'll be back on the ship soon, I promise." you force a small smile in an attempt to cheer up the kid, but he simply continues to gaze back at you, as if waiting for you to say more.

To acknowledge someone.

"And Mando will be with us too. The Dune Sea doesn't stand a chance against him." you try to assure the kid, and a wave of relief washes over you when he giggles in reply.

"He'll be back with us real soon. Of course he will," you continue to comfort him, kicking off your boots and removing your breast band in a bid to get comfortable.

The kid seems perfectly reassured at your words, settling into his little corner and closing his eyes to rest.

You lay back on the cot, sinking into the soft mattress as if the bed was swallowing you whole, enveloping you in feathers and cotton.

It’s been a while since you stretched out in the comfort of a bed, and it took you until this moment to realize exactly what you were missing.

But the lack of a place to properly sleep was a small sacrifice to make for the life you lived now.

Traveling the galaxy in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, entertained by your little green companion. Always feeling safe by the towering man of beskar that accompanied you.

Looking back on the day you've had, your chest flutters at the feeling of complete security you had while being escorted through Mos Eisley.

Walking alongside the Mandalorian made you feel untouchable, and even though the man beneath the armor sent cautious fear through the people of the galaxy, your heart softened at the thought of him.

And now he was leagues away, and in its place was an odd feeling.

Looking back to old habits to comfort you, your hand reaches to your chest and clasped the pendant that hung there.

It was something you did throughout your childhood, reaching up to fiddle with the milky blue stone wound in crudely-made metal wire, hanging around your neck by a fine rope.

Your parents had given you the pendant long ago, and it was all you had of that life now. You'd worn the thing for so many years, that taking off the necklace would mean cutting it off.

Which was something you vowed to never do.

So, as you laid there in an unfamiliar bed on a planet you barely knew, your hands sought the old source of comfort that got you through so many difficult nights, and your mind formed the image of the man that was starting to fill a void deep within you.

"Mando's always there for us," you whisper into the darkness, and are met with the soft snores of the child drifting into the night air.

---

For a place so hot in the day, it doesn't make sense to the Mandalorian that it gets so kriffing cold.

The dry, frigid air of the Dune Sea clings to his beskar, turning it to heavy blocks of ice that seep through the layers of clothes and padded armors he wears underneath.

But Mandalorians live and die in their beskar; to take it off on a planet like this is a thought that doesn't even cross Mando's mind.

The inviting warmth of fire would solve the problem, but Mando is wiser than that. There's no doubt he could fight off the various nefarious creatures drawn to the flames, but the time spent doing so would impede his need for some rest.

So he lays beneath a giant red rock that mostly shields him from the elements, and he throws his cloak over his beskar-clad body, willing himself to slip into a semblance of slumber.

Tonight Mando's thoughts are wandering, more than they ever have before. He thinks of the child, the strangest little creature he'd ever met and never imagined to take under his wing.

Mando runs a gloved hand across the mudhorn emblem carved into his right pauldron and he reminisces, thinking back to all the adventures and perils he and the kid had endured.

A fiercely protective feeling bubbles up in Mando's chest at the thought of the child, but that feeling becomes overwhelming when he imagines you holding the kid in your arms.

Things were quiet before you came along. Mando had a set goal in mind, to keep the child safe and make a living hunting quarries alone, and nothing or nobody was ever going to get in the way of that.

Yet, somehow, you had.

Wormed your way into Mando's life of solitude just like the big-eared womp rat did, and turned it into something he never imagined it being.

You filled the Razor Crest with movement, with life.

He heard you speak to the kid with such animation as if he was saying something back. The way you handled him, your care and your understanding of the child was more than Mando could ever fathom.

Sometimes he would listen from the other side of the hold as you hummed soft tunes while you worked, devoting your free time to repairing his beloved Razor Crest of your own humble volition.

And in the few moments you were close to him, walking by or handing him the child, the scent of vanilla and something floral would seep through the filters of his helmet and Mando would be intoxicated.

Sometimes he could smell it on his cloak, the same one he'd lay on you every time you dozed off in the passenger seat of the Crest.

The scent would remind him of the tiny rosebush his mother tended to on his home planet, and for a moment he was back beside that bush, toes squished into the soil, basking in the sun.

But what Mando savored the most were those moments of peace. When the child sat beside him on the dashboard, completely enthralled and consumed by the streaking stars of hyperspace.

Mando would sit with him, hands resting behind his head, tilting back to get the best view of the viewport.

Except the Mandalorian wasn't looking to the stars.

He was staring at the faint reflection of you in the transparisteel viewport, curled up into a ball beneath his cloak and out like a light, face peaceful and unaware of the Mandalorian's longing stares.

Similar to how he conducted his quarries, the bounty hunter observed you from afar, trying to stay out of your way during the brief stillness of hyperspace travel.

He sensed the slight tremble of nervousness you emitted every time he was near, and so he kept at a distance to keep you comfortable rather than intimidated.

Despite this, he constantly fought everything in his being, urging him to be closer to you.

To study your face from up close for more than a moment.

To run a hand up your arm and feel the softness of your skin.

To pull you into his arms and tangle his fingers into your hair and put a hand over your eyes as he lifts his helmet so he could...

No. Mando won't— shouldn't let his thoughts stray this way. He tries to think of something else, anything else to distract and not wander down this path.

But it's useless. For when he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.

He'd been wrestling with those thoughts ever since he'd met you back at the cantina, but at first, it was easy enough to drown them out.

To get lost in other things — like his hunt, or methodically cleaning his weapons and armor. To stay on the same track he'd been on for so many years, to follow the path of the life he'd carved for himself.

A life spent alone.

Already that plan had faltered, when he took the child under his wing and found his heart softening at the little womp rat's ways.

And now you'd come along, invited by Mando himself to join him in his journey across the galaxy.

It made him doubt himself— he wondered just how much he wanted to be alone, and how much of it felt like a necessity, to honor The Way.

Your face flashes before his eyes again, and this time he's too tired to fight it.

So for tonight, just one night, he indulges in the thought of you, letting his mind and body be consumed with the hold you have on him.

Notes:

thank you for reading, commenting, kudos'ing etc!! happy holidays <3

Chapter 4: The Mandalorian's Hunt

Summary:

We're still in Tatooine, but as is natural on this planet, bantha shit goes down. Naturally, it's all part of that angsty, electric-charged slow burn. Also, Peli is the greatest wingwoman. And Mando POV again! It's basically going to happen every chapter at this point.

Notes:

Another chapter, another song that inspired me while writing! This time it's Dark Red by Steve Lacy -specifically this version https://youtu.be/_FtRaAqn6KU slowed because I'm a sucker for feels

Huttese translations can be found at the end of the chapter.

The break of dawn arrives too soon, and you find yourself being not-so-politely awoken by a very vocal green kid who stands on your chest and bleats in protest at your slumbering state.

You blink your eyes open, a tad disgruntled at the rude awakening, and the child grins back at you, his gappy smile and wide eyes melting your heart.

And then, in his excitement, the kid burps. Right in your face.

"Mando is right," you mutter, grabbing the child by the scruff of his robes and placing him on the floor "You are a little womp rat."

By the time you're out in the docking bay Peli is already up and moving, fiddling with a broken panel tucked behind a door.

“You’re up! And just in time, I need a break from fixing this wretched comms panel,”

Laying down her tools, she takes the kid out of your arms and places him next to a breakfast of blue milk and haroun bread.

She gestures to another plate bearing the same meal, in addition to some unusual fruits you definitely couldn’t find on your home planet.

Grateful, you tuck in.

Once breakfast is over you start fast work on the ship, finishing up with cleaning off the carbon scoring and climbing on top of the shuttle to work on welding together the bent and broken pieces of metal that comprise the upper chamber.

Peli continues to chatter today as she had yesterday, but this time the topic is not on herself. Instead, she gears the topic of conversation to you.

"I bet you've managed to open up that shell and get to know Mando in the time you've been traveling together!" Peli says to you from her workbench.

"Yeah, a little," you reply, feeling the heat rise from your neck to your cheeks. You weren't about to admit to a near-stranger that you were harboring a devastating crush on the man made of beskar any time soon, so it was best to play it cool.

Peli's eyes light up animatedly, as if she'd seen straight through your visage of indifference.

"So, tell me! What's under that helmet? Any grizzly scars?" Peli quips, and just the thought of seeing Mando's face makes you splutter to catch your breath.

"Living and working in close quarters like that, you're bound to get close to your shipmates," she adds, words rife with innuendo.

You clench your jaw, face feeling like it's on fire as you try to compose yourself.

“When I joined the Razor Crest,” you speak up, clearing your throat as your voice shakes “I did so under certain conditions. One of those conditions was to keep out of Mando’s business. I intend to honor that.” You explain to Peli, and you notice her snarky expression soften.

“Trust me, I know. Mando is a guy that likes to keep his boundaries." You can tell by the way she furrows her brow that Peli chooses her next words carefully.

"But by doing that, he ends up… limiting himself.”

"Limiting himself?" you ask, head tilting to one side.

Peli rakes her gaze up and down you, a smile forming on her face that makes you feel like she knows something you don’t. She nods once, curtly.

"Mando's all about honor, code, duty. That Mandalorian Way he goes on about." she shrugs, and you cock an eyebrow about her dismissal of The Way.

"By focusing on that, he's preventing himself from going after what could be… good for him. But don't worry, it's nothing a little chat with him won't fix," she adds, offering you a wink like it's an inside joke between the two of you.

Your face feels like it's on fire. Has she really been able to pick up on how you feel about Mando in such a short time?

Kriff, your emotions had to be written on your face, clear as a kyber crystal. What if Mando had already noticed? And now she was going to speak to him—

Before you can dwell on the thought, the child, who was previously chattering to the untalkative pit droids, comes rushing over to you and Peli.

He's almost tripping over his little robe with fervent enthusiasm, making very vocal exclamations in his chirpy voice.

"Besides, you've got this little guy to worry about. Mando and you need to be a team, for the kid's sake," Peli picks up the child as he begins to chatter and babble even more, his beaky mouth open wide and tears starting to well in his eyes.

But he just won't settle in Peli's arms, so she holds him up towards you.

You take him, placing him beside you on the top of the shuttle, safely wedged in a dent in the metal. As soon as he's by your side the kid settles immediately, and you dab at his watery eyes with your sleeve.

"He likes you, you know. A lot. You should treasure that." Peli notes with a certain something in her voice, and you're not entirely sure if she's justtalking about the child.

You nod once, offering Peli a strained smile, before you bow your head and retreat behind your hair, feeling the blush creep to your cheeks again.

You can't lie that you’d been avoiding getting closer to the Mandalorian, for fear of giving away the fact that you were pining for him. Badly.

And yet, after realizing Peli had clocked exactly how you felt for Mando, it dawned on you that your desire for him was beginning to feel like a ticking time bomb, ready to reveal itself and backfire in your face, or open the doorway for something else entirely.

It wasn't a question of if, but of when.

---

All he sees is red.

The red dunes of the Tatooine desert, rolling endlessly before him.

The red hot feeling of fury as it courses through his veins.

The red stains of blood as it spills from the group of insurgents unleash an onslaught of an attack on him.

Among them is the quarry he has to extract alive, and what do you know, the guy is wearing red.

Makes for an easy target.

The Mandalorian's body is rigid with adrenaline, baking in the binary suns that arch high in the dust-clouded sky.

The armor that lines his form is boiling in the heat, making his skin feel like it's on fire, fueled by rage and the urge to hunt.

He charges down on a raider that had tried to flank him with a rusty saber, knocking the man off his feet and out cold.

He steps over the body and dives to crouch behind a boulder, where his helmet heat sensors show three more people waiting to attack.

Mando rolls his shoulders, ready for what's to come.

He was in his element. This was the Mandalorian's way.

Despite the naturalness of the hunt, Mando had a tiny feeling worming his way into his chest, one that seemed to grow and grow the more he tried to push it down.

He's been apart from you and the child on planets before, often for days at a time.

But something about him knowing you weren't on the safety of the Razor Crest gave him a certain unease, one that just wouldn't settle.

Mando decides then that he'll call Peli on her comlink once his hunt is over. Ask to speak to you.

Hear your soft, sweet voice, just so he knows that the child is okay. That you are okay.

Stars. In the time you'd been traveling together, you'd burrowed deep into his chest, spreading your roots like a blossoming flower.

Delicate and tranquil on the surface, powerful and alluring underneath.

You were a burning flame that had ignited in Mando's mind, and each time he indulged in the thought of you it was like stoking wood to the fire.

---

You continue to weld the damage to the top of the ship, making sure the child is out of the way of any sparks or danger.

He watches you work at the shuttle in awe, the sparks flying off the metal reflecting in his huge galaxy eyes.

Peli's back to chatting away, telling you stories of Mos Eisley over the years, and you're half-listening, mostly focused on the work at hand.

The kid starts snoozing in his little metal cubby hole, and you face away from him while working on repairs.

The welding goggles you wield heavily restrict your view, giving you a pleasant tunnel vision that helps you to focus on the task at hand.

After a while, Peli's chatter dips, and the sound of a tool clanging to the floor meets your ears.

"Everything alright back there?" you ask Peli, receiving no reply. You remove your welding goggles and look over to Peli's workstation to find it empty.

"What in the…?" you murmur, looking around the space to see no trace of the talkative mechanic.

You shrug, assuming that Peli had run off to do something important without notice.

But as you're about to resume your work, you hear something. Or rather, the lack of. The kid's soft snores, they're gone.

In all the nights you'd rocked the child to sleep, you soon learned that he was a snorer.

The eerie silence urges you to turn around, and once you do—

Maker, it all happens so fast.

A pair of worn-gloved hands snatch the wide-eyed kid off the top of the ship before your very eyes, the body of which is hidden in the shadow of the starship.

One thing's for sure, the ratty gloves aren't Peli's or Mando's.

Before you can react there's another pair of scaly hands that grab at your ankles, trying to tear you down from the top of the ship and onto the dusty hangar floor.

A scream pierces through the air, and it takes you a moment to realize it's yours.

Your mind is racing a mile a minute, desperately through what you should do. It lands on one thing— the blaster Mando gave you.

You grasp at the back of your waistband and pull out the compact blaster, aiming it at the mystery figure and firing without a second thought.

The scaly humanoid stumbles backward. giving you just enough time to kick them away, turning swiftly in the direction of the other assailant who's retreating with the child in his arms.

Recognition sparks in your mind as you recall that face, those clothes. But where?

The kid is screaming and it strikes something deep in your heart, sending you into a frenzy you didn't even know resided in you.

Without a second thought, you lunge at the kidnapper, lurching into the air and landing on him.

You grab the child from his arms and spin your body to the side, landing on top of the stranger with a sickening bone-crunching sound.

The air is thick with dust, the cries of the child pierce your ears, your heart. Your vision is blurry as you look up at the child with grit in your eyes.

"You good?" you whisper, and you let out a sigh of relief as he nods furiously, miraculously unscathed.

Before you can gather your thoughts, the owner of the huge scaly leg-grabbing hands turns the corner of the ship, stalking towards you with a huge smile on his lizard-like face.

"Hand over the brat and I just might spare your life," he hisses, serpentine, voice chillingly cold.

You clutch the child even tighter, reaching for your holster where your blaster should be, but finding the pocket empty.

"Beeogola cheeka! Your funeral." The serpent's tone is sickeningly amused as he draws his weapon, aiming directly at your head.

A shot fires through the air and you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for impact. Instead, you hear the thud of a body meeting the floor, and you cough as more dust fills the air.

Someone is shouting, and a pair of arms start tugging at you to stand up. You clamber to your feet, checking the kid over as the ringing in your ears subsides.

"Are you alright? The kid?" It's Peli, she's shouting in your face as she clutches you by the shoulders.

Staring at her blankly, you notice she’s pretty scuffed up, a fresh trail of blood running from her brow.

"Wh-what, w-who…?" you stammer, looking around at the four bodies strewn across the floor, two of which were taken out by Peli.

You whip a hand across the child's eyes, through a sinking feeling washes over you as you realize the poor thing has probably seen such horrors before.

"Murder Massiffs..." Peli utters, voice filled with contempt.

She points a boot towards a spot on one of the alien's uniforms, indicating a badge on their clothes holding the emblem of a snarling creature with rows of jagged teeth.

And then you remember where you recognized them from— when you were walking through Mos Eisley with Mando. The sneering group that ogled you from the street corner.

"They're a group of deadbeats that consider themselves bounty hunters here in Mos Eisley, ruthless in their methods to get what they want," Peli explains, and the words send your blood running cold.

What would bounty hunters want with Peli and her quiet little hangar?

But then Peli glances down and you follow her gaze, your eyes landing on the kid that tugs at the hand covering his eyes. Oh. Oh no.

They must have seen the child sticking out of the bag, and now they want him.

"If I know anything about the Murder Massiffs, it's that they come in droves. There will be more of them, and they won't stop, until…." Peli halts her words, swallowing the sentence down with her nerves.

The entrance door to the hangar makes a hissing sound, but it's halted before the doors can part. You snap your head in the direction of the noise, heart skipping a beat.

"I set the doors to auto-lock function, it should hold up for a little while—"

The unmistakable sound of electric sparking comes from the other side of the door, as someone starts to pry the door open with more manual methods.

You see the look on Peli's face change, then.

The way her mouth drops, eyes widening, brows raising. Just for a split second, before she composes herself and turns to you and the child, putting on a brave facade.

"We need to act fast. You got a weapon?" Peli asks, sentences even snippier than usual.

You look around, grabbing the blaster Mando gave you from where it lays beside the knocked-out gang member.

"Good. Use it if you have to. Head inside and grab my comlink— left the stupid thing by my bedside. Try to reach out to, hoth, to anyone who’s listening. We need—“ a bang from the doorway breaks Peli’s train of thought, sending a wave of urgency into her tone “We need backup, and fast.”

“B-but Mando? What about him?” You stammer, your voice weak under your rapidly beating pulse.

“He’s out in the Dune Sea, damn it! It'd take hours for him to get back—“ another loud noise, this time preceded by the sound of heavy metal hitting the ground with a thud.

Peli ushers you into her dwellings, slamming her fist on the hydraulic door button to make them close, leaving her outside.

“Stars, Peli, what are you doing?!” You curse, watching from the gap in the doors as she heads through across the hangar to another door.

“You think I haven’t dealt with these dust-for-brains before? I can worry about me, now you go and do what I told you to!” She shouts back to you and promptly dives through the door in front of her.

There’s the final ear-splitting crash of the front door being breached, and you run deeper into the sandstone dwellings in search of the comlink.

With the lights out and the door closed, Peli’s dwellings are plunged into near-darkness, leaving you to rely on your other senses to get you through the unfamiliar place.

You strain your ears, trying to hear out for any sign of the Murder Massiffs, but it’s a struggle to hear anything other than your shaky breaths and heart pounding in your ears.

As if by instinct you clutch onto the child, whispering soothing words into the tuft atop his head. He seems eerily calm, and you can feel him watching you with those endlessly deep eyes.

Perhaps he can see better in the dark with them than you can.

Taking a deep breath, you prop the kid on your hip with one arm and extend the other, turning left down the hallway you remember seeing Peli’s bed alcove.

As you inch forward, a pair of gruff voices get closer to your location, and you hear the unmistakable bangs of them trying to break in the door Peli pushed you through.

“Maker, no, please no,” you murmur to yourself, body prickling with adrenaline, and beneath you, the kid lets out a low whine, affected by your sudden change in demeanor.

A sinking feeling hits your chest once you realize your aura deeply affects this attentive being.

“It’s okay, we’re gonna be okay,” you hold him closer, willing yourself to believe your words.

Every fiber of your being wants to protect the child and get out of this situation unscathed.

The banging coming from the door is louder, and with it, the voices of the gang members are clearer.

Distracted, you trip over something solid on the ground, crying out in shock as you stumble forward.

Helpless to catch yourself, you turn to land on your side and protect the child from hitting the ground, but you're surprised when you're instead met by something soft.

You push your hand to it, not quite believing what you’re feeling. The bed!

Your cry must have rung through the hollow walls of the dwelling, because the thugs let out a roar of frustration and impatience, smashing into the door with even more determination.

You put the child on the bed and run your hands along the alcove, finding books and bits and bobs and not the one thing you desperately need…

And then the kid emits a little whisper of exclamation, something in his hands lighting up as he pushes buttons with his little green fingers, and you can’t quite believe it.

“You found it," You gasp, scooping the kid into your arms and kissing him atop his fluffy little head.

You pry the device out of his hands, just as the final hunks of metal from the door crash to the floor and two heavy pairs of footsteps step inside, longing to hunt down what's waiting inside and dispose of whoever gets in their way.

---

“Motto, do you read? Answer me, dank farrik!”

Mando was on edge, having not heard from Peli after trying to reach out for hours.

So, he'd snatched a speeder bike from some raiders, and was cruising back to Mos Eisley at breakneck speed.

Quarry thrown over the back like a gorg carcass, and an unshakeable pit of agitation embedded in his stomach.

The closer he approached, the more on edge Mando became, his grip on the speeder turning to steel as he found fewer ways to excuse Peli’s lack of reply.

As much as the thought was unbearable, it was in a Mandalorian’s blood to expect the worst and prepare for it.

But the worst meant the child, Peli, and you being in danger. And that was the worst situation he could ever imagine.

The mere thought of it was like being doused in ice-cold water, a shock to the system that sickened him to the core.

No. No— no. He wouldn't accept that fact. He had promised you you'd be safe here; to break a promise to you was the worst thing he'd know.

Mando could have sworn he heard something through the comlink a couple of times, the slow and steady sound of breathing, the near-whispers of a voice.

But each time he strained to listen, and sent a reply out into the unknown, he was met with silence.

So he held hope, even as he rode into Mos Eisey and heard the blaster shots from across the way, as he unloaded and dealt with the quarry on the ship.

They’re not coming from Peli’s workshop, what would they want there? He tried to convince himself, the hammering in his throat and rigidness of his body defying his nonchalance.

But as he drew closer and the shots got louder, the adrenaline shootingthrough his veins, preparing him to fight.

And then he heard it. The static voice coming in from the comlink embedded in his helmet.

Whispering hurriedly, choppily, as if it were trying to stay as quiet as possible. It set his chest ablaze and made his stomach sink.

“— Peli Motto’s hangar, Murder Massiffs attack… anyone out there, please— quickly.”

A voice. Low, gentle, and heart-wrenchingly shaky. Your voice.

That was the tipping point for Mando. Hearing your voice call out so desperately into the void.

Bile rises to this throat at the thought of you cowering in a corner, hiding from whichever deadbeat monsters sought to hurt the child, you, Peli.

But there was no time to think of explanations, the who's, the why's. All the bounty hunter could think about was making them pay.

Mando casts himself off the speeder, leaving it to skid to a halt nearby, and throws himself into the smoking pit that was once Peli Motto’s workshop.

He lands with a dusty thud, one fist planted firmly on the ground, huffing under the weight of his beskar.

The dust clears and he straightens himself, rolling his shoulders and standing tall.

Two clueless thugs, donning badges he recognizes as the emblem of a local gang, stare at him with a mixture of shock, awe, and terror.

The light of the twin suns seeps through the smoke, the sun glinting off Mando’s beskar and blinding the thugs.

Mando takes the opportunity to reach for his blaster, cocking them and firing, and the bodies of the gang members slump to the floor with a lifeless thud.

And so the Mandalorian's hunt begins.

Notes:

Sorry this chapter didn't pass the Bechdel test. I assure you Peli and reader spoke about a lot of things, but for story purposes, we only get the convo where Peli clocks reader's big old crush on Mando.

Beeogola cheeka = stupid woman

Chapter 5: Rescue Party

Summary:

The Murder Massiffs made a mistake when they got between Mando, you, and the child. Now, he's going to make them pay.

Notes:

Happy new year!!! I wish you all abundant health, wealth, and happiness ❤️

And tsym for all the love on this fic! Every time I look at the hits/kudos/bookmarks/comments I feel like I need to lie down 🥴 I honestly never imagined so many people would be reading. Thank you endlessly.

You hear the blaster fire from inside Peli’s darkened quarters.

It sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, setting you ramrod straight and sucking the breath from your lungs.

You'd managed to squeeze yourself into a nook in the wall, hidden away in the shadows, trying to make yourself as small as possible to go unnoticed by the Murder Massiffs that hunted you and the child.

Their irate jeers had been sounding throughout the darkened dwellings, as they snarled and barked with laughter, traipsing the corridors, smashing Peli's belongings on the floor, and overturning furniture.

At one point they strode right past you; you'd held your breath and covered the kid's mouth until they had long walked past, your heart thumping sickeningly in your throat.

The sound of the sudden blaster fire sends a wave of confusing signals to your brain, as you wonder exactly who is firing at who.

And it seems to confuse the thugs too, because they start shouting at each other in an incomprehensible language, rushing for the exit.

The sounds of their blasters cocking echoes through the walls, and relief rushes your body as their footsteps get farther and farther away, disappearing out of the broken exit.

Outside, the blaster fire rains on, mixed with cries of combat and the occasional boom as something— or someone— hits the side of the starship sitting in the hangar.

You use the ruckus to your advantage, passing through the hallways with less caution and more speed.

In the heat of the moment, it was hard to form a discernible plan, but you knew you had to take a look outside and figure out what was going on.

You reach the exit hallway, pressing yourself up against the wall and silently cursing as you see the hallway illuminated with light, coming from the archway where the hydraulic doors used to be.

How they were able to break down a heavy-duty steel door baffles you at first, but recalling the size of the monster that pulled you down from the top of the ship earlier puts those worries to rest.

More blaster fire rages on, and you peer around the corner and through the doorway, scanning the commotion outside.

You see a rogue gang member run by, firing over his shoulder until he's hit by blaster fire and slumps into the sandy ground.

Confirmation that there was more than just Murder Massiffs running around. Whether they were here to rescue you or take the bounty for their own, you couldn't be sure.

The kid stirs from beside you, and you realize he's peeking around the doorway too, ears twitching as he listens and looks.

"This is no sight for a child," you hush, pulling him back gently and wedging him on your other side.

"Patu," is all he has to say in return, and you repeat the word back to him, hoping it brings comfort.

You peer your head back around and continue to watch the figures run by, holding your breath as you wish to see someone other than a gang member run by. Hell, even a stormtrooper would be a prettier sight.

But as the sound and sight of blaster fire settle, so does the amount of people running by, and before you know it, there is silence once again.

You turn your head back and wait. Listen, ears straining. Steal another glance, and see nothing. Hear no one.

Could it be safe to head outside? Taking a deep breath, you stand up and turn the corner, creeping down the hallway, all eyes and ears.

And then, when you're halfway down the hall, the huge unfamiliar figure of a Murder Massiff comes bowling in through the archway, headed right in your direction.

They're panting heavily, dripping green blood onto the hard cold floor, and too busy looking behind them to see you standing there.

With nowhere to escape to, you stumble backward aimlessly, but you're not fast enough to escape the path of the giant.

He crashes into you, your head smacking into his plated chest as you careen to the floor, clutching the child tighter than ever.

He stops in his tracks then, looking down at the sight of you clutching your spinning head, feeling the blood of a fresh wound trickle down your face.

He leans down, hands reaching out to snatch the kid from your arms, and it sets you into a frenzy.

You kick at him in a panic, screeching as you reach for your blaster, aiming loosely as you struggle you place your finger on the trigger.

A shot fires, snatching the breath from the gang member's lungs, wedging itself deep into his chest.

He stares at you as he exhales one last time, and slowly he starts to fall.

You let out a choked shriek, rolling out of the way with the child tucked in your arm as his body lands on the ground with a trembling thud.

Shaking, you lift your hand to look at the blaster, confused. You didn't even pull the trigger… How?

There’s the sound of heavy steel footsteps, and somebody steps inside the hallway.

Their figure casts a long shadow, sucking the room of light, making the skin on your arms prickle with anticipation.

The air fills with the smell of blaster fire, the rawness of desert wilderness, and the musk of a man fresh from the fight.

The hallway is thick, so heavy with tension that you can practically taste it.

Startled, the child squirms out of your arms, hiding behind you. You feel his tiny hands clutch onto the back of your shirt.

The figure takes one step closer, gingerly, as if approaching a skittish animal. Or perhaps they were stalking their prey.

Fear douses you like ice-cold water, but the throbbing in your head is too much to bear.

You only just manage to prop yourself up onto your elbows, head still reeling from the impact.

With a shaky hand, you cock and aim the blaster pistol at the figure that now stands by your feet.

They crouch down, and immediately the light from the doorway comes back to your eyes, illuminating the armor of the unknown figure.

Beskar.

Two orange-tipped gloves reach out to the blaster, pushing it to the side.

“That’s no way to greet the rescue party.” The Mandalorian muses.

You feel your body emit a collective sigh. It’s him. Mando. Stars, you’re safe.

Words fail you, and so the stinging tears that you'd been holding off since this whole ordeal began start to fall.

The Mandalorian’s demeanor changes instantly, a protectiveness taking over him as he reaches out to clutch your shoulders.

"The child, where is he— are you— Are you both okay?” He stammers, looking you up and down in a struggle to notice any injuries in the low light.

At the mention of him, the kid peers from round your back, poking his head through your arm.

His little face lights up at the sight of the familiar helmet, and he squeaks earnestly as he stumbles over his feet to latch onto Mando’s leg.

“We’re okay,” you reassure him, wiping away the tears as they continue to flow. “Just—" you gasp for breath "Shaken.”

Mando removes an arm from one of your shoulders, scooping the child into the nook of his arm.

His other hand stays put, sliding down to clutch your arm.

You close your eyes, leaning into his grounding touch, and it's like you're able to breathe for the first time, the air leaving your lungs in short, sharp gasps.

"Hey," Mando says steadily "Hey— breathe for me. Breathe. I'm gonna get us out of here," his voice is like gravel through the vocoder.

You open your eyes and look up at him and the child, whose eyes are trained on you worriedly, and find it in you to slow your breaths.

"Need you to get up and follow me outside. I've got a speeder that'll take us back to the Crest." Mando explains once your breathing is settled "Can you manage?"

You nod meekly, but the moment Mando helps you from the ground your head spins and you stumble to catch your footing.

Mando's by your side immediately, his arm wrapping around your shoulder, pressing your limp form to him.

Maybe not, you think to yourself, as you step towards the exit of the darkened hallway, leaning against the cool metal plate armor for support.

Upon quick inspection, the Mandalorian finds the coast to be clear, and the three of you step out into the light of the empty, smoking hangar.

"Peli? Where is she?” You prod, concerned to know if she got out safely.

“She escaped. Holed herself up with a neighbor— they’re gathering forces to fight back.” He grits, too much on his mind to think about everything Peli had spoken to him about through his helmet comlink as he fought off the gang.

Especially not with you pressed to his side.

Mando looks up to the dusty streets above where he'd cast the speeder bike aside, finding it to be missing. Just his luck — your easy ticket out of here was gone.

He looks down at you, the way you hang your head low and sling a hand over your face to protect yourself from the harsh Tatooine rays.

It's too fucking much, seeing you weakened like this. Unearths something feral in him, something primal, protective.

You sway on your feet again, caught by Mando as his arm scoops around your waist. You were in no fit state to head back to the Crest on foot.

Mando's barely able to think straight, this whole day blurring into flashbulb moments like these— the waving, rolling desert, the blood splattered across the sand as he fought, the blistering gritty air setting him alight as he raced back to Mos Eisley on the speeder.

And now your soft curves and graceful silhouette were pressed against his unyielding beskar, your fingers intertwined in his cape, the proximity of you consuming his senses.

He wants to blame his emotions on his body pumping with adrenaline from the fight, but Mando knows all too well that he was burning for you, and barely able to control it.

"Change of plan," Mando grits out, using every ounce of will to keep his voice controlled "How are you with heights?

"Fine— w-why?" your voice is wavering, too quiet. He needs to get you back to the ship now.

You're surprised when Mando's arm snakes further around your midsection, pressing your body against his ice-cold chest plate.

“Hold on. Tightly.” Mando warns in that low, modulated tone.

“What are you—“ you begin to ask, but it’s a question you don’t get to finish.

Your words are drowned out by the sound of blasting jets and whistling winds, as the Mandalorian shoots the three of you into the sky with his jetpack.

The arm wrapped around your waist has a grip of steel, but that doesn’t stop you from bundling your fists deeper into his cloak and clinging to him.

Maker, you’re so close.

Closer than you’d ever dreamed of, wrapped between his arm and pressed up against his armored body.

Daring to open your eyes, you see the child having the time of his life sitting in his little bag.

Mando has one hand on the pouch for support, and the kid is grinning from ear to ear. Clearly, he’s done this before.

The ground below you seems so far away, too far away, and so you avert your vision to avoid fear settling in your stomach.

You look up instead, your eyes settling on Mando’s helmet.

It glows in the afternoon sun, the visor glinting in an almost lifelike way.

Tracing your vision downwards, your eyes land on something surprising.

His neck is mostly bundled with the fabric from his cloak, but just where the helmet begins, you see a sliver of golden skin dusted with dark stubble.

The unmistakable column of Mando’s throat.

The mere sight his skin sends a spark of something coursing through you, making your head feel even dizzier, mouth watering.

The person under all the layers, he's real, he's stubbled skin and taut muscle and hot breaths, and right now you're closer to him than you'd ever imagined being.

The rest of the jetpack journey is lost to fighting your imagination, from now knowing the exact tone of the bounty hunter’s olive skin— longing to feel the roughness of his stubble beneath your fingertips, the warmth of his throat pressed against your longing lips.

It doesn’t quite feel real, the moment your feet hit the ground again.

You stay clinging onto the Mandalorian, heart racing too fast to let go. It doesn't help that his arm wrapped around you doesn’t give either.

The breath leaves your lungs in short, sharp gasps, and despite being in the safest position by the side of the high-profile bounty hunter, you feel yourself slipping into a panic again.

You feel how Mando’s chest slowly expands and contracts against your body, sucking in air as if compelling you to do the same.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay now. We're at the Crest,” His deep voice vibrates through the beskar, resounding through your trembling body.

Voice so deep as he draws the words out, toneless from the vocoder yet somehow filled with meaning.

The sensation wills you to regulate your breathing, letting the tension disperse from your body.

Eventually, you both part, at last yet too soon, and you notice the way he inches carefully away from you, certain to put back the sensible amount of distance that you often kept.

The air between the two of you is electric— your head spins, hairs on the back of your neck prickle as the flame in your heart ignites into white-hot passion.

It's like you can't breathe when you're standing facing him like this, even with the ample space between you. It's too much, he's too much, and he just— you were so close—

You mumble something about needing to lie down, and retreat into the Razor Crest with your body feeling like it’s on fire.

What you don’t see is the way Mando watches you, his gloved hands creaking under the strain of fists as he watches you saunter up the ramp of his ship.

The sensation that courses through him was overwhelming, clouding his better judgment,

His heart is roaring at him to pull you into his arms again. His mind is screaming back to fight the urge, to remind himself to uphold his honor to protect you, even from himself.

And his body is shaking with rage at the danger you’d been subjected to, the toll it had taken on both you and the child.

But all of this happens beneath the armor— you couldn't even discern it if you were staring at him straight in the visor.

You take a step into the Razor Crest, the doors automatically closing behind you, and your senses are immediately calmed at being in the familiar space.

The durasteel walls, dim lights of the hold. Storage crates, the kid’s makeshift toys scattered about. One of Mando’s undershirts at the foot of his cot. Your ragged bag hanging up in the corner, belongings hanging out of it.

A long-forgotten feeling arises in your chest then, and amid all the other emotions the sensation surprises you.

The Crest— it’s starting to feel like home.

The side doors of the starship hiss open as Mando enters, and the buzzing air of his presence almost knocks you over.

You go to clamber up the ladder, hoping to put distance between you, but the adamant voice of Mando stops you.

“Wait.” He says and you still, heart skipping a beat as you place your feet back on the hold floor.

His gloved hand reaches for your face, taking your jaw with thumb and forefinger in an oh-so-gentle grip.

He turns your head to meet the eyeline of his helmet, and you’re melting under his gaze.

Looking at him through your lashes, lips parted. Kriff. The way he’s holding your jaw like he could lift his helmet and kiss you, and you want him to so much.

“Di'kutla ge'hutuun'e,” the bounty hunter grits finally, swearing in what you can only assume is Mando’a.

His fingers tense and his body becomes rigid before your very eyes, but his gentle grip doesn’t tighten on your face.

“What is it?” You wonder, pulling your head away from his hand to touch your cheek.

You wince, finding the flesh tender and starting to swell. Kriff, you must have hit your face hard when you crashed into the gang member in that dark hallway.

"Who did this to you? Which one?" he asks, voice darker than uncharted space, and maker, his gloves on your face combined send your body into overdrive.

"What? N-nobody— It was an accident— I just—" you stammer, barely able to explain what happened as Mando's hands wander to your hair, brushing a strand out of your eyes as he traces a trail of blood by your temple.

In true Mando fashion, his actions are one step ahead. He lifts the bag with the child over his head, placing it onto your shoulders.

“Lock the ship up and don’t open the doors for anyone. Use the rest of the bacta in the medkit for your face— and ice it, too.” Mando orders, and only then does his gloved hand leave your face.

He storms off the Razor Crest and back towards town with a vengeful stride, cape billowing in the desert winds.

“What do you think you're doing?!” You shout to him, but the bounty hunter has made an impressive distance by the time you’re able to formulate another thought.

So you follow his request, making sure the ship is locked tight after him.

You get to work cleaning up the kid first, double-checking he hadn’t sustained any injuries from your numerous perils.

Once the child is clean and happy, tucked away in his floating metallic basket, you head to the fresher to clean yourself up and finally take a look at whatever on your face made Mando storm back into Mos Eisley.

“Oh, kriff…” you murmur to yourself, craning your neck to get a better view in the dim light.

The entire left side of your face is reddish-purple and scratched up to hoth.

A trail of dried blood runs down the side of your face, starting from somewhere in your hairline, and you realize why you’ve been feeling dizzy ever since you ran into that giant gang member.

You knew that nobody had laid a hand on you, but it was undeniable that you looked well and truly roughed up.

Which meant that the Mandalorian must have only had one reason to head back into harm's way and continue his hunt — he was seeking revenge.

Notes:

HOO BOY IT’S OVERPROTECTIVE MANDO HOURS

Di'kutla ge'hutuun'e = Idiotic/Worthless Bandits

Chapter 6: Laid Bare

Summary:

Mando comes back from Mos Eisley, still brimming with rage over what happened to you and the kid. It would be a shame if the Mandalorian found himself losing control over his repressed feelings for you, then, wouldn't it?

Notes:

OVERPROTECTIVE MANDO HOURS CONTINUES!

This chapter's song:
⏯ Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know { slowed + reverb } - https://youtu.be/OvzYTaegMRc

The binary suns of Tatooine retreat beyond the arid horizon as day turns to dusk, and with it, the town of Mos Eisley winds down.

But the Mandalorian is more wound up than ever.

He storms into the cockpit, his energy filling the small space, his armor coated in a thick layer of dust— masking the splatters of blood. Mando's eyes search for the kid immediately, and he's relieved to find him asleep in his cradle so he doesn't have to see him in such a state.

Mando's on autopilot as he steps over to the dashboard, pressing a large, warm palm onto your shoulder as you try to offer him his seat.

He leans over you, casting a shadow as he presses a sequence of buttons and turning dials that lift you into the starry skies. He's towering above you, filling your lungs with the smell of sweat, desert, and blaster fire.

With the pull of a lever, you're rocketed into hyperspace.

Only then can Mando let himself release the tension that grips his body— and only then do the weight of his current emotions tear through his mind. Mando’s full of rage and adrenaline after killing the Massiffs, but those sensations don't beat the vice-like grip you have on his psyche.

He feels like he’s losing his head looking at you, eyes tracing over the bruise that violates your beautiful face, the fragile droop of your shoulders, seeking the sparkle in your eyes that's dulled into shadow.

And he can't help but blame himself. Stars, it was painfully reckless of him to bet on Mos Eisley being a safe place to leave you. He should have never taken this job. Even bringing you with him would have been safer.

“Are you okay?” Mando asks, his voice hoarse, desperate to pull himself out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Yeah… I will be,” You reply, voice quiet “You saved us, Mando. Thank you.” He watches as you glance back at the kid, and the affection in your eyes is unmissable.

It floods his head with endorphins, seeing the way you look at the kid like that. Tugs at something in his heart, something domestic. Fuck, he was catching feels bad.

All Mando wants to scoop you into his arms and hold you, despite how boundary-violating that would be, and his complete lack of knowledge on how to even comfort another person.

He feels sick, letting these feelings take over him with his sleep-deprived lapse of self-control. After trudging through the filthy desert for days, taking out a whole gang of lowlives, driven by the feral need to protect.

And now he was standing here, trying not to show that he's still trembling with fury; aching to be close to you.

No, he was going to do something stupid in your presence, say something that would scare you and ruin everything you had. He takes a step back from the chair, and then another, until he hears the doors hiss open behind him and he turns to step through it, leaving you in peace.

“Please! Don’t go. I can't— Can you just… stay?”

Your request breaks something in him. Draws out that animalistic impulse to push people away when they get too close, like a beast backed into a corner.

Even though you're all he wants right now, he can't help but blame himself for what just happened. He doesn't deserve a single second of your time, not after he put you in such an awful situation. In fact, he practically needed to protect you from him.

Mando tenses, gritting out his next words with more venom than he intends.

“You don’t want to be around me like this," he reasons, stomach dropping as you peer at him from around the seat, his seat "I’m— I'm dangerous.”

“What?" You blurt, incredulous. Mando just saved you from a petty gang and went back to finish them off out of pure revenge. To you, he was the opposite of dangerous.

"Where did you get that idea from?” you assert, brow furrowing.

His voice is rough as sandpaper, and you watch as he takes steady steps towards you, as if hunting you down, coaxing you to turn around and press your back into the seat, heart rate quickening.

“I just took out a whole gang of deranged bounty hunters." He utters, and fuck, shameful heat pools in your core at the thought of it.

"Their blood is on my hands, this armor." He continues, his broad figure slowly casting a shadow over the blinking dashboard.

He's standing right behind you now, hands gripping the back of the seat. You hold your breath, awaiting his next words.

"I haven’t rested properly in two days— eaten, drank, slept, and my patience for everything is wearing thin," you chew on your lip as he lays it all out, body buzzing at the realization this might be the most Mando's said to you in one go.

He spins the chair to face him, hands landing on either side of the armrests. Leaning down so his eyeline is level with yours. Trapping you between the leather of the seat and his unyielding beskar.

Your eyes bore into the endless black of the visor, seeing only your reflection staring back at you. Nothing of the man within— at least, not his physical appearance.

Which makes it all the more intense.

With his next words, you swear you can hear Mando's own voice echo beneath the helmet, every bit as rough as his exterior.

"So, you still want to be around me?”

Your reply is hesitant, but not out of doubt. No, you're struggling to compose yourself with the unbearable closeness to the Mandalorian that's making you burn.

“Yes,” you reply, voice unwavering.

The creak of leather on leather sounds on either side of you, willing you to release the breath you'd been holding in.

Mando expects you to retreat, to lean back and squirm beneath his domineering stance like most everyone else does when he intimidates them.

But you don't. You’re practically leaning into him, your chin jutted upwards, gazing up at him with peachy cheeks and heavy lids.

It melts away his frustration, leaving behind a burning curiosity, a sliver of hope that your feelings match his.

No, they can't, they shouldn't. He was the nameless, faceless Mandalorian. Reserved. Unfeeling. It was impossible.

“Why?” he finds himself asking you regardless.

Silence. The air between you smolders. Mando yearns. With a deep breath, you finally answer.

"Because I… I can trust you. Our time together, it’s— I’ve— it’s shown me… that." Your answer is tauntingly cryptic, or maybe it's the lack of sleep stealing away the logical part of Mando's brain.

"But I failed you and the child," Mando bites back, refusing to accept your willingness to be around him "Failed to protect you both from the dangers of one of the most inhospitable planets in the galaxy."

"Failed to protect us? You wiped out the entire gang to crush any chance of them ever getting to the kid. I wouldn't call that failing," you prod back, and your feistiness ignites the fire in Mando's heart even more.

Maker, the Dune Sea really had taken a toll on his body and mind. His limbs ached as much as his heart did for you. He couldn't not believe what you were saying, not when you were looking up at him with those pretty eyes and reddened lips that he wanted to lean down and tear off his helmet to kiss.

Mando stands up straight at once, taking a cautious step back from you. The air is buzzing, charged, and he's realizing being this close to you is a bad idea, no matter what you say.

"Do you know why I went back?" he asks, counteracting your words with a question. Barely able to digest your words.

“Because you were protecting us… In case they went for Peli, or followed us back to the Crest,” you mumble, making Mando clench his jaw and shake his head, holding back the stunned laugh.

“No," his voice is quiet now, vocal cords taut "I did it for justice.”

“Justice?” Your voice is barely a whisper, eyes wide. But not out of fear, no. You look, for lack of a better word, surprised.

His hand twitches at his side, itching to run along your bruised cheek. The sight of your injury sickening him.

You glance at his moving hand, and he chickens out. You place a hand on your face, eyes lighting up, putting two and two together.

“You didn’t have to…”

“Yes, I did.”

The desire to ask is at the tip of your teeth. You’re both frozen, waiting for either of you to say something.

Your head feels light, chest fluttering with the adrenaline of your intense interaction. And then a tiny part of your heart starts to open, hope blossoming as you ponder if he went back for reasons more than just protecting you and the child.

The mere chance that he might feel the same way about you as you do about him… It's a thought you can't even handle, but you long so much for it to be true.

"Mando…" you find the courage to break the silence, barely able to form the sentence to ask him what you want to. You don't even know exactly what you want to ask him. You just want to know…

The child stirs in his cradle, breaking the spell.

Mando's demeanor shifts. He flits to being stoic, almost softened, as he picks up the kid, bundling him into his arms and speaks to him quietly in a mix of Mando'a and basic.

"Yeah?" he asks you, standing there with the kid tucked into the nook of his arm. The child is eerily silent, glancing back between the two of you as if he can sense the buzz in the air.

"... Forget it," you bail, shaking your head and flitting your gaze down. No— you couldn't bring yourself to ask him what he really means, why he was so compelled to go back and take down an entire gang of miscreants upon seeing the bruise that covered your cheek and brow.

“Other than your face, you and the kid sustained no injuries?” he asks, breaking the suddenly deafening drone of hyperspace.

“Nothing else,” you say, chest swelling with emotion as you feel compelled to add “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t turned up when you did. Thank you,”

“I should be the one thanking you.” He affirms, and he approaches the pilot seat, dropping the child into your lap as the kid lets out a happy gurgle to see you.

“You protected him despite everything... Thank you.” Mando says gruffly.

You turn to look at Mando. Heart thumping in your ears. Still wondering where your conversation would have led if the child hadn't woken up.

"Need to get myself cleaned up. I'll be back," Mando tells you, and turns to speak to the kid before departing.

"Keep them company, alright kid? And give them extra hugs; they protected you against all odds," he quips, and you daren't look up as a smile breaks across your face.

You listen out as he slides down the ladder to the hold, and shortly after you hear the jets of the fresher.

Looking up at you with his beetle black eyes, the kid lets out a tiny yawn as he tries to fight the drowsiness that takes over his body.

"I know, babybug." you sigh, pulling the kid closer in your arms and pressing your face to his fluffy head "It's been a looong day."

---

The scalding water and soapy suds run down the Mandalorian’s tense, aching body. Hard in all the right and wrong places.

The shower jets are hotter than the blood in his veins during a fight, yet somehow not hot enough to scrub away the grime of Tatooine and bounty hunting.

It was rare that Mando spent extended time in the shower.

Like the rest of his routine, everything was planned for efficiency’s sake, even down to wolfing down a meal in a matter of seconds.

But today was different.

The security of hyperspace made him feel like he could take off his armor without feeling completely in the open, and combined with the knowledge that the kid was in safe hands with you, meant that the bounty hunter well and truly had nothing to be hypervigilant about.

But those two things alone wouldn’t usually reduce him to a needy mess, one arm pressed against the wall while the water rained down his beaten and bruised body.

No, there was something else consuming him.

You.

Being in such close quarters with you was proving a dangerous thing for Mando's self-control. Usually something he prided himself on, he could feel it slipping between his fingers with each and every electric interaction with you.

And seeing that bruise spanning your elegant features… it boiled his blood, drove him to turn back and hunt down the rest of those lowlives that put the child and your life in danger.

Mando was no stranger to feeling protective.

Maker knows the child unearthed those feelings in him, that uncontrollable defensiveness that came from being the kid's ward.

But the protectiveness he felt over you too… It was something else entirely.

It burned his insides, set them on fire in a way he couldn't tame. It was a selfish kind of feeling, bordering possessiveness.

Mine, a low voice in the back of his head growled, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore it.

Unable to fight it any longer, Mando's hand reaches for his hardened length, gripping himself under the spray as he presses a fist against the wall and strokes his cock.

He lets the images of you flood his mind, of plush parted lips and delicious-smelling hair, the feeling of your curves and dips pressed against him as he jetpacked into the sky.

Mando's mind wanders further still, to the thought of all the things he wants to do to you— lay you out on his cot and peel of your clothes layer by layer, or hoist you onto the dashboard of the Crest and run his calloused hands across your bare body, to part your thighs and bring his fingers to your core and… and—

His climax comes hard and fast, and he gasps your name as he coats the shower walls with spurts of his seed, wishing he was giving it to you instead.

The timer for the fresher soon ends and the water shuts off, leaving a dripping wet Mando to stand in the cold.

Shame washes his insides with the realization of what he's done, the path he's gone down in his head that he can't return from. Kriffing hell, being around you was like traversing a minefield, never knowing if the next step keeps him going or sweeps him off his feet.

Stepping out of the shower cubicle, Mando heads to the sink and opens the cabinet, pulling out his straight razor. Closing the cabinet, he’s met with an unusual sight on the fogged-up mirror.

The faint shape of a heart, drawn by delicate fingers.

Placed right at his chest, sparing Mando from seeing his face off-guard. From looking into tired eyes and finding lines and scars that weren't there the last time he scrutinized himself.

Not a soul has laid eyes on Mando's face since he was a boy. But as he leans down, looking at the foggy outline of his deep brown eyes and tousled hair, he can't help but wonder what you'd think of him if you ever did see.

Mando traces the outline of the steamy heart, fingertips following the same path as yours, until the shape is clear again.

It feels oddly intimate, a reminder that the two of you go about your lives in this enclosed space, intertwined by your proximity and love for the child.

As the Mandalorian methodically drags the razor across his stubble, he can't get you out of his thoughts. He tries to fight it, but even after his release, his mind stands no chance against the hold you had on him.

The razor trembles in his hand and he nicks himself on the jaw, dropping the blade into the sink as blood starts to seep.

"Or'dinii," Mando sighs to himself, hands holding the sides of the sink with a white-knuckled grip. Fool.

He lets the blood drip, and with it, his feelings for you flow.

Head dipped low, he meets his eyes in the heart on the mirror. Before him he sees a softened man. Maker, he knows can't hold back much longer.

Your pull was too magnetic, like the sun he couldn’t look away from, your gravity drawing him into your warmth, your radiance.

Somehow, he finds the strength to clean himself up and finish shaving, hauling on his now-clean padded under armor and tactical pants thanks to the sonic washer, sans the heavy beskar plates.

With a deep breath, he slides on his helmet, the one thing that protected him and isolated him from the rest of the galaxy.

His time in the shower had left Mando feeling slightly more level-headed. Able to face you again without his emotions cracking through the beskar.

At the last minute, he grabs his clean cloak, slightly tattered from the days spent in the desert, and slings it over his shoulder.

The ship is as silent as can be as he steps into the hold, hulking his armor down in a corner to clean later.

He grabs a couple of food rations while he's there, along with a flask of hot water to brew some tea.

A short ascent up the ladder and Mando's standing outside the cockpit doors, listening out for any noise from within.

If you were awake he'd hear you moving around, humming to yourself, or talking to the child. But the silence from within tells him you've fallen asleep.

Mando enters the cockpit, taking the cloak into his arms and holding it out, ready to cover you with it as he's done many times before.

He wasn't sure why you opted to sleep in the cockpit rather than the cot in the hold, but he didn't mind one bit.

Something about having you napping while he piloted the ship was comforting. It made the void of space all the less lonely.

He gets quite the surprise, however, when he looks down at you, and you're looking back up at him with those wide, entrancing eyes.

"O-oh, uh—" Mando stutters, unable to find the words "I—I thought you'd be—"

He was not ready to face you, not after he'd just finished off to the thought of you while in the fresher.

"Thanks," a faint smile plays on your lips, and you reach out to take the cloak in your arms, saving Mando the embarrassment of having to explain himself.

He watches as you wrap the cloak around your body, and holds out a ration pack to you once your hands are free.

"Hungry?" He asks, and you nod, taking the food graciously.

You go to stand up then, offering the Mandalorian his seat once more.

"No, it's ok." He implores, walking over to the passenger seat and sitting down. You looked so comfortable, it felt like a crime to make you move just for his sake.

But something else nags at his mind, the slight round of your shoulders, the spark that had left your eyes. The fact that you were still awake, despite the day you'd endured.

Mando goes to open his ration pack, ready to tear into a basic meal of jerky and nutrient paste and push his feelings away, slightly tilting his helmet up and inhaling the food in under a minute.

But when he notices your hesitation in starting your meal, concern wracks his mind.

"I'm— here. To listen. If there's something on your mind." he offers, voice strained, and you glance at him from around the pilot's chair, eyebrow arching.

Beneath his helmet, Mando holds back a smile. You knew him all too well to realize this wasn't a strong point of his: Talking.

Your eyes flit down and you fiddle with the ration pack in your hands, the Mandalorian watching as the thoughts form on your face.

"I can't stop thinking about it," you blurt after some thought. "That split second when he was looming over me. I had the blaster in my hand, but I panicked— Could barely aim, I was shaking so bad," you glance up at Mando, habitually seeking comfort in a face you can't see.

He's sitting there, legs spread wide and elbows resting on his legs, gloved hands dexterously turning the ration pack between his fingers as if it were a blade.

"If you weren't there, I don't know what…" you squeak breathlessly, and the glassy look in your eyes doesn't go unnoticed by Mando.

Biting his tongue, Mando lets out a tiny groan of pity, of pain. So low the helmet's vocoder doesn't pick it up.

The defeat in your voice — it breaks him apart.

The beeps and whirrs of the dashboard filling the air, the quiet snores of the kid tucked in his enclosed cradle.

It's as if the silence speaks, somehow. Says all the things you both wish to say.

"I'm sorry… It's hard to, uhm, try to… to open up to—" your eyes trace over the helmet, looking lost "to the… all the… beskar." you admit, your voice heavy.

He watches you retreat around the side of the chair, feeling the conversation slipping through his fingers. No. He made a promise to you, he wanted to be there for you, helmet be damned.

Mando stands up, walking over to the pilot's seat. You glance at him over your shoulder, looking up at him with a bemused, anticipatory gaze.

“Keep looking forward. Don't turn around under any circumstances,” Mando requests, though the helmet renders his words toneless. He sinks down to the floor, sitting with his back facing the pilot seat.

Mando takes a deep, rattling breath, not giving himself enough time to think about what he's about to do. Knowing he'd only end up talking himself out of it.

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Mando lifts the helmet from his head, taking in a deep, unmodulated sigh as he places the beskar headgear in his lap.

By all the stars in the galaxy... The Mandalorian just removed his helmet for you.

Two light thuds indicate his gloves coming off too, and then the scratching sound of hands running through hair and stubble.

You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to control the vision of the golden throat column you’d seen just hours before.

You’re ruined, you think to yourself. One bit of neck and you’re silently pining for this stoic bounty hunter.

His very human sounds bring something else to mind, too. The realization that there really is a man underneath all that metal.

Everyone’s impression of him was still true— he was one of the most notorious and successful bounty hunters the galaxy had ever really seen, extracting quarries with machine-like precision.

But that didn’t make the opposite false, either.

For he was also just as human; he bled, he got angry, he cared for the child. He sat on the floor of his starship, tired out of his mind, wondering if his fight against the rest of the galaxy would ever end.

Being in the same room as someone without the helmet on made all kinds of alarm signals go off in Mando's head.

But when he thought about how you must have felt, moments before he stepped in and shot the piece of garbage that closed in on you and the child, he felt it was only fair.

This way, you were on the same level.

"Better?" Mando asks, trying his hardest to keep his voice stable.

The voice that addresses you is familiar, yet different on so many levels. Unmodulated and free of the helmet, Mando’s words are buttery smooth, impossibly deep, and chocolatey warm.

"Better," you whisper to him, and Mando is taken aback at the gentle, relaxed sound of your voice. It was parsecs away from the strained tone you'd spoken in moments ago.

He opens the ration pack before him, trying his best to chew slowly and not inhale his food while he listens to you with all his heart.

"Growing up, I learned fast just how ruthless people can be," you begin, tearing open your own ration pack to give your hands something to do.

"But I never experienced it up close like that. I've felt true fear. I've had adrenaline coursing through my veins. But not once in my life have I left so…" you pause, swallowing thickly "So vulnerable."

The words continue to flow.

"And it's an issue— I don't truly know how to fight, other than kicking and screaming and riling up a storm. I can just about aim a weapon on a good day, let alone during a fight. I don't know the first thing about how to hide when being hunted, and now—"

Your voice cracks, and before you know it you're stifling a sob.

"Hey, hey— s'alright," Mando says steadily, trying to push down the way his whole chest aches for you.

"You're safe now. I've got you," he adds, shifting to the side so he can reach his hand up, placing it on your shoulder in an act of reassurance. You still at first, before letting your shoulders slump with a shudder.

Kriff, he was no good at this— he can't remember the last time he'd touched someone with his bare hands. The sensation of your delicate shoulder beneath his palm making him dizzy. But for you, he was trying.

"I… I think I understand. You felt unprepared, and that made you panic?" Mando confirms, slowly removing his hand.

"Unprepared is an understatement," you choke through tears, laughing humorlessly.

Mando holds his hand in his lap, running a thumb over his palm to try and ease the way it tingles for your touch. An idea comes to his mind, a solution to the dire issue of you not feeling prepared for what the grittier side of the galaxy had to give.

Before arguing otherwise, he begins to weigh the pros and cons.

He doesn't have to deliver the bounties for another few days… He has enough credits to get by 'till then, and if he chose a planet on the way to Nevarro he wouldn't have to refuel… Yeah, it all makes sense.

"Well," Mando speaks up, resolute. "Do you want to be prepared next time?"

You shift in your seat, and from Mando's position, it sounds like you had half a mind to turn around and stare at him, before remembering his helmetless condition.

"I can teach you all I know," He offers "how to fight, survive, use a blaster…" He holds off on the last thing he wants to say, not wanting to scare you off already.

I can teach you how to outrun a bounty hunter.

"Yeah. I'd like that," something changes in your voice, then. It sounds firmer, more steady.

Without giving himself too much credit, Mando hopes that his words have eased your worries even just a little bit. And he hopes his actions from now on will, too.

The two of you continue to pick through your meals, Mando having had enough of eating slowly and devouring the final scraps of food in regular fashion.

Sliding his helmet back on, he stands up and walks over to the dashboard, staring at it as he mulls over which planet to head to.

His first instinct would be to Nevarro to collect more bounty tokens. But the thought of taking you there without you being prepared doesn't sit right with him.

He looks at the fuel meters, makes a mental count of the rations. There should be enough to last half a week.

There's nothing stopping him from gearing this ship toward an uncharted planet and training you up straight away— and that's exactly what he's gonna do.

"Tea?" Mando asks, offering you the flask.

You take the flask graciously, sighing at the feeling of the warm canister between your fingers, watching as Mando starts punching in digits on the dashboard to change course.

It feels easy to put you first. Natural, almost.

"Where are we heading?" you ask, and take a welcoming sip of the mysterious beverage. Tarine tea. It burns your tongue, but it goes down warm and soothing.

"Seolona. It's a grassy planet on the edge of Hutt Space." Mando replies, pressing the final buttons to reroute the ship before leaning back, resting an arm on the headrest of your seat.

"Where were we going?"

"Nowhere. I'd set the coordinates for a random planet on the other side of the galaxy." That wasn't entirely true. Mando set the co-ords for a very specific planet on the other side of the galaxy. with no intention of actually reaching there.

It's the coordinates of the first planet that comes to mind whenever he's under pressure and needs to jump to hyperspace quickly. His home planet.

"What's Seolona like? Nothing like Tatooine, I hope" you say humorlessly, watching out the viewport as the ship stutters between hyperspace lanes, settling into its new route.

"It's peaceful," he offers, and if it weren't for the blank look on your face you don't think he would have continued "Lots of open space. Won't disturb anyone with the odd blaster fire, and better yet, we won't be disturbed either."

You're staring out into space, brow furrowed with confusion. Mando must notice, because he elaborates once again.

"Which is ideal for your training." the Mandalorian says matter-of-factly. You nearly choke on the tea, and the Mandalorian is perplexed.

"You just said you wanted to learn to protect yourself?" he reiterates, blissfully unaware of the effect he was having on you.

"I still do! I just... Didn't expect it to happen so soon. Don't you have other commitments? What happened to that bounty on Tatooine?"

Mando looks down at you, shaking his head in disbelief as the slightest of chuckles passes his lips.

"After all you've been through, you're worried about whether I fulfilled the quarry?" he asks, and the way you bite your lip and shrug innocently does things to him.

Trying not to get lost in your face, Mando distracts himself by leaning over to the cradle and opening it with a button on his vambrace, checking on the child inside.

He's fast asleep again, snoring softly with his favorite metal ball in hand.

"You should get some sleep." Mando suggests once he's closed the cradle "I'll be in the hull if you need me."

He steps through the cockpit doors and places one foot on the metal rung, heading down to clean his beskar. Mando watches in confusion as you retreat to your usual sleeping spot in the passenger seat.

"I mean some real sleep." he calls to you "Hunker down in the cot, don't worry about the kid. He'll be out for a while." Mando adds, heading down the rest of the ladder.

"I'm fine here. Besides, it's a bit cold," your voice calls back faintly, and it clicks why he's never seen you sleep in the hold before.

The bounty hunter pulls off a glove, testing the air.

Kriff, it is cold. Mando couldn't feel it through all the layers. Guilt twists in his insides, making him groan in frustration.

The thought comes to his mind: had you been sleeping in the cockpit even while he was out on a hunt? Maker, he really was an or'dinii. Why hadn't he thought about this before?

Mando heads to the storage alcoves at once, pulling out some blankets and gingleson pelts. A part of him wants to just throw them into his cot, tell you what's his is yours, and that you can sleep there whenever you need to.

But… no, that could give off the wrong idea. And, kriff, play into his fantasies way too much. He makes a quick change of plan. Rooting through a storage crate tucked in a corner of the hold, he finds what he's looking for.

A hammock. He needed it once upon a time, back when he used to need to sleep during bounty hunts, but years of training has conditioned him to run on as little shut-eye as possible.

Walking out of the storage room, Mando heads to the warmer upper deck and his eyes land on a quiet spot to set up the hammock. He gets to work right away, adjusting the length of fabric to the walls and making sure it's secure. He throws in the pelts and blankets for good measure.

Once done, he heads back into the cockpit, ready to alert you of your makeshift bed. But when he finds you fast asleep, resting your head on the dip in the wall, he can't bring himself to wake you.

The bacta on your face must have kicked in, knocking you out cold. He's not sure if it's just his imagination, but your cheek seems to be healing already, ugly purple welt fading into a greenish-yellow splotch.

He spends longer than he'd like to admit standing there, his eyes flickering up and down your features. So grateful that you and the kid are safe.

You're nothing less than a sight for sore eyes.

Chapter 7: Ignited

Summary:

Reader starts to crack open Mando's beskar shell. Both their nerves and restraint are tested as Mando teaches Reader to fight on the isolated planet of Seolona. The slow burn smoulders...

Notes:

It's been a while 💔 Life got in the way, as it does. But not a day went by where I didn't smile at your comments, kudos, bookmarks, all of it. Thank you for loving this fic as much as I do!

When you awaken from your bacta-induced slumber, you don't find yourself under the trails of hyperspace in the cockpit, but bundled in blankets and pelts in an unfamiliar alcove of the Razor Crest, instead.

With no recollection of getting here, or knowing where here is, you can only assume one thing—the Mandalorian must have carried you during your deep, bacta-induced state of sleep.

The prospect makes you tingle from head to toe, hiding under the covers and letting out a tiny sigh. Part embarrassed, part flattered.

Sleeping stretched out is undeniably comfier than the flight chair, you admit, as you bury your head deeper in the blankets.

You inhale the delightful odor of soap and leather, along with surprising faint undertones of something warm and spiced.

Kriff, Mando smelled so good when he was fresh out of the shower, all steamy and fresh. When he took his helmet off behind you it filled the room; you were consumed by it.

Even after sleeping, the past day had felt like a blur— one long fever dream of being scorchingly close to the Mandalorian, both physically and emotionally.

The way he listened to your every worry made you feel giddy with warmth. Taking off his helmet in an attempt to ease you, soothing you with his large, warm palm as you began to spiral.

Stars, it was hard not to fall even deeper when you were starting to see who the man under the leather and iron really was.

Yet only a short time before that, he'd shown you his other side too, leaning over you intimidatingly as you sat in the pilot's seat. Trying to convince you in a low growl that you don’t want to be near him, but making you ache for other things entirely—

Maker, you had to get up before you started to lose a grip of your senses. Clambering out of what you now realize is a hammock, you rub the sleep out of your eyes and stretch your body.

Everything is quiet, the only sound being the low drone that tells you the Crest is still engaged in hyperspace. Unusual… Mando was always keeping busy, tending to the ship or his weapons, making enough noise to remind you that you shared the tight space of the Razor Crest.

You look back at the cozy hammock attached to the wall, and your heart flutters to know that Mando must have made this after you admitted to him why you never sleep in the hold. Pulling on your boots, you go to investigate.

Your first stop is naturally the cockpit, but as you approach the door an interesting sound from the hold below catches your attention.

The lights are low, so it’s hard to see, but you swear you hear one of the kid’s gurgle snores. You take the ladder down and creep into the darkened hold, peering around a metal beam slowly.

There before you is the child, tucked into the arms of a very deeply sleeping Mandalorian.

Mando's sitting on the floor with his back to a storage crate, one leg crossed over the other. Helmet hanging low, half polished beskar and assorted tools lying scattered around him.

You bite back a smile, admiring the endearing sight before you. In the time you'd known Mando, you don't think you've ever seen him as relaxed, as tranquil, as this. Even his soft interactions with the child were guarded for times he thought he was alone.

Though, that was ever so slowly starting to change.

Sensing your presence, the child blinks his beetle-black eyes wearily open, mouth forming into a tiny grin as he sees you standing in the doorway.

You hold a finger to your lips, hoping he’ll get the memo and not disturb the sleeping bounty hunter, but before you know it the kid’s halfway across the hold, shuffling up to you and babbling away in a bid to get your attention.

Mando awakens with a start, gloved hand rubbing the back of his neck as he lets out a modulated groan.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” you murmur, stepping forward and crouching down to take the child in your arms. The kid places a tiny hand on your bruised face, and you find the skin feeling less tender than it had earlier.

“How long was I out for?” Mando asks you, looking around at his half-finished task.

“Mm, not sure,” you admit, trying to quell your lewd thoughts at the sound of his morning voice “I only just woke up myself,” the only one who doesn’t seem groggy is the child, who seems to have taken his extended nap in stride.

Mando stands, rolling his neck and shoulders out in the process, and starts punching the buttons on his vambrace controls.

"Must've been out for a while—we’re over halfway to Seolona,” Mando informs you, the strain in his voice apparent.

In the time you’ve known Mando, it became increasingly clear to you that the man stopped for nothing. Least of all for basic bodily needs like rest.

“Well, we must have needed it.” You reply, offering him a smile. His helmet locks on to you and the child, angling in such a way that you imagine he wanted to say something in protest.

But the sight of you with the child in your arms does something to him, and his shoulders drop ever-so-slightly, helmet straightening. He nods subtly.

“We should prepare for our time planetside,” Mando says instead, his voice back to that monotonous baritone drawl.

He looks down at the armor scattered across the hold, his hands settling on his hips as he decides where to start.

“I can help,” you blurt, all too eagerly. “I’d probably learn a thing or two while I was at it.” and maybe learn a thing or two more about him in the meantime.

Mando’s visor glances back up at you, mulling the idea over, before nodding matter-of-factly.

“Yeah. Makes sense.” He agrees, and starts picking up his armor, ready to carry them to his workbench. You chuckle at his straightforwardness, tapping a foot on the ground.

“After we eat, of course. I'm not sure about you but I'm starving,” you chuckle, and Mando stops to stare at you again, plate armor piled high in his arms.

“Right. Eat. Yeah.” He agrees once more, turning to place the armor on top of a crate. With the dazed manner he’s behaving, you wonder if the bounty hunter is still half asleep.

You turn to the kid who's looking at Mando with wide eyes and chuckle silently, as if it’s a private joke between the two of you.

---

Once breakfast is out the way, you head to the back of the hold to take care of the Mandalorian's most prized possession— his armor.

The two of you stand side-by-side at the workbench, with Mando handing you a spare pair of his gloves that were far too large in the most comforting way.

Treating the metal with a delicate touch, you meticulously wipe away the dirt and stains as the Mandalorian does. The job was monotonous, almost machine-like in execution, but there was a certain tenderness to him letting you help with something he usually kept to himself.

Holding the beskar pauldron in your hands, you’re entranced by the detailed emblem carved into the side of it. You trace your fingers over the mark, understanding that it had significance to Mando, and wondering just how deeply its importance ran.

"You know, you still have to tell me about your clan," you speak up into the easeful silence, reaching for a rag to buff at the grooves and dents of the metal.

"I do?" Mando challenges, and you can hear the intrigue in his voice as he humors you.

With a nudge from the toe of your boot, you reply with lighthearted surprise.

"You're telling me you forgot?" Before he can answer, you continue— scrunching up your face and putting on a gruff voice as you recite his words "The last time I asked you said 'that's a story for another day'."

"I don't sound like that," Mando counters, shuffling from side to side as he grumbles back at you.

"Still waiting on that thrilling tale." you grin, turning your head to look up at him expectantly.

"Oh, it's thrilling alright," Mando answers cryptically, helmet tilting your way as he shoots you a glance before he turns to focus on the child.

The child sits on a shelf above the workbench, drooling over one of Mando's vambraces that's half the size of him.

Mando reaches up, easing the armor out of his mouth only to switch it with that little metal ball, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He must carry the thing around with him everywhere, just in case the kid wants it, you think to yourself.

"He loves that thing, doesn't he?" you muse, thinking back to all the times you'd seen the Mandalorian hand the child the tiny metal object. You reach a hand up to the child, stroking his head in that spot behind his ears you know he loves.

" I think I know why," you add, a smile playing on your lips.

Mando looks up from the thigh plate he's polishing, his hands stilling for a moment, and you get the prickling feeling you're being watched.

But he doesn't speak, which you know him well enough to realize it's an invitation for you to continue speaking. Perhaps even a want.

"I bet it reminds him of his dad— all shiny and strong," you say with a smile, daring to look into the depths of Mando's t-shaped visor for a second before the heat creeps up your cheeks, threatening to color your face and reveal all.

Being a man of few words, Mando doesn't reply at first. As if he's mulling over what you said, the implications of your seemingly innocent observation. Or perhaps your way of seeking information, gently prodding to learn more about the things he kept so closely guarded.

Namely, what Mando was to the child. Merely someone taking care of him? Or more of a guardian? Or perhaps even a father figure…?

Either way, Mando feels like all the words in the galaxy couldn't describe what the kid meant to him— or you. So, he settles with using no words, letting the lowest of chuckles leave his chest as he shakes his helmet in mock disbelief.

And then he nods, making your heart swell with adoration.

Amidst all the feelings that swirl around your chest at Mando's reply, it strikes you how normal this moment is, to have you standing beside him just so. No strange planet to be wary of, nor a bounty for Mando to track down.

It was just the three of you, and the whirr of space as you raced down a hyper-lane to a little-known planet at the edge of the galaxy.

---

Coming from a planet of gray dreary skies and ashen backdrops to match, the rolling grassy hills and fair blue skies of Seolona are a welcome sight, particularly after the angry redness of Tatooine.

Flying over the world, the land seems completely deserted, save for a few mammalian-like creatures roaming the fields. You make a gentle landing and head for the back of the ship, the kid following in his floating cradle.

The gangplank descends and you look out at the planet before you, spotting a sparse woodland of deciduous trees lying in the near distance and hearing a river trickling nearby. Other than that, there’s nothing to see but miles and miles of swaying fields of wildgrass.

Mando steps in front of you, holding out his fisted hands expectantly, palm facing downwards.

“Pick a hand,” he drawls, his gloved hands creaking into tighter fists.

“Why?” You wonder, staring down at them in intrigue.

“To decide if we’ll start with weapons or hand-to-hand combat.”

You bite your lip in anticipation, hairs on the back of your neck prickling at the notion of going hand-to-hand with a Mandalorian— this one in particular.

Fighting very intimately, hands on each other’s bodies as you tried to best the beskar? You’d rather not, for a myriad of reasons.

Your finger sways between the two options and you hold your breath before ultimately settling on the left, wherein Mando produces a bullet, holding it up to you as if it were a prized gem.

“Weapons training it is,” he nods, and you swear you see his shoulders sink— in relief, or disappointment? Before you can mull the thought over, he’s turning around and striding down the gangplank and beckoning you to follow.

“First place to start is stance,” Mando explains once you’re a short distance from the Crest “A strong shooting stance is key to not getting your ass hauled over in a fight."

He draws his blaster from its holster nonchalantly, positioning himself in a wide stance, helmet cocked to one side. His mirror-metal armor makes him both blend into the surroundings and take up an immense amount of space, all at once.

"Shoulders squared, feet apart.” He raises his weapon “Arms steady, but not tense." He makes it look effortless. "You try.”

“Like this?” You ask, shuffling to stand in what you attempt to be a mirror copy.

“Almost. Lower your elbows.” Mando notes, drawing his weapon swiftly, focusing his full attention on you.

“Now?” You question, seeking approval as you shift.

“You’re too, uh… tense." He replies hesitantly, folding his arms across his body. "Try loosening your shoulders.”

You bite your lip, pushing down the way your mind latches onto his accidental innuendo, trying to release the tension that fills you when you're being scrutinized so closely by the man in beskar.

“You’ve moved your hands. Put them back where they were, higher up the grip.”

You go back and forth for a while, starting to get frustrated that you can’t even seem to nail the first task. Things aren’t looking promising, until Mando takes things up a notch.

The bounty hunter hones in on you, stepping forward so his body is parallel to yours.

“Relax,” his modulated baritone voice is inches from your ear, sending the skin on your neck prickling “Can I show you?” He asks, and you nod, gulping.

He's standing so close, you can feel the warmth radiating from his hulking armored body, hear the creak of his leather gloves as if they were your own.

A breeze picks up his cloak in the wind, brushing your bare arms and sending your focus swaying as you're enveloped by the Mandalorian.

His warm gloved palms land on your shoulders first, drawing them back a little and down. Then they go to your elbows, tucking them in so they’re parallel to your shoulders. Finally, his hands slide over yours, readjusting your grip on the blaster pistol.

He steps away, seemingly satisfied with his work. You pray to the Maker that he can’t see the glaring shade of pink you’ve most definitely gone.

“One more thing,” he adds, and he’s up close and personal once more. He takes you by the shoulders again, but this time it's his boot pushing your legs a little further apart. It takes all your might to stop your legs from giving way.

“OK, you’re good to shoot,” he instructs, seemingly oblivious to the effect he has on you, and you squeeze the trigger, aiming at nothing in particular.

He reaches out with two fingers, pushing your elbow so it’s in line with your body again.

“Again,” he nods, and you comply.

You fire, over and over, the power of the weapon sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

You’re too focused on the task at hand to read Mando’s subtle body language, to notice the way he’s watching you intently, captivated by the way you’re taking in everything he's said.

Once you get the stance down you move up onto aiming at things. Rocks, trees, and any other objects in sight. That’s when Mando realizes just how much potential you have.

He’s watching you in a mixture of admiration and awe, the sight of you firing a weapon doing things to him. And not just any weapon, but his own.

He gives in to his fantasies for just a moment, imagining you as a fellow Mandalorian, bearing the beaker and keeping your identity shrouded to everyone else but him.

But you don’t need to be a Mandalorian for the bounty hunter to get lost in you, because looking at the way you handle the weapon is consuming him already, forcing him to bite the inside of his cheek in a bid to restrain himself.

The fiercely focused look on your face is devastatingly alluring, the rest of the world blurring away as he focuses on you and you only.

He tries to tell himself it’s justified, that he’s only doing it to ensure he’s being an attentive teacher, but the racing of his heart and bead of sweat that threatens to trickle down his brow reveals otherwise.

Kriff, Mando’s endlessly relieved that you picked the hand with the bullet in— because the thought of going into close-quarters combat with you, all hands and chest and body to body, he knows his restraint would be in tatters.

But you don’t notice any of his inner turmoil, too caught up in firing the weapon at object after object, determined to prove yourself to Mando, to challenge the doubt and fear that choked you since Tatooine.

All the while the child watches you from his cradle, safely tucked away in its steel walls as he munches on a cookie that looks suspiciously like the ones Peli fed to him.

But your success is short-lived, as once you switch to moving targets, that’s where you lose your rhythm. You’re not sure why, but something about having to follow a target makes you lose your head and falter.

As Mando throws rocks in the air for you to chase with your blaster, you’re consistently missing them, no matter how large they are or how much motivation Mando offers.

Your patience for yourself starts to wear thin, but just as you’re about to lay down the blaster and try again tomorrow, Mando comes out with a new idea.

Striding further out into the field, he reaches a distance and turns back around, holding his arms out wide.

“Shoot me.” He calls back.

“What? No!” You’re horrified at the prospect. Mando shakes his head, dropping his arms.

“You don’t think I’ve taken a blaster shot before?” He retorts with a hint of sass, reminding you of his line of work.

You readjust yourself, taking aim with a trembling hand, unable to bring yourself to fire.

“I can’t.” You admit.

“Shoot me or I’ll stop training you,” Mando calls, his exasperation clear.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back a smile at the absurd statement. He doesn’t get mad at you when you waste his time unable to hit targets, but when you refuse to shoot him only then does he get annoyed?

Sounds right for a Mandalorian.

You take a deep breath and aim, squeezing the trigger and squeezing your eyes shut at the same time.

Once you open them, before you is the Mandalorian with his hands on his hips. A few meters away is the smoking hole of a blaster shot.

“Keeping your eyes open helps.” Mando offers as a form of advice, but it’s written all over his body that it’s coated in sarcasm.

You try again, but even with your eyes open, you miss again. With each time you try to hit Mando, who stays completely stationary, you find yourself getting more annoyed.

It doesn’t help that he keeps making comments about your mistakes, practically enjoying teasing you.

“Eyes up here. Shots, too,”

“Nice shot, if you were trying to not hit me.”

“You sure hate the ground.”

You drop the kriffing blaster to the side, feeling hopeless. It’s no use.

“Hey, we’re not finished!” Mando shouts to you.

"I've hit a wall." You call back with a shrug, holstering the blaster and turning back round to the ship.

You hear his heavy footsteps coming towards you, hear his words of encouragement and reasoning, but you don't bring yourself to look back.

"Hey— I'm talking to you. Hey."

He's in front of you at once, fingers gingerly tilting your chin, encouraging you to meet his beskar gaze. You feel your face heat and insides flip at the tiny touch.

"Out there, there's no taking breaks. You hit a wall, it's over. You need to learn to push through that feeling, realize you've got a lot more to give."

Your eyes flit to the ground again, brows knitting together at the harsh reality of his words.

“You’re gonna get this. Push past the doubt.” His baritone voice is low, soothing almost. You'd do anything to be able to lean into him now, enveloped in his arms again, just like you were up in the sky. Gather enough strength to face the galaxy.

You stare up at him once more, eyes locking onto his visor as you chew the inside of your cheek.

It's like you can feel him studying your expression, making you imagine the eyes under that helmet to be roaming across your face. What color would those eyes be, you wonder? As rich and dark and deep as his voice?

Eventually, you nod. The Mandalorian nods back lightly, as if he’s come to a silent conclusion, and starts walking backward at once, waving to the kid in his cradle to move well out the way.

Judging by his steadfastness, he must’ve been struck with an idea. He walks back further than he did before, double the distance.

“You ready?” He calls back to you, and you force yourself to take a shooting stance again, not quite sure what you’re getting yourself into.

Mando drives into action before you can take another breath.

Pulling out his own blaster, the bounty hunter aims directly at you, taking huge strides in your direction. You yelp in surprise, nearly dropping your weapon as you try to regain composure.

“Shoot me!” Mando snarls at you, an edge in his voice you had never heard before. Kriff, is that how he sounds when he’s in the midst of a fight?

He's oozing raw power, pure testosterone as he storms towards you, the very picture of dominance, of death knocking at the door.

There’s no time for you to think as the Mandalorian fast approaches, intimidatingly large with those broad shoulders and sharp lines of beskar, cape billowing behind him.

You squeeze the trigger, missing him still, but slightly closer than you had before. In reaction to your missed shot, Mando fires a shot of his own at you; one that goes way over your head, but makes you scream and duck out of the way at the same time.

And it’s like an injection of adrenaline is shot straight into your veins, because the fumbling panic is replaced with a kind of desperate need for survival, slowing down time in a way that makes you think straight for the first time.

From your crouched position you readjust, propping yourself up with one knee and peering down the sights of the weapon once again.

This time your aim isn’t swaying, and Mando’s filling more of your vision, making him an easier target. You take a deep breath, and on releasing that breath, you squeeze the trigger one last time.

The shot fires, hitting the Mandalorian squarely in the beskar chest plate and sending him stumbling backward, crashing onto the ground.

Holy Maker, you did it. You did it— pushed past the wall and found the power within, just like Mando said you would.

You stand up, shaking. The blaster slips from your fingers and onto the ground as you wait for Mando to give you a sign he's OK. To sit up, shoot a thumbs-up, anything. Instead, he stays perfectly still. Bile bubbles in your throat as you run over to him.

“Mando!” You gasp at the perfectly still figure on the floor, leaning over him at a loss for what to do. Your mind races as you crouch down, hands slipping to the fabric bundled at his neck as you try to reach under and search for a pulse.

But then you’re screaming as the world is flipped upside down, and suddenly you’re the one on the floor.

The Mandalorian’s got you pinned under his armored body, clutching your hands above your head with one hand while he props himself up with the other. He's leaning over you, straddling your hips, his helmet inches away from your face.

“First rule of self-defense,” Mando grits, his voice impossibly low “Never assume a target is down on the first hit.”

You’re nodding fast, completely encapsulated by the powerful presence of the bounty hunter. Holding you down in the grass, his knees on either side of your hips, and it’s doing things to you.

You’re panting hard, chest heaving as the breaths leave your lungs in short, sharp gasps. It takes a moment for Mando to catch up, but soon he’s realizing what kind of position you find yourselves in.

He rolls off you at once, leaving embarrassment to wash over you. You sit up, praying that your body language can be mistaken for fear, fatigue, or some other reaction than being desperately enamored.

Mando stays crouched beside you, his beskar glare burning into your flesh. You wonder more than ever what those eyes are doing under the helmet, whether they're roaming up and down your body, or fixated on your face.

It sends your head dizzying with confused thoughts, questioning both your reactions to the situation.

He only tears away his gaze when you force yourself into a seated position, hiding your face with your hair, heat licking your insides. He stands, offering you a glove with his helmet bowed down, which you take with a shaky hand.

You feel the burn of his blazing skin through the leather as his hand wraps around yours, sending you into an even deeper frenzy. He doesn't let go, and neither do you.

Kriff, one more move, you think, and you’ve reached your breaking point with this man.

One word, one touch, and you’ll—

At the absolute worst timing possible—or maybe the best, considering—the child starts kicking up a fuss, calling for you and Mando from his steel cradle.

It snaps you out of your spell, and you run over to catch the kid as he attempts to leap out onto the ground.

Mando stays rooted to the spot, his back to you, helmet still fixated on the grass that sways in the late afternoon breeze. The sight of his huge, broad figure among the swaying wildgrass sets your chest alight all over again.

You teeter on the edge of a dangerous mental cliff, part of you longing to take a step in his direction, and then another until you’re standing by him again, just to see what would happen, what he’d say, or what you'd find yourself confessing.

The child squirms in your arms, letting out an adorable little squeak in a bid to gain your attention, tearing you away from your thoughts.

“I bet you’re starving, aren’t you little womp rat?” you ask the kid in a bid to distract yourself, voice still wavering from your intense interaction, and head into the Crest to get him fed.

You don't hear Mando enter the ship until much later, when you're seated in the cockpit breaking up rations for the child, and your chest flutters with the same intensity as when he had you pinned beneath him.

You can’t help but wonder the whole night what would have happened if you’d not retreated from the situation, and you have a sinking feeling that next time you find yourself in that kind of position, you won’t be able to stop yourself from giving in to your desires.

Chapter 8: Stargazer

Summary:

You and Mando open up to each other beneath the stars, and learn more about each other than you ever expected.

Notes:

Damn this chapter had me in a chokehold. I rewrote it sooo many times, but I'm finally happy with where it's at. I had this song on repeat an embarassing amount of times while writing https://youtu.be/woYU4dWR5b8

As always, thanks for all the love. Go watch the latest episode of book of boba fett if you haven't already, you won't be disappointed 🖤🖤🖤

Hours had passed since yours and the Mandalorian's intense interaction, and somehow you'd manage to avoid each other for the rest of the day.

The sun had set, giving way for the blanket of night where you could both privately dwell on your thoughts, allowing yourselves to feel in the darkness.

For the Mandalorian, his feelings for you were reaching a tipping point.

No longer were they something he could conveniently ignore, to tuck away when necessary.

They influenced him, drove him at times, all so he could ensure your safety…? No, it was more than that. All you had to do was say the word and he took off his kriffing helmet in front of you.

Pinning you down, something he'd done to hundreds of quarries, left his head dizzying with forbidden thoughts.

Peli had seen the way he was drawn to you in a matter of minutes. The banter she’d struck up with him over comlink in Tatooine about how 'opening his cold, closed heart some more might do him good' when they'd spoken was no coincidence.

You weren’t just anyone to Mando, from the moment you greeted him in that cantina he knew that. But never, ever had he imagined it would amount to this.

These feelings he was developing for you, they were all-consuming. Despite what felt like every fiber of his being fighting against it, from his devotion to a life of solitude, to abiding by the creed, to the danger he’d be putting you at by holding you closer.

Having you onboard the Razor Crest was a risk in it’s own, but it was a risk he was willing to take— mitigated by your invaluable protection and care of the kid.

Training you in fighting and self-defense was meant to alleviate the danger, and he knew it would as your fighting skills developed, but he was fast realizing that training you was jeopardizing the Mandalorian's mental state in other ways.

Namely, his ability to stop himself from doing something wildly inappropriate in the heat of the moment.

Mando picks up his amben sniper rifle he'd been meticulously cleaning while he ruminated, placing it back in the weapons cabinet and taking a step back. A sliver of light hits his visor, beckoning him to turn his head towards the source of the light.

Far on the other side of the hold, with the back of the ship wide open, the faint glow of the full moons of Seolona illuminates the durasteel.

And there, laying on the end of the gangplank, an image of total tranquility as you look towards the sky, is you.

Seeing you again after hours of trying to avoid your presence sets off the supernova in Mando's heart.

You'd been twin moons, orbiting each other for as long as you'd known, but now the universe was ending and gravity was pulling you closer, sucking you into the same black hole, dense with feeling, emotion, attraction.

Mando's feet carry him to you, leaving all walls and barriers to his heart where he stood.

---

You hadn't known until recently that you could see the stars so clearly when you were planetside.

Due to it's thick, polluted atmosphere, your home planet blocked out almost all celestial bodies, save for the closest planets and moons.

Since you joined the Mandalorian and the child on his adventures across the galaxy, you often watched the stars from the comfort of the cockpit. But now was your first time seeing an unadulterated view of the stars from the ground.

You wiggle your bare toes in contentment, tickled by the soft grass that swayed in the twilight.

Across the land, the hills sigh with a gentle breeze. Tiny insects chirp in symphony. The crisp freshness of the nighttime air fills your lungs. You're content in your own little world, head calmingly devoid of thoughts.

Until you hear footsteps, feel the shadow of a figure approaching behind you. You tilt your head back, and staring down at you is the Mandalorian.

You hold each other's gaze. The thoughts come rushing back to your head, flashes of your last interaction. Words hover on the tip of your tongue, but you're not sure how to even form a sentence of them.

"Mind if I sit?" he asks, his voice gentle and strained at the same time.

"Go ahead," you reply, words barely audible, voice delicate.

Mando sits to your left, his boots planted on the ground, arms resting on his knees. Even when he's hunched over, he's towering.

"The stars—" you try to break the silence with easy conversation, but your sentence is cut short.

"— I wanted to apologize." Mando announces, and his words make your throat clench shut. You turn your head to look at him, observing the way the moonlight reflects on his helmet.

"What?" you ask, blinking slowly. He's shaking his head slightly, as if he already wants to drop the discussion.

"Apologize… for what?" you repeat. Mando clears his throat. Rolls his shoulders. Prepares himself for what he wants to say.

"For earlier. I took it too far. Got in your personal space. I… shouldn't have done that." The regret in his voice is heavy, taking you off guard.

He's the one that's sorry? After you embarrassed yourself with the way you reacted to a simple training exercise?

"No, Mando. I'm the one that should be sorry." you counter, trying to make amends.

He tilts his helmet in that tell-tale sign that he's confused, and you feel your heart drop to your gut.

"Why would you need to apologize?" he challenges, voice so deep it hits you in the chest.

"I… b-because— uhm—" you're a stuttering mess, blush creeping up your face under the Mandalorian's scrutinizing gaze.

You look away, hoping it'll be easier to find the words when you're not looking into the visor of the enigmatic man you're falling for.

This was not a discussion you imagined yourself having. You were completely unprepared. Maker, you couldn't even make up a good lie.

"It's okay," Soothing tones emit from the Mandalorian's helmet, gentler than you'd ever heard him speak before, and your stumbling sentences fade away into silence "You don't have to explain. I understand."

There's a pause before he speaks again, and you're sitting there holding your breath, waiting for the moment of embarrassment to hit you.

"It's not your fault. You weren't prepared for a self-defense lesson. It's normal to feel caught off guard."

Relief hits like a wave. He thought you were startled? It feels like you've dodged a bullet, no, a missile. You gather the courage to look up again, and notice his gaze hasn't shifted one bit.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, either. When I said I wanted to learn how to fight, I meant it. Even if that means being flipped into the dirt to be taught a lesson," you murmur, a small smile forming on your lips.

A small sound emits from the helmet modulator, then. The low chuckle of the Mandalorian.

"Noted," he nods, and the tension around your conversation eases, leaving behind only the underlying chemistry that flickered whenever he was close.

"You were saying?" He asks, curious to know what you wanted to say earlier.

"Oh, yeah… The stars. I didn't know they could be so clear planetside," you murmur, looking up at them again.

Mando lifts his head for just a moment, briefly glancing upwards as if he already knows exactly what he'll see. His visor turns to his right, drawn to you, watching the way the heavens reflect in your eyes.

"It's your first time seeing the stars like this?" Mando asks, surprised. You nod, eyes not leaving the sky.

"Yeah. I've seen them from the cockpit, of course. But nothing like this," you sigh, bringing your knees to your chest.

"I always dreamed of reaching the stars as a kid, back when I'd fly around my home planet in my little skyhopper," you smile to yourself, bringing a hand to your pendant and running it through thumb and forefinger.

"I used to drive my parents crazy, pushing the T-16 to it's limits each time I took it out. They'd always say to me 'You can't spend your whole life up in the sky, petal.’ If only they could see me now," you chuckle softly, the sound soon fading to the night. The grip on your pendant tightens.

"Did your parents give you the necklace?" Mando inquires gently, noticing the way your knuckles are going white with how hard you're clutching it.

"Yeah, they did." you look down, studying the stone "It's all I have left of them… Of my family."

You sense Mando shift his body weight, leaning back on one arm. A tiny, longing part of your brain hopes he was trying to get closer.

You turn to look his way, finding his gaze focused hesitantly on you. He's silent, unmoving. Not pushing you to share such a private topic.

But you want to. To open up to Mando, heart and soul. To give him a piece of you at a time, knowing he'd keep it safe. Keep you safe.

"Our homestead was raided by Imps. They torched it to the ground, rounded my family up and…" you take a deep breath, still not able to finish that sentence, even after all these years "I managed to escape. Alone."

Mando lets out a clipped, heavy sigh but speaks no words.

"My mother gave me the pendant. Right as the stormtroopers were approaching she tied it around my neck, told me to run for my life and never take it off. Nobody else got out alive. Just me."

Mando tenses, muttering something under his breath in Mando'a before speaking up "Stars, I'm so sorry you had to— that— it…" he struggles to find the words, his usual aloof demeanor melting away completely as he offers you his condolences with such humanity.

You remove your hand from the pendant, wiping away a stray tear that trickles down your cheek. "It was a long time ago, now."

"Doesn't make it hurt any less," Mando replies, a knowing tone ringing true to his voice. He reaches around his own neck, pulling out a necklace bearing the head of a mythosaur. A silent acknowledgment that your stories echo each others, you realize.

"Yeah," you reply, his words hitting close to home "You just learn to live with it."

All is quiet, the breeze across the grassy fields seeming to whisper the words you can't. Thank you for listening, for being here for me. You're the safest I've felt around anyone, ever.

"Thank you," Mando utters gravely, as if he'd plucked the words from your mind "For sharing that with me. I understand how… how difficult it must be, to open up to me," he says with humility and a hint of shame, and all you can do is shake your head as your heart swells.

"Maybe to begin with, but it's getting easier now," you assure him, a playful smile spreading across your face "In fact, you're a great listener. You never look at me funny no matter what I say,"

"You so sure about that? I could be looking at you funny right now," he challenges, tilting his helmet teasingly, and you can't help but break into laughter at the action.

"Okay, except for when you do that," you admit between giggles, and then he's chuckling too, the ringing sound of your mutual joy carrying through the night.

It's the closest you've ever felt to the Mandalorian, as if there's no boundaries between the two of you. Not a cantina counter, nor the stoic nature of the bounty hunter, not even the beskar can get between you now.

Your chest blossoms with hope, of the chance that he feels the same way you do, that you can be close to him in the way you long to be each and every time you think of his presence.

Silence passes by again, but it's a contented one. An underlying feeling of mutual understanding.

"You can see the whole galaxy out here," Mando reveals, making you look at the stars with even more amazement than before.

"What's that bright spot?" you ask, pointing to the large, glowing spot in the sky. The energy radiates out of it in faint, dusty spirals of gold, brown, indigo.

"That's the Core: the center of our Galaxy. Only time we'll likely be there is if there's a quarry on Corellia."

You lay down on the gangplank, taking in the stars, eyes finding shapes in the constellations.

"What about that thing? It kind of looks like a… snake." You hum, chewing on your lip as you try to make sense of the tendrilled dust cloud taking up a sizable portion of the sky.

Mando brings a hand up, adjusting something on the underside of his helmet before letting it drop again.

"I can’t really make it out… But if I were to guess, you're looking at the Hapes Cluster. Not many leave the system, and fewer go in. Ion storms, cosmic dust, gravity wells— it keeps us out, and them in." he offers, and you're not only fascinated by the vastness of this galaxy, but also by what the man sitting beside you has unwittingly revealed.

"You can't see it…? What can you see with the helmet, then?" you murmur, curious to know.

You hear Mando pause for breath, and for a moment you think he's going to dismiss the topic.

"Enough." he sighs finally, but the tightness of his voice says the opposite.

"Peripheral's better than the naked eye, thanks to the HUD. Colors are muted. Details fuzzy. It's a tactical helmet, not made to replace vision." Mando explains, head firmly faced forward, and you're both fascinated and saddened.

"It wasn't made to replace a Mandalorian's vision? That seems like a bit of a design flaw if you have to keep it on at all times," you note.

"I… Not all Mandalorians always keep their helmet on. Only some." he divulges, an edge to his voice.

You turn to face him, taken aback by this new information.

There's a thousand questions that come to mind, but you know you have to tread carefully. You think back to your promise to the Mandalorian at the very beginning, of not questioning his ways and minding your businesses.

But so much has changed since then. All the time you'd spent traveling together, the bond you'd developed with the kid. The two of you weren't just flirting strangers passing small talk in the cantina anymore.

No, what you had was something else entirely— even if you weren't sure what to call it yet. After an electric pause, Mando finally speaks up and into the night.

"I am a Mandalorian, but I was not born one. I was sworn into the creed as a child. My home planet was destroyed and they took me in… As a foundling."

You say nothing. No words could vocalize the emotion, you decide. So you lay there in respectful silence, deciding that listening with all your heart and soul is the most important thing you can do. He continues.

"The clan that raised me, they were more… cautious than others. After the Great Purge, they had all the right to be. Our identities were kept secret to protect us. When I left to make a life of my own, I took that habit with me."

With each word, you form a deeper understanding of the man that sits beside you. Not the enigmatic bounty hunter, covered in beskar and bound to fight. No, the human that lies underneath it all.

"So if you ever decide to take the helmet off in front of someone… That would be breaking Mandalorian Code?" you test.

"Not necessarily— the Mandalorian Code can be interpreted in different ways. But it would be breaking The Way. According to The Way of Mandalore, if I remove the helmet, I can never put it back on again." the bounty hunter states matter-of-factly, and the complexity of the information leaves your head spinning.

"But you took your helmet off around me," You murmur, eyes going wide "T—to… eat…"

"I didn't show you my face, so my identity is still secret. My devotion to The Way is still intact."

If it was this hard to comprehend, you could barely imagine how difficult it was living your life according to such standards.

"I owe the clan that raised me everything. The least I can do is continue to abide by their rules, to try honor them." Mando adds, his words leaving his chest in some sort of strained justification.

"What about your current clan? Does Clan Mudhorn permit you to remove your helmet?" it occurs to you it was odd that Mando followed the rules of his old clan.

"I… We haven't decided yet." His reply is ambiguous, as it often was with Mando.

"Sounds like a discussion you should have. So you're all on the same page, you know." You're totally not getting your hopes up about maybe seeing his face someday, not at all.

"The other member— he isn't too talkative," He replies, sentences clipped.

"Really? That's got to be difficult." you point out, and then your eyebrows raise as the words sink in "Wait, there's only two of you?"

You turn to look at Mando, astonishment written across your face as the truth finally dawns on you.

"It's the kid, isn't it? He's the other member of your clan." you state, mouth dropping open.

"Yeah," Mando confirms, voice light, and his hand comes up to the emblem on his pauldron. Your eyes flit down, watching as his gloved fingers slowly trace the edges of the symbol.

"The mudhorn represents our first challenge together," the bounty hunter explains, and your heart skips a beat as you realize you're finally hearing the story of how Clan Mudhorn came to be "We fought one together. The kid saved me with his… jedi powers. We've been a unit ever since."

The smile that breaks across your face is unstoppable. It's all starting to make sense, the close bond the Mandalorian had with the child. It seemed to you like they weren't so much a unit, as they were family.

You break your gaze, looking out at the silhouette of the rolling fields before you. A particularly strong gust of wind stretches across the grass, sending a loud sigh throughout the plains. Even the earth sounds relieved, you think to yourself. You still your mind, listening to the way the world breathes.

"Is there anything you would take your helmet off for? You know, something really… special." you ask, not quite ready to let go of this intimate conversation.

"Well…" he ponders the question, running a hand across his helmet "Mandalorians remove their helmets during marriage vows,"

You sit up, resting your head on your knees and facing away to hide the fact that your face flushes with color.

"So… for love?"

"Yeah," Mando says, the vocoder crackling under a heavy breath "For love."

"I didn't know Mandalorians were allowed to love," you admit, earning a low chuckle from Mando.

"We're not Jedi." he replies "We can love whoever we want, whether they're Mandalorian or not."

You don't say anything— just pull up enough courage to look his way, stunned to find him looking right at you.

He's an enigma of a man, a wall of beskar and leather, smelling of blaster smoke and soap, pulling you deeper and deeper in his hold.

All you wanted in that moment was to know, to unearth what was happening beneath the hard exterior. What would his face be telling you? What would his eyes say? You longed more than ever to know if he felt the same as you.

Unable to take it any longer, you lay back down, turning your head away to look out at the stars.

And when Mando slides his helmet off, letting out a rattling sigh and asking you quietly to not turn your head, you find his actions answering all your questions and posing a hundred more.

Your conclusion hits you. Stomach dropping to your feet, bile rising in your throat as realization douses you like an ice bath. As if the answer had been there all this time.

Mando can't feel the same.

Because he just told you that he'd only ever take off his helmet and show his face to the one he loved, and moments after, he did just that and told you not to look at his face.

The action was all the confirmation you needed. That while you desperately pined for the Mandalorian, he felt nothing in return.

Notes:

time to put that angst tag to work i guess 🥺

Chapter 9: Rift

Summary:

The trio head to their next destination. Angst and overthinking ensues. Reader and Mando's bond starts to crack like the fractured surface of Nevarro.

Notes:

i want you all to know that you're incredible people. reading and re-reading your reactions to the last chapter has quite literally been getting me through this week. the fact that people are invested in this fic as i am means everything to me and im so happy to share it with you all. thank YOUUU <3

Mando'a translations are in the end notes!

Where does he go from here?

With just one conversation, the Mandalorian's entire worldview had begun to shift. It was no lie that he'd thought about this before, mulling over what The Way and the Mandalorian creed meant to him as he traversed through the ups and downs of life.

But never had he found such a strong reason, a smoldering, simmering desire to change everything.

Never removing his helmet around anyone, keeping everyone at arm's length, abiding by the strict rules of The Way… all of those things were a legacy he carried atop his shoulders.

Since you came into his life, those things had become a hindrance, a burden, stopping him from what he really wants.

He turns to look your way, admiring the view as you lay beside him and gazed out at the stars, oblivious to his longing gaze.

What the two of you shared had reached new boundaries. It was beyond anything Mando had experienced with anyone before— it was tender, it was intimate.

He was a man falling so deep. Deeper than the stars in space. His feelings for you were endless, ever-expanding.

The next time the situation arises, Mando decides he won't stop himself from sharing his feelings with you. He doesn't want to fight them, not anymore.

There was something else, too. A sensation that had arisen in Mando's chest when he'd opened up to you, a thought that bubbled to the surface of his mind.

For a long time, Mando had felt guilty about hiding his face from the child.

He'd tried his best to be a parent figure to the kid, but he knew that it was no good for him to stare up at faceless armor and listen to a modulated voice as his only means of socialization.

That was partly why Mando was so eager to invite aboard the Razor Crest after he'd witnessed the way the kid's demeanor changed completely around your glowing face. The final push in the right direction after the stars aligned for it to be just so.

But it was more than that—being such an important figure in the kid's life, yet robbing him of seeing his face didn't sit right with him, no matter how much he tried to reason with the thought.

And then, when he had become the child's guardian, his ver'gebuir, and they had formed a clan, there was nothing stopping him from lifting his helmet and smiling at the kid for the first time, other than Mando's own apprehension for showing his face to another living being.

Until now.

Leaving his helmet on the gangplank, Mando stands up and makes his way to the front of the hold, where the kid lies sleeping in his hammock above Mando's cot.

You'd bundled him up in layers upon layers of blankets, maybe too much, but he knows that you liked to overcompensate when it came to the care of the child. Always going above and beyond for the little green guy.

Mando stops at the foot of the cot, pulling down a blanket that covers some of the child's face and gently stroking the top of his head in an attempt to wake him from his slumber.

"Hey, ad'ika," he murmurs, and the difference in his unmodulated voice causes the child to stir, awakening at once. He blinks his beetle black eyes, staring back at Mando with a mixture of curiosity and lack of recognition. He must still be half asleep, Mando muses.

"It's me. Ver'gebuir… Buir." Mando adds, and he watches as the recognition lights up the child's face. He opens his little mouth wide, a gappy grin spreading across his features. His ears twitch with excitement and he reaches out, trying to grab at Mando with his tiny green claws.

"Ok buddy, I've got you," chuckling, Mando takes the kid out of his hammock and into his arms, where he can reach out and touch Mando's face, which he does immediately.

Calm washes over the Mandalorian the moment those tiny hands press onto his cheeks, easing all qualms of whether this was a good idea.

It’s been so long since he’s shown his face to anyone, ever felt so seen.

"You wanna see the stars, kid? They're real bright tonight."

Walking back to the other end of the hold, Mando sits back down beside you, assuming you're asleep by the fact that you don't stir or turn to look at him upon his return.

He places the child between the two of you and lays back down to gaze at the stars in all their glory.

And when he sees your arm snake around, reaching up to the child's head and giving it a subtle pat, the feeling that swells in his chest is unbeatable.

---

After that fateful night, the actuality of what you and the Mandalorian shared began to sink in. The reality that there wasn't anything there at all, the feelings one-sided, yours entirely.

You find yourself retreating emotionally, keeping distance from the Mandalorian as you once did. Leaving your thoughts to stew and ruminate. Realizing you’ve been holding out hope this whole time and letting your feelings for him grow to a critical level.

You start to feel like you've made a fool of yourself— thinking the Mandalorian had a thing for you, merely because the two of you used to kind of flirt in the cantina?

His whole life is about being aloof with everyone he meets. The closest he gets to people is when he’s freezing them in carbonite. Icy. Cold. Distant.

The only close contact you have is during training lessons. The tiny brushes as he adjusts your stance, gloves trailing down your arm or wrapping around your hands. And you hate your body for feeling that spark, the fire that roars inside for him.

You skirt around him on the Crest in the evenings, managing to find reasons to not be in the same space for too long.

But you’re falling for him hard and it hurts, knowing it’ll never work. You're not sure how much longer you can be around him like this before you break.

Mando notices your shift in demeanor. And he's confused— he thought the two of you had made progress. Felt like you were getting more comfortable around each other.

He throws himself into your training, trying not to think of the reason things have changed between the two of you. Wondering if he did something wrong.

Soon, the days of limbo on the peaceful grassy planet of Seolona come to an end, and you're rocketing off into space to head to Nevarro. Despite being with Mando for some time now, you had yet to visit Nevarro, and for good reason.

Visiting the planet he'd experienced so much danger on, tugged at your nerves tighter than you'd like to admit. But he assured you things were different now, explaining that he has allies in the city that helped keep things under control.

You land on Nevarro in a cloud of dust, and as it clears a cracked world lies before you, the desaturated landscape looking like a black-and-white holo-photo. Plumes of steam rise from holes in the rock, the air thick with an ashy, almost sulphuric scent.

There, wedged between the crevices of swirled obsidian, lies Nevarro City.

The barren terrain reminds you of your home planet, in an oddly comforting way.

Your stay on Nevarro would be short. Mando plans to trade in his previous quarries, collect some new bounty pucks, and the three of you could be back in space in a matter of hours, save for negotiations.

You notice Mando’s change of disposition once the Crest lands, his shoulders broadening and chest puffing. His ruthless bounty hunter persona had masked the relaxed, almost tender one you'd come to know in the lulls of hyperspace and peaceful planets.

Mando heads down to the weapons storage and beckons you to follow, stocking himself up as he does whenever he enters civilization. Gloved hands reach into the cabinet and pull out a different blaster pistol than the one you've been training with.

This one’s bigger, sturdier, and sleek in a way that tells you it's barely used. The shape looks all-too-familiar, and with a glance at his holster, you realize it's an exact copy of the weapon he carries. The very one he hunts bounties retains his notorious reputation and protects you and the child with.

“I think you're ready for a real weapon,” Mando utters as he presses the blaster into your hands, and it feels like a rite of passage. Your head reels with the whiplash of emotions that hit— feeling so close to him, so connected as you bared twin weapons, yet so far apart. Knowing that the two of you will never be what you need.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, not daring to look him in the visor at such proximity, as if your eyes would reveal all the feelings you've kept to yourself. You try to slip the blaster into your jacket like you had the previous one, but find it's too bulky.

“Hm, I might have something…” Mando says, peering back into his weapons arsenal. He pulls out a holster, made to wrap around your upper leg.

“This should do. Might need some adjusting.” He turns back to the cabinet, drawing out the arsenal of protection he's used to bearing.

You attach the top of the holster to your belt, adjusting it so it sits at the right height. But getting the band to tighten around your thigh proves trickier.

“Need some help?” Mando asks, turning to face you, a hint of softness in his gravelly voice. You look up, acutely aware of how he's standing barely a step away.

You nod slowly, hoping the hair that falls across your face hides the way your mouth trembles as you look at him. He nods back, slowly easing down on one knee, and starts to adjust the band that wraps around your thigh.

The delicate touch takes you by surprise and you nearly lose your balance, reaching out and placing a hand on his pauldron. The strain of muscle and broad shoulders radiates beneath the armor. Having the Mandalorian’s hands on your thigh, so close to… there, it does something to you.

“That feel right?” Mando asks, making some final adjustments. You muster enough courage to nod, not daring to look him in the visor. Cursing the maker for putting you in these kinds of situations.

Mando stays crouched down, one hand still on the holster on the side of your leg, the other now resting gently on your boot.

Through the voice filter, you hear him clear his throat, sending your skin erupting with gooseflesh. His helmet locks onto your face.

“How are you feeling about being planetside again?” Mando asks, alluding to how just a week before you were staying on Mos Eisley.

"Fine," your answer is clipped, voice strained. You sound far from it.

“You sure? You can always stay on the ship with the kid, hell, hop up into the atmosphere if you want to," he offers, picking up on your reserved demeanor, trying to alleviate it. Mando trusts you with the Crest as much as he trusts you with the kid.

"No need," you say, and Mando lets his hands fall to his sides and stands up. You step backward and put space between the two of you immediately, and he watches as you ease up, body de-tensing.

Realization clicks with Mando, then. You weren't nervous about being planetside, no. You were reacting this way towards being in proximity with him.

Things have felt off since that night on the gangplank, admiring the galaxy from the ground. Did he say something wrong, do something?

Maybe you really were scared of him after he went back and slaughtered the gang on Tatooine in an overprotective haze. Or you think he’s a fanatic after the helmet conversation.

Fuck, that’s it. You think he’s a lunatic. A zealot. The one time he'd opened up to anyone about what the creed meant to him, and he'd managed to scare them away. But not just anyone… you, you, for kriff's sake.

Mando slowly raises into a standing position, his helmet tracking your expression the entire time. When your brows knit together, he takes a step back, watching as they ease. Stars, how hadn't he picked up on this sooner?

With a rattling breath, Mando tries to gather the will to speak up again. To apologize, to ask for confirmation that the look you're giving him is out of fear. Fear of fanatic Mandalorians like him, who follow the way so strictly that they shut out anyone and everyone else. Even when it means letting the flames of longing flicker out into embers, only to die in the cold night—

His ruminations are broken by banging on the side of the Crest. Mando shoots up, his hand whipping to his blaster as he glares at the door with trepidation.

“Open up you stinking tin-can!” A voice calls out, and Mando relaxes at once. He presses a button on his wrist and the hold door opens, revealing a dark-haired woman with a smirk on her face.

“Nice to see you too, Dune,” Mando says gruffly in return, as a woman decked out in combat gear enters the ship.

And that was your introduction to Carasynthia Dune.

---

After sharing introductions, the four of you head into Nevarro City.

After traveling to many small settlements on the edge of civilization, it was refreshing to be somewhere that didn’t feel on the brink of civil war. Walking beside a Mandalorian and the city marshal Cara Dune only added to the feeling of security.

You reach the heart of the city, where Mando slows to a halt, turning to speak to you with a slight tilt to his helmeted head.

“This won’t take long.” He says, patting the bag slung around his shoulder. You’d seen him packing it on the ship, and knew it was filled with tracking fobs. “Stick with Cara and there won’t be any issues.”

You turn to look at Cara, who nods back at you.

“Behave for them, okay?” He tells the child, pointing a gloved finger at him. He cooes in reply, grabbing it with one of his tiny hands. You suppress a smile at their interaction, not fooled by Mando’s tough-guy act.

And so the Mandalorian strides off down a side street, leaving you and Cara to get to know each other.

She gives you a tour of the city, and as you walk and talk it’s easy to see why she and Mando are friends.

Her no-shit attitude, along with a gruff need to protect others under the guise of keeping order, feels all-too-familiar.

Cara finishes the tour bringing you to the newly opened school, which seems to entertain the child. While the child is playing with the other kids, she strikes up conversation.

“I never imagined Mando having a shipmate. The little guy was the exception of exceptions,” she notes, putting her hands on her hips.

You’re not sure how to reply, a pained laugh taking over your lungs.

“The two of you must really get along, being in such close quarters all the time,” she prods, and you have an inkling where the conversation is going.

“We get along well enough,” you shrug, trying to stay nonchalant as you fight the hot feeling that’s creeping up your neck.

“So you’re not fucking,” she states outright, her voice quiet enough so no one else can hear.

“Wh— no? No!” You hiss, mortified. After spending so much time with someone who dances around tricky topics, Cara’s bluntness feels like whiplash.

“Oh. Oooh. Okay, I see how it is.” She says with a toothy grin and a twinkle in her eye, as understanding flashes across your face. Stars, are you really that easy to read?

“It isn’t anything.” You insist, but the pink on your cheeks and the way you dig your nails into your palms give you away in an instant.

“Suuure.” She says smoothly, and you can’t think of any witty comeback for all the planets in the galaxy.

After letting the kid steal the hearts of teachers and students alike, the three of you head to the local food hole to grab some hot grub. You relish in the experience of a hot meal, savoring the steaming soup as you take turns feeding yourself and the child.

Just as you’re leaving, you decide to buy an extra bowl to go. Something to give to Mando when you see him, you think to yourself, unable to crush your intense need to think of him all the time just yet.

The day passes by, and you’re sitting in Cara Dune’s office playing Dejarik to pass the time when Mando strides in, looking like he’s already ready to leave.

You go to stand all too eagerly, ready to scoop up the child and get back into space, back to the routine you’d carved out with Mando and the child.

But when Mando shakes his head slightly all those thoughts dissolve, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of your stomach.

“Change of plan… we’re gonna be on Nevarro a little longer,” the bounty hunter says, his voice tenser than you’ve heard in a long time. “There's a couple quarries on this planet, but not for long. Need to hunt them down before they leave.” He explains, and you find yourself staring at him mindlessly.

Stay on Nevarro, apart from Mando. That was the last thing you were expecting.

“But I don’t want you and the child having to stay on the Crest alone. You can stay here in the city, courtesy of Greef Karga. He owes me, so it works out."

His words should be reassuring, but all you can think of is the last time he was on a hunt and you stayed with a stranger. You try your best to push back those thoughts, instead asking a seemingly nonchalant question.

“When will you be back?” Is all you can bring yourself to say. Dreading what you'll hear next.

"Two bounties, Nevarro. Could be a few…" he clears his throat, saying the next words in that monotonous drawl, detached from all emotion "A few days, or..."

Your stomach drops. You know what he wanted to say. Weeks apart from Mando, staying on a strange planet, with only a few days of blaster pistol training under your belt. But you'd be lying if you said that was the only worry on your mind.

Because you can't help but take it as a twisted confirmation that the Mandalorian doesn't want to be around you. That he'd take two bounties back-to-back on a treacherous volcanic planet rather than spend another week in the stars, forced to look out for you.

You suck in a breath, managing to look him in the visor and nod with all the will you can muster.

Mando's shifting from foot to foot, as if he's not quite sure what to do with himself— mind screaming at him that he's been messing up way too much lately.

What was he thinking, taking two bounties on this wretched planet?

He was thinking irrationally when he agreed to the bounty pucks, rashly concluding that some time away from him would probably be the only thing you wanted right now after he'd frightened you with his fanatic Mandalorian creed talk the other night.

He can see it written all over your face, the trepidation, the borderline betrayal. And it crumbles Mando's aloof attitude entirely, bringing a hand to the back of his neck as he lets his head hang low.

Cara glances between the two of you, a knowing look flashing on her face, before she mumbles something about taking a holocall and leaves the room.

"How do you feel about this? You OK with being on Nevarro for a few weeks?" Mando asks gravely, his beskar glinting in the low lights of Cara's office as he steps closer to you.

You look up at him, trying to force a smile but your lips just tremble instead.

"We'll be fine. Cara seems to have a good hold of this place," you try your best to mask your nerves, glancing down at his belt where a blinking pouch hangs "Besides, you already have the fobs, right? No turning back on a deal."

"Yeah… I do," he replies hesitantly, grasping at the pouch on his belt where the tracking fobs are stored.

Silence. Both of you ache for completely different reasons. Mando desperately wants to speak to you about the other night, to try and fix the mess he thinks he's made of things.

His hand twitches by his side, leather creaking as he longs to hold onto you, having gotten far too used to the feeling of your arms in his hold as he helped you during training.

You take a step back at the sound, your hands trailing over Cara's desk as you try to look everywhere but in the Mandalorian's direction.

This moment feels too grave, too serious. It hurts too much, sets dread deep in your bones as a little voice in the back of your head taunts you that this feels all too much like a point of no return.

Mando knows you all too well by now, after studying your face for so long, hidden by the beskar. He sees the way your eyes gloss over, the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip and chew anxiously.

Maker, he doesn't want to ruin this. To let wilt the tender closeness that had begun to blossom between the two of you.

He thinks of something, anything he can do to put a band-aid on the rift that had suddenly cracked open between you, to fix his wrongs and make you feel safe around him again.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small item that he clutches tightly in his hands, as if he can pass all the emotions that he feels for you through it as he hands it to you.

"Take this,"

His gloved hand reaches out to yours, hesitating for a second before taking it and placing something small in your palm, which he then closes.

“Reach out whenever you need to; want to”

You don't want to open your hand to look at what lies inside. Dread pits in your stomach at the thought of it.

You instead focus your gaze on the top of his helmet, not able to look him in the visor as he steps back, putting space between you again. So soon, too soon.

“Kid.” Mando grits, giving the child a scratch between the ears. With a nod to Cara in the other room, and one last sneaking glance at you, Mando goes to leave.

“Wait,” You call, remembering something. He stops in his tracks, turning to the side to look back at you. He’s so large in all that armor that he has to stand sideways and crouch to fit in the doorway.

You grab the tub of soup off Cara’s desk, walking up to the Mandalorian and handing it to him.

“It will probably be cold by the time you eat it, but you could always warm it up at a fire.” You suggest, unable to repress the tenderness in your voice.

The Mandalorian looks down at the metal tub in your hands, taking it and feeling the weight and heat of something warm and liquid within.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, taken aback. When was the last time someone thought about him like that?

With heavy feet and an even heavier heart, Mando leaves for the hunt.

You head back into the office, picking up the small item Mando gave you and studying it. Once his footsteps fade into obscurity your brain finally starts working again, and it dawns on you what it is.

A comlink.

For the first time in all the time you'd known him, the countless bounties and the days without hearing a thing, Mando had potentially put his location at risk just to ensure a means of communicating with you.

Your eyes sting and mouth turns dry, but it's too late to ask what it means once you find the words to do so. For Mando's already trekking towards the dusty outskirts of Nevarro City and venturing into the scorched lava fields.

And both your hearts shatter and crack like magma as it cools on rock.

Notes:

Ver'gebuir - hired guardian, almost-father
Buir - father
This chapter - absolute pain, i hate it here, why can't they just smooch already

Chapter 10: Breaking Point

Summary:

reader gives themselves an ultimatum. mando and reader have a comlink call. cue the heartbreak, angst, tears, bad decisions. then, mando returns from the hunt.

Notes:

thanks for your patience with the delayed release of this chapter <3 i hope it's worth the wait
mando'a translations in end notes.

You don't mind life on Nevarro, you conclude after a few days.

The city is safe enough, and with people like Cara Dune on your side, you had little to worry about otherwise.

You finally meet Greef Karga, the man to who Mando collected and dealt his bounties, and who was generously letting you stay in one of his lodgings—a cozy but basic room on the upper floor of a rental building.

Karga oozes confidence; an aura of mystery. It reminds you of the shadowy figures who'd retreat to the back of the cantina you worked at, engaged in shady business under hushed conversations and glasses of Corellian brandy.

Despite him shutting down the old bounty hunters guild headquarters to make way for the school, he still offered jobs to those he trusted most highly— meaning who raked in the most quarries. Naturally, Mando was his top hunter.

Bounties aside, Karga insists you send the child to school while you're staying in the city, so each morning you drop the kid off and have a whole day to yourself to do whatever you want.

Not being used to all the free time, you’re unsure what to do with yourself—until you mention to Cara your goal of becoming more proficient in self-defense, and she insists on teaching you some moves.

From then on you’re kept busy with Cara’s kickass lessons during the day, and tending to your bruises and spending time with the child when the sun sets across the volcanic land.

All the while, thoughts of the Mandalorian cloud your mind. The pain each time you're reminded of that night on the gangplank, the truth of his feelings— or lack of— revealed beneath the stars.

You give yourself an ultimatum.

After weeks away from him, if you find your feelings simmering down, then you’ll continue with Mando on his and the kid's adventures through the stars. Learn to live with being nothing more than shipmates.

But if they’ve stayed the same, or even developed more? You have to part ways.

The ache in your heart couldn't go on much longer, looking at him and knowing there's nothing there.

Hopelessly wishing your feelings for him grew from proximity rather than being substantial.

The conclusion to your ultimatum comes sooner than you think.

In the pitch black of night, you're tossing and turning in your unfamiliar bed as the events of Tatooine replay in your sleep—but the end scenarios are so much worse.

The kid is captured, Peli is killed before you, and you’re stumbling through the darkness of her dwellings that morph into a never-ending maze.

The giant alien with scaly hands turns from around a corner, wrapping his icy claws on your neck and squeezing the air out of your lungs—

You awaken with a start, drenched in sweat and tangled in the sheets.

A nightmare that felt all too real. You lay there for a moment, catching your breath and trying your best to bring yourself back to reality. But you fear that as soon as you close your eyes, you’ll have to relive those moments again.

The Mandalorian’s request echoes in your mind, the words he said before you parted.

Reach out if you need to; want to.

Nothing else has sounded more tempting than to hear the voice of the man that meant nothing but protection and comfort to you, who saved you from your nightmares becoming a reality.

In your dazed state of half asleep-ness, you couldn’t even deny to yourself how much you needed Mando, reaching for his company.

You dig through the bedside drawer, pulling out the comlink he gave to you and bringing it to your mouth as you whisper needily.

“Mando?"

---

The bounty hunter’s beskar clangs against the volcanic rock at the sound of your voice.

Each night he’d heard you calling out to him as he stopped to rest for a couple of hours, and each night after checking his helmet comlink he realized it was simply his imagination; the closest to a dream he’d gotten in a long time.

You were all that was on his mind as he mindlessly tracked down the quarry, so it was only natural.

He readjusts back against the rock, folding his arms across his body and looking out across the glowing lava fields.

“Mando?” Calls the voice again, and this time he realizes the voice was coming from reality.

With the press of a button on his vambrace, he links himself up to his helmet comlink.

“I'm here. Everything okay? The kid?” He asks, feeling his heart rate quicken for reasons more than just your safety.

“We're good, s’all fine, nothing bad happened…” you reply, and he hears you stifle a yawn that worms its way into his heart, smoothing the crease of his brow and relaxing his clenched jaw.

Kriff, he was hoping you’d use the comlink and reach out to him.

Maker knows hearing your voice would help keep him going. That the connection to you would make him feel whole, not a husk of a person going through the motions of bounty hunting, but a human being that hurt and burned and longed.

“Something keeping you up?” Mando asks, knowing it's not like you to have trouble sleeping. Two minutes in the air and you'd be passed out in the passenger seat of the Razor Crest.

He'd been greeted to the sight of your peaceful snoozing form so many times that he'd come to anticipate it, relishing in the chance to gaze at you for just a moment longer than he would usually allow himself.

Mando hears the shake in your voice as you speak, his arms prickling as you sigh heavily— as if you were speaking the words onto his skin, leaving him reeling over the sound of your voice, the solace of your presence that sets every nerve of his body alive.

"I had a nightmare. About… what happened on Tatooine"

Mando's speechless. To think you were haunted by what happened on that planet… It makes him want to call off his hunt, to head all the way back to Nevarro City just to pull you into his arms and try to make it all okay.

"It felt so real, I was, they—" you gasp breathlessly, as if coming-to, and when you speak again, your voice has lost all softness, worn down to a dull murmur like a pebble by the crashing waves "Nevermind. Sorry for disturbing you." you utter, at last.

And Mando's desperately trying to find the words to comfort you, to tell you he’s never gonna let that happen again, but before he knows it you say a brief goodnight and the comlink connection ends.

"Goodnight," Mando says out into the darkness, hoping more than ever that his words would reach and comfort you "and thank you for the soup," he adds, holding out hope for far too long as he awaits a reply that doesn't come.

Back in Nevarro City, you're laying in your strange bed in your unfamiliar room, Mando's voice bringing a wave of tears over you for all the wrong reasons.

Knowing you can’t do this anymore, be around him and not with him. It hurts too much.

You lay there, wide awake, until dawn breaks through the window, unable to think of anything else other than how much your heart aches, and how it suffers even more to know that the answer to your ultimatum has been fulfilled.

You had to part ways with the Mandalorian and the Child.

---

It takes two more weeks to muster the courage to do what you have to.

You start the day like normal, dropping off the child at school, noticing the way he clings to you more than usual, his beetle-black eyes looking up at you with ambivalence.

"Have a good day, babybug. See you after school," you murmur, pressing your face onto the top of his head and giving him an extra-tight hug goodbye.

When you try to place him down he won't let go, tiny fingers tangled into your clothes and hair as he cries out in defiance.

"C'mon, this isn't like you," you sigh, peeling his clingy hands off you and setting him at his desk. He looks up at you, bottom lip trembling as tears well in his eyes. Your heart sinks, and you crouch to your knees to speak to him in a gentle, hushed tone.

"I know, kid, you can sense… how I'm feeling," you sigh, chest shuddering under your breath as the child hangs onto your every word "But I promise I'll be right here to pick you up after school, okay?"

His ears twitch as if contemplating your words, and then he purses his beaky mouth, head turning to look forward as the teacher enters the room. Usually, he'd give you a gap-toothed grin or a happy squeak as a goodbye, but not today. And for good reason.

You've upset him. He senses the conflict within you, the decision you feel you have to make, and it disturbs his sensitive little soul.

Maker, how were you ever going to do this? To cut ties with Mando crushed you enough already, but to have to say goodbye to your little babybug too…

Your feet carry you to your next destination, rounding the corner and heading down the dusty road to Cara's office, knocking on the door and waiting with a racing heart until it's thrown open.

"There you are!" Cara shoots you a semblance of a smile, too distracted by the weapon in her hands to see the look of dejection on your face "Ready for today's training? I was thinking we could move onto parrying—“

You cut her off, not able to withhold for any longer. The words flow like a script, having gone over them in your head a hundred times.

You've gotten used to life on Nevarro, you tell her, explaining that you've decided to stay in the city and settle down, that life up in the stars just isn't for you.

Conveniently leaving out the real reason why you're eager to part ways with the bounty hunter— though something tells you by the way Cara scrutinizes you that she sees it written across your face.

“I'm more than happy to help you get on your own feet… But are you sure you wanna leave that life behind?” She wonders, cocking an eyebrow that screams doubt “What about the kid? Mando…?”

"I… It's for the best," you answer vaguely, and after throwing you one more dubious look she appears to come to a conclusion.

Cara nods once, walking round to her desk as if to put space between the two of you, counteracting her almost-personal words.

"I get it," she sighs, placing her rifle down and leaning forward with her palms flat on the desk. "That nomadic space life bantha-crap isn't for everyone. Sure as hoth weren't for me— pissing in a pathetic excuse for a toilet and drinking recycled water? No thanks," she rolls her eyes with a scowl, and the slightest of smiles crosses your face at her bluntness.

"But you should speak to him first. Mando. Before making your mind up for good," she shrugs, casual, but you take the words as anything but, unable to reply with anything other than a pained nod.

"But hey, I'd say we've come to get along just fine. I wouldn't mind sticking my neck out for you 'till you find your footing here."

You're taken aback by Cara's kindness. Would she really do that for you? Help out someone she'd only known for a handful of weeks?

"I don't know how to even… Wow, Cara. Thank you," you utter, suddenly struggling to find your voice amongst the tornado of emotions that circulates you. Is this actually happening?

She looks up, shrugging at her next words as if to feign nonchalance "What can I say? You've grown on me."

There's a brief pause, a moment of silence where the conversation can sink in, and it's only then that the reality of the situation hits you.

It's over, the adventure is over. The passion you thought had begun to blossom was never there to begin with. And now you were back to square one, on a backwater planet with just a handful of credits to your name and no place to truly call your own—

"Ready to spar? Let's head out to the courtyard," Cara lifts the rifle back into her arms, making her way to the outer doors and slinging the weapon over her shoulder, expecting you to follow.

But you don't.

No, you find yourself retreating instead, stepping backward until you hit a wall and practically throwing yourself out of the building. Stumbling, running, sprinting away from everything, trying to quell the way your heart protests it all.

Kriff, maker, stars— why did this have to be so hard?

Your legs carry you to the shipyard, where the Razor Crest stands proudly, a token of familiarity amongst the swirling mountains of gray and plumes of acrid smoke.

With trembling fingers, you punch in the entry key, stepping into the cool, dim interior of the hold.

With the durasteel walls of what feels like home all around you, only then do your emotions release. Like the cork popped on a bottle of Alderaanian wine, they spill out messily, staining what was once pristine, pure.

You just about make it to the cockpit, though barely, before your eyes are swimming, knuckles white as you press them to your mouth in a bid to muffle the sobs.

Sinking in the pilot's seat, you nestle your face into the leather, tears streaming down your face as you mourn the life, the love, that was never meant to be.

---

After four long weeks away, the Mandalorian finally returns to Nevarro City, bruised and battered from the fight the second bounty and his company had put up for him. Still, the six of them were no match.

Mando's time traversing the lava fields had taken a toll on his mind and body, longing for the comfort of the Crest, safety of hyperspace, and the knowledge that you and the kid were nearby.

You were the only thing getting the bounty hunter through those long and lonely days, the thought of being able to be just the three of you on the Crest again keeping him level-headed even as the terrain swam before him and he contemplated turning back empty-handed.

But what motivated him most of all was the entire reason he'd taken two bounties back-to-back on this treacherous planet— To spend the extra days he now had taking you and the kid to whichever planet you pleased. So you could see the galaxy in all its beauty, as Mando feels you deserved.

None of it would compare to you, of course. A thought he's kept to himself the entire time he's known you, when it all started with stealing glances from under the obscure visor of his helmet.

All the way until now, when he's head over heart for you that by the time he steps into the bustling city, he can feel the way his body buzzes for you.

Every fiber of his being longing to search for you, the missing fragment to his map of the galaxy.

He heads to Karga first, handing in the tracking fobs and asking him if he knew where you were.

“Probably hanging out with Cara,” Karga drawls, his feet up on his desk “those two are getting on like a hut on fire!”

Making his way to Cara’s place, Mando’s senses heighten as the sounds of blaster fire meet his ears.

The closer he gets, the more he realizes the sounds have to be coming from Cara’s combat courtyard.

In an instant, his disposition changes. He's ready to hunt, to take down anyone in between him and you.

Mando barges through the door, storming to the courtyard with his blaster cocked and ready to fuck up whoever’s putting you in harm’s way. Not again, he won't let it happen ever again.

He finds you and Cara embroiled in a fight, the two of you wrestling on the ground for a blaster rifle that lays just within reach.

The Mandalorian rushes over, stomping on the rifle with his foot.

“Mando! You’re back—" Cara exclaims, and when she looks up a very angry Mandalorian is aiming his blaster right at her "Dank Farrik, put that thing away, bantha-brain! We're training, take it down a notch.” She hisses, untangling from you as she steps up to greet Mando.

His eyes stay fixed on Cara, body whirling with adrenaline and giving him tunnel vision. Through his peripherals he sees you stand up too, brushing the dust off your clothes, and something in his chest pangs at the acknowledgment— stars, you're standing right there.

“Right. Sorry.” Mando apologizes, coming to his senses as he holsters his weapon and leans on one leg, hand resting on his bandolier in a bid to seem at ease. Cara rolls her eyes but begrudgingly nods in acceptance.

Unable to falter from your magnetic pull, Mando’s helmet turns in your direction, and by the Maker, no amount of mental strength could prepare him for this moment.

He drinks in the sight of you before him like a parched man, ravenously thirsty until you, the oasis of his heart, appeared before him among the barren desert.

You're panting slightly, chest rising and falling from your rough-housing with Cara. The exertion has tinged your cheeks that glorious peachy color, and strands of hair frame your face like the painting it is. Eyes wide, lips flushed, mouth parted. Kriff, you’re a work of art.

Every nerve-ending of Mando's body raises to attention, making his mouth dry and his heart hammer. Time slows to a crawl, and he wants to live in each second forever, lost in you.

The sound of Cara clearing her throat pulls Mando out of his infatuation, and he comes to his senses again, inclined to break the silence.

“Hey.” Mando greets, grateful that the helmet makes his voice sound more monotonous than it is. In truth, his words are filled with emotion, his voice on the verge of breaking.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice everything his isn't— all soft and emotion-filled where his cuts into the air like an alien sound, rendered gravelly with the modulator.

And for a moment, just a moment, all his worries melt away. As if the two of you are the only people on the entire planet, and being next to you is all that matters.

---

It's been three weeks since you've heard the Mandalorian's voice, and a whole week more since you've been in his presence.

After going from being around each other all the time, it was a shock to your system. Each day felt like it stretched for a week. For all your heart knows, it could have been months since you’d last been together.

And now he was standing here before you, and you could feel the dread creeping in as one thing ran through your mind, clouding all other thoughts like a raging summer storm.

The looming fact of the decision you’d have to break to Mando.

“You wanna pick up the kid and get back to the ship?” He asks, his heart skipping at the thought of the three of you being together again.

Mando picks up on the look Cara gives you before you reply— the side-eyed glance she shoots your way, prompting you to shift on your feet, nodding subtly at her.

“I’ll deal with the little gremlin. I'm sure you two have some catching up to do.”

Cara makes her leave and Mando's helmet follows her, waiting until the courtyard doors close before he turns to face you once more.

Your breath lodges in your throat at the sensation that swirls through your body, brought on just by being alone with him. Hands itching to reach out and run your hands along the beskar, as if to make sure he's real.

For a split second, you decide to call off your plan, to put on your best smile and ask him how his time hunting has been just to have it all back, but then you catch yourself falling and realize this is exactly why you need to do this in the first place.

He doesn't feel anything— and you feel far too much. This is the only way.

"You've been training with Cara?" Mando's the one to break the silence, crouching down to pick up the blaster rifle, running his gloved fingers over the mechanisms. Kriff, you forgot how sensual he made it look, handling a weapon like that.

His helmet tilts your way, awaiting a reply, and you tear your eyes off his hands to look him in the visor. Nodding in confirmation.

"How's it been? Learned anything new?"

You shrug, the pit in your stomach turning to stone "bit of this, bit of that…" you reply, wishing you could go into more detail.

But you know with every ounce of small talk, you're delaying the inevitable, rubbing salt in the wounds of your heart.

He steers the topic, voice stoic as he prompts the conversation.

“Dune said we had some catching up to do?"

"Yeah… We do." you sigh, heavier than usual, and Mando's helmet cocks ever-so-slightly at the sound of it.

Just looking at him hurts your heart. You’re not even looking into his eyes and he's killing you, the glare of his visor burying deep in your soul. Maker, you'll never look into his eyes—

Your eyes follow the concaves of his plate armor, surprisingly clean but dulled from the gray dust of the lava fields. It makes it easier to look at him, you try to convince yourself, as your vision begins to water at the corners.

"Did something happen?” Mando asks ever-so-carefully. You shake your head too quickly for it to be natural, and he picks up on it.

“Did someone…" his voice is impossibly low, and he takes a step towards you, leaving just enough space between your bodies to leave you longing and hurting all the same "Did someone hurt you?”

“No— nothing happened Mando, I promise. We've been safe here, me and the kid,” you reply, finally finding your voice.

He steps back again, cautiously, his question not fully answered. You weren't hurt, but something went down. He needed to know. And you needed to tell him.

You’ve gone over the words a hundred times in your head, but now he’s here in front of you, you can barely form the first sentence.

“I’ve decided…” your voice cracks and you stop, gulping in an attempt to soothe your dry throat. Mando shifts on his feet, hands resting on his bandolier as he angles himself to reach your gaze, listening intently.

“Go on,” he’s being cautious, but you swear you hear a hint of gentleness in the modulated voice.

At last, you let the words break.

“I won’t be joining you and the child on the Razor Crest… I’ve decided to stay here.”

Silence. Mando's completely and utterly still, the moment frozen like a painting— until he snaps out of it, hands landing on his hips as he leans forward and says with pure confusion.

“You… you’re… what?”

“Greef’s letting me stay in a room in one of his buildings, and Cara’s offered to get me on my feet. She says I could find a gig fixing ships or something, but I can always go back to cantina work, too,” you blurt, feeling yourself slide into the unemotional script you'd practiced an unmakerly number of times.

The Mandalorian slowly straightens, his hands dropping to either side. You get the sinking feeling you're being glared at, but you know no matter what you have to go on.

“You changed my life when you took me onboard, after I lost everything…" your words trail off, as you recall Mando jetpacking back to the Crest with your precious belongings in his arms, saved of his own volition "but now it's time I go my own way. I can start a life here, on Nevarro.” you nod as if trying to convince yourself.

Silence.

The man in beskar gives you nothing to hint at his reaction, standing as still as the stars in the sky. When he speaks, his voice is the exact opposite of what you'd expected— far from the gruff parting reply you'd been waiting for, you get something else entirely.

"Staying on Nevarro— that's really what you want?" Mando says, his voice hoarse with how strained it is. The helmet rendered his usual strong tones into crackling murmurs. With the weight of the world on your shoulders, you nod.

Mando feels himself breaking apart at your words, tearing from the seams as if his armor will give up on him on the spot. And he panics.

"But you hate planets like this.” He exclaims, the exasperation in his voice along with his words hitting too close to home.

“Backwater, no way out— It's everything you didn't like about your home planet.” He remembers the monotonous landscape of where you first met, and then he's unable to think of anything else, other than the light in your eyes each time you broke the atmosphere of a new planet.

Acid rises in his throat at the thought of never experiencing that again, never being able to take you to whichever planet you wanted to. To train you, to show you the galaxy can be more than the spoils of Imperial rule.

"I can learn to live with it," you murmur, not quite meeting his gaze. Usually he's the unreadable one, but right now your emotions are locked up so tight Mando can barely tell if you're actually being nonchalant or you're withholding something more from him.

This can't be happening— he'll do anything, everything in his power to change your mind.

“The kid won't understand; he needs you, I need y—“ Mando's so close to confessing how he burns for you, how the thought of living without you is pure torture, but he catches himself before making an even bigger mess of things.

"We'll get to see each other when you come to pick up bounties— I'll be right here, after all," you offer, forcing a smile that leaves your face tense and trembling.

"You know that's not enough— for him, or you." Mando deflects, and then he continues with the one thing you knew would break you, the one thought you burrowed deep in the back of your mind, hoping it wouldn't resurface.

"The child… He loves you. I… I see it in his face, every day."

The Mandalorian's words hit you like a spear to the chest, digging right into your vitals and leaving you to bleed out.

He knew you all too well, letting his words burrow deep in the wound of your heartbreak— yet your mind was so set on cutting those ties that you could barely fathom why he cared so much about not parting ways.

Mando sways on his feet, sickened by the whole ordeal, and that's when he notices the thin sheen of tears that fill your eyes, threatening to fall.

A tiny sound escapes from his helmet, the stifled reaction to your melancholy, and the sound of it lures them out, the tears rolling down onto your cheeks shamelessly.

"P-please, Mando— don't make this any harder than it is," you choke, stepping backward until your back presses up against the courtyard walls.

"Hey, no— don’t cry," Mando insists, closing in on you so the space between doesn't grow. "Please, not over this," his hand reaches up to hold your elbow, the exact spot he'd adjusted so many times during training as if it’s the only place he knows how to touch you without melting.

He can tell something’s deeply wrong. He’s never seen you so hurt before. And he wants more than anything else to set it right.

It’s the worst combination you know, feeling like a feral animal backed in a corner. Longing for affection but knowing it would never come. All you wanted was to be held by him— but in your mind, it was the one thing that could never happen.

So instead, you snap. Speaking the harsh words that grip your mind like a vice, sharp as the tears that slip down your cheeks.

“Why would you care, Mando? To you, I’m just some cantina girl turned babysitter you picked up out of pity.”

You turn your head so you don't have to witness his reaction, to see the confirmation of your assumptions written all over his body.

Until the Mandalorian speaks up, and the very premise of your worries is shattered.

“You really think that’s how I see you?” His voice is broken, and before you can turn your head you feel the palm of his glove meet your cheek, turning your head to gently face him. It doesn't leave.

And when you nod, the way his shoulders drop in dismay is clear as glass.

The helmet modulator crackles under the weight of his next word. Just two letters, one syllable, the simplest phrase imaginable. A word that changes everything.

"No," he says. And then his other hand comes up, cupping your face, enveloping you in his hold. The minuscule space between you charged beyond belief.

You can’t believe this is happening. It has to be a dream right?

“No." He says once more, this time more adamant than ever. "To me, you’re— osi'kyr," he breathes like he can barely get enough air. "To me, you’re everything.”

You have barely enough time to process what he's said before he continues, pouring his heart out.

“You’re all I think about, all I dream about. Can’t get you out of my head— haar'chak, you’re so kriffing beautiful— and I can’t keep it hidden anymore, can’t be in your presence without losing my damn mind—stars, not good with words…" he pauses, takes a deep breath, and tries again.

"You light up the ship with your energy, your love and gentleness for everything you touch. Just knowing you’ll be there every time I come back from a quarry. Seeing the way you make the kid so, so happy. Sharing the Crest with you…"

Your heart is set to burst with the words Mando shares with you— but nothing prepares you for what he next says.

"Ever since I stepped foot in that cantina, nothing's been the same in my life, my head, my heart. I’m… dank farrik, I’m crazy for you."

You're choking up, the tears cascading down your face for a whole other reason.

Mando feels the same…?

His grip on your face shifts, thumbs reaching up to wipe away the tears from your cheeks. You close your eyes, melting into his touch.

Mando feels the same.

"And I've tried to push it down to keep you comfortable, make you feel safe, Maker knows I've tried— but now all I've done is convince you I don't care about you at all. You staying here is the last thing in this hoth-forsaken galaxy I ever want—"

Your hands reach up to his, settling your grip on his wrists to calm him from his lament. It works, the bounty hunter stilling beneath your touch.

"Mando," you whisper, and the way he leans in at the breathy manner you call for him is entrancing. "I don't want to stay here— I never did… But I thought I had to. It was too much, believing you felt nothing for me while I felt too much for you,"

Mando's chin tilts downwards, visor lining up directly with your eyes as if he can't believe what you just said.

"You… feel the same?" he stammers, thumbs trembling as they stroke across your cheeks oh so gently.

"Yes," you pant, feeling the weight release off your chest, with the one word you'd wanted to say for so long "Stars, yes." and then you're opening your heart to him, baring everything as he did to share how you truly feel.

"From the moment I met you, I was drawn to you. Even though you may be a Mandalorian who hunts bounties for a living, you don't try to push down your soft side. You make me feel so safe, the way you look out for me and the kid. I see it all, Mando— I see you."

His hands leave your face, dropping to his sides, stunned.

"I didn't frighten you when I spoke about the Creed?" he asks, referring to that night stargazing in Seolona "You don't think I'm some kind of fanatic?"

"Kriff, Mando, no. Not one bit," you confirm, already itching to make contact with him again. Your fingers wind under the top of his chest plate, feeling the way his heart thrums beneath it.

Your heart twinges at the sensation, and with it comes a question to the tip of your tongue. The one thing that led to this entire situation.

"But I really thought— When you said you'd only take off your helmet for the one you love, and then you did, and asked me to not look, that it meant…" your words trail off, unable to finish the fragmented thought that had tormented your mind.

At first he's still, but then Mando's chest stiffens beneath you as realization dawns on him. His hands reach up to land on your shoulders, steadying you with their warm, soft leather span. And when he speaks, your legs turn to jelly.

"That doesn't mean I'm not falling in love, cyar'ika."

Cyar'ika… you’d heard that word before, tossed around in the cantina by lovers. You wrack your brains, desperately trying to remember its meaning. And then it dawns on you: Sweetheart. It means sweetheart.

A grin breaks across your face, chest made light with not an ounce of anguish left. No, the feeling of knowing he felt the same filled you from head to toe. The Mandalorian felt for you as you felt for him.

Under the armor, Mando's working up a sweat— for the first time ever he doesn't feel protected by the beskar but hindered by it. Claustrophobic amongst all the layers, he longs to tear them off, the plate armor and cape and gloves and flight suit, just to get closer to you.

But Nevarro was the last place he'd do that, considering his past here. No, the only place he'll dare to be so vulnerable is within the liminal swirls of hyperspace, with you right next to him.

He'd do anything to be there in an instant. Time couldn't bring him there any quicker. He has half a mind to scoop you up and rush you to the Razor Crest now, but there was one very special person missing from the mix.

"Patu! Patu! Patuuuuu!"

The courtyard doors creak open and in stumbles a tiny green bundle of joy, making a beeline for the towering Mandalorian who crouches down to greet the child with open arms, chuckling heartily at his enthusiasm.

"C'mere you little womp rat!" Mando laughs as he scoops the kid into his arms. The kid nestles into the crook of Mando's arm as if the spot were made for him, and the look of love in his eyes sends a wave of feels through your body.

The child is babbling away heartily and Mando's listening to every second, nodding along and making comments along the way. His strong beskar-clad arms bundling the kid up tight. And then the child glances over in your direction and his chatter drops completely, attention pinpointed solely on you.

"I think he wants you to come over here," Mando offers warmly, and you bite your lip at the prospect, remembering with sorrow the last interaction you'd had with the kid.

You chuckle nervously, creeping your way over to the child and holding out a hand gingerly. He takes one appraising look at you, and then at Mando as if awaiting confirmation.

"Don't worry, she's not going anywhere," Mando reassures the kid, and you're amazed at how he can assess the situation just from the child's behavior alone.

"Now, give your cabur a hug,"

With open arms you take the child with joy, squeezing him tightly to your chest and whispering sorries and I love you's to the little green bean.

And as he hugs you back, with equal fervor and love in his little heart, you know that all is forgiven.

Cara Dune appears then, an exasperated sigh leaving her lips as she enters the courtyard, brushing off the dust from her clothes in the process.

"Sorry. I tried to keep him on a short leash but he's faster than he looks!"

Her eyes dart between you and Mando as if trying to assess the situation. You can see on her face that she was expecting something more dramatic— tears, or maybe either of you sitting on opposite ends of the courtyard.

"It's about time we all got back to the Crest anyway," Mando offers, taking the child into his arms as he reaches for his ver'gebuir.

His helmet locks onto you and he tilts his head, as if asking for confirmation, and you can't help but nod eagerly, biting back a smile.

"All?" Cara asks, cocking an eyebrow as she shoots you a cryptic look.

"Change of plan," you tell her, a smile creeping on your face as you glance at Mando and back at her "I won't be staying on Nevarro."

You sense Mando's hand hover behind you as if testing the waters, before landing lightly on the small of your back, warm and expansive.

Your head floats up to the clouds at the touch, the gentle affection letting the flowers of your soul bloom and the flames in your belly flicker.

Cara's suspicious glare softens then, a smirk forming on her face as she throws her hands in the air and exclaims.

"Thank the Maker! Now you two can leave me in peace and finally kriff it out—"

"Stars, Dune, not in front of the kid," Mando hisses, covering the child's ears. Meanwhile, you're fighting to not turn a lovely shade of pink.

So, with one last goodbye to Dune and Karga— who insists you stay a night longer, even going as far to offer a double room as you blush and Mando stammers no— the three of you make your way to the edge of town where the Razor Crest awaits.

The sight of it is enough to ease your tense joints as one word resounds through your head and your heart, echoed by the steady steps of the Mandalorian and the joyful gurgles of the child.

Home.

Notes:

SO UM YEAH. IT ONLY TOOK THEM 47K WORDS KASFISDFSIUF.

but y'all we're only just getting started 😈 boy do i have things in store for these two

osi'kyr - Strong exclamation of surprise or dismay
haar'chak - damn it!
cabur - guardian/protector. i couldn't find much info about this word so i took it be a less powerful word than ver'gebuir
ver'gebuir - guardian/almost-father

Chapter 11: Interlude in the Stars

Summary:

After a long time apart, Mando and Reader are finally alone in hyperspace. What EVER could happen..? Peep the extended chapter count, too. This story is far from over. Also, hi, I'm back!

Notes:

hello my lovelies 🖤 im sorry for disappearing so suddenly. life decided to throw all kinds of hellish crap at me all at once, so i haven't had the space to focus on this dear story of ours. but not a day went by where i havent thought about it, read and reread your comments, and longed for the time when things would finally settle and i could get to writing again. and that time is finally now. though, ironically as the worst of my troubles are over, i have tested positive for covid today. fingers crossed it doesn't wipe me out and i can get to uploading more or less like i used to. thank you for sticking around despite the silence. i tried to put a lot of love into this chapter to make up for my abscence. i hope it was worth the wait 🖤

It's been weeks since you stepped foot on the Razor Crest, and the first thing you notice is how it smells.

Being a pre-empire ship that has been patched and modified countless times, you'd expect it to carry the stench of jet fuel and smoke, but instead, you're greeted with a much more pleasant scent: fresh laundry, clean floors, and crisp recycled air.

Walking past the fresher, you hear the whirrs of the sonic washes at work, and it dawns on you that Mando must have stopped off here before heading to Nevarro City, getting cleaned up before presenting himself to you and the kid.

The notion of it, the act of such thoughtfulness, makes you blush from head to toe. No wonder he looked so pristine despite weeks spent trekking ashy lava fields.

You stand there for a moment, soaking in the atmosphere and the memories it brings of the little life you’ve carved out on this ship.

Everything is just how you left it— the general clutter, the kid's makeshift toys scattered across the hold, your belongings hanging in the worn cloth duffel bag you'd picked up at one of the many towns you'd passed by in a blur.

To think that you'd almost left this all behind… It soothes you to the core to know that you have it back before you'd truly even lost it.

The measured steps of the Mandalorian approach; heavy boots on durasteel floors, the comforting tread of the person you feel safest with.

You stay standing with your back to him, a coy smile dancing across your face as you wonder how he'll make his presence known— a hand on the small of your back, like earlier? A gentle palm on the shoulder, perhaps?

But it doesn't come. Curious, you peer over your shoulder, turning around as you spot Mando standing a couple of meters away, fiddling with the mechanisms of a wall panel.

His helmet twitches at the feel of your gaze and he drops his task immediately, turning to face you and leaning against the wall with folded arms in a bid to look nonchalant.

"Ready for takeoff?" he asks, his voice airing between sentimental and monotonously tense.

You tilt your head, trying to make sense of the emotional state of the man under all the armor.

And when you witness the way his chest rises and falls under the mere scrutiny of your gaze, a barely-controlled shudder masked by iron and leather, it clicks.

He’s nervous.

With a languid glide forward, you step into the Mandalorian’s personal bubble, looking up at him through hooded lids as your bodies barely brush. Basking in the proximity you’d only dreamed of until today.

"Sure am," you nod, and you feel the way the kid’s starting to go limp in your arms as he falls asleep "I'll be up in the cockpit in a sec— gonna put the little guy to bed first,"

A low hum emits from Mando's helmet, and he presses an affectionate hand atop the child's tiny head, earning a sleepy coo from the big-eared bean.

And then, as if it were a spur-of-the-moment move of boldness, Mando's hand trails down, gloved fingers tracing across your bare forearm as he utters the following sentence, his visor firmly focused on you.

"See you up there," he says, and then he's gone, climbing up the ladder and disappearing into the upper deck.

Something about the way he says it affects you in a way you can barely admit— igniting a longing smolder that sits in the depths of your belly, flushing your cheeks with color as it dawns on you that now he knows.

He knows how you feel and what effect his words have on you. And you know how he feels, too. And now you're about to head up into the privacy of hyperspace; the kid left to nap in the hold for Maker knows how long.

Which means you'll be completely and utterly alone with Mando for the first time in a long time, fresh from confessing your feelings to one another, burning with desire and fluttering with anticipation.

For a moment you stand there, dwelling on your feelings and wondering what you'll say, what you'll do. Once you finally look down you notice the child has fallen fast asleep, hanging limply in your arms. After a long day of school and the excitement of reuniting with his dad, it only makes sense.

You place babybug in his swinging hammock above Mando's bunk, tucking him in tight and kissing him atop his fuzzy little head as you whisper goodnight.

The ship jitters and surges as you approach the ladder, telling you you've made the jump into hyperspace, the liminal space of untroubled travel.

And so with equal measure trepidation and tantalization, you ascend the ladder and prepare to enter the cockpit where the Mandalorian awaits.

---

Mando can barely believe the situation he's in.

Mere hours ago, he was certain he'd kriffed up everything you shared— broken your blossoming bond with his clumsy words and distant heart.

He was ready to resort back to his desperate pining from afar, nurturing his unrequited feelings like a wounded animal and praying they would someday quell.

And then, as he returned from the hunt and you were reunited, he was sure he'd lost you to Nevarro— as you revealed your decision to stay, to part ways for good and sever the already fractured bond the two of you held.

It hurt too much to bear— to let his feelings brew and burn his insides like acid. So they had all come out in a fevered, heart-wrenching confession, finally revealing the way he truly felt for you, longing for your company in a way that he hadn't longed for anything before.

He knew from the moment he saw your eyes light up that it was the best decision he could have ever made.

With both your feelings laid bare, there was no room for doubt, for unrequited passion to float about aimlessly.

Yet there was a certain sense of trepidation that came with these freshly laid-out confessions, sharing the fragility of a butterfly newly emerged from its cocoon. It was the excitement of what the future could hold, paired with the unease of what it will take to get there.

Mando's heart rate quickens at the thought of how long he'd hidden his feelings for you, and even longer still since he'd shared his feelings with anyone. Was he even able to do it right? To be… enough?

All the while Mando's wrapped up in his thoughts, only snapping out of it once he hears your feet hit the rungs of the metal ladder.

As if by instinct his body is ablaze with anticipation, mind reeling at the mere prospect of just being able to… stars, to show you how he truly feels, in the privacy and sanctity of hyperspace.

The durasteel doors slide open with a hiss, and as Mando turns his head he's greeted by the sight of you. The dim light of the cockpit in hyperspace casts a soft blue hue along your features, the shadows of space highlighting the curves and slopes of your body.

Looking at you is like looking at a work of art for Mando; you're the most intricate painting, a flawless holo photo.

He finds himself rising from the pilot's seat, standing to face you and taking a step forwards, his hands trembling by his sides, aching to reach out and pull you into his arms.

"Hey," Mando speaks softly, and somehow the tenderness even breaks through the modulator. There's a certain something in his voice that he's only ever reserved for one person in the galaxy— the child. Now it was yours too.

He sees the look on your face, the way your features shift as the softness of his tone takes you by surprise.

And then, before Mando can speak more, step any further into your space, you're making your way towards him— standing on your tip-toes to wrap your arms around his cloaked neck, burying your face into his beskar chest plate, and sighing deeply.

Every muscle in his body relaxes, no, melts at your touch. Mando leans into it, wrapping his arms around you and letting himself be consumed by all his senses— the warmth of your body in his hold, the sound of your sighs muffled into his cape.

"I've wanted to do that…" you gasp, pulling away so you can look him in the visor "for a very long time,"

Tingles shoot down Mando's spine, and he feels more seen than he ever has before.

Unable to help himself, he pulls you back into his hold, wrapping his arms around you even tighter than before.

He presses his helmet to the top of your head, inhaling the beautiful blossomy vanilla scent that clings to you. Wondering what the smell reminds him of— a place far away from Nevarro, from everything it seems, where the flowers bloom freely and nature sings at the rise and fall of each day.

Naboo, he thinks to himself. The way you smell so intoxicating reminds him of Naboo. He'd been there once before, long ago, and it seemed like the most beautiful place in the galaxy.

Mando knows right then that, the first chance he gets, he has to take you there.

His gloved hand trails down your arm before tentatively landing on your hip, stroking the dip there with gentle trepidation, and he feels the way your body leans into it, the shuddering inhale that enters your lungs.

Mando’s body is awash with a bizarre relief intertwined with frustration; of knowing you felt the same for so long, yet barred by the fact that you both were too tentative to make a move.

He catches himself chuckling at the thought of it, the quiet sound of his laughter from the helmet.

He feels you stir at the sound, and as you look up at him with those gorgeous wide eyes and shy smile, the breath leaves Mando’s lungs.

"A Mandalorian laughing? Must be about something really funny,” you tease, and Mando can’t help but laugh heartily at your observation.

"S’just… We could have had this so much sooner. Wish I just pulled you into my arms like this, didn't worry and overthink and just took the chance…"

He can feel himself getting carried away by his own thoughts, regrets, all the if-onlys and what-if-I'd-justs.

"But that wouldn't be like you, would it?" You mutter softly. He gazes down at you, holding on to every syllable.

"You’re considerate, thoughtful, careful… That’s what makes you you.”

Mando marvels at the way your words soothe the storm in his mind.

Overcome with affection, you press your face into his chest plate, fingers tracing the Mandalorian diamond that sits right by his heart.

And Mando feels like he’s about to burst.

His hands slide up your back, gliding through your hair gently until thumb and forefinger settle on your chin, tilting your head to look up at him once more.

"I want this— us. Need it." Mando pauses, apprehensive, struggling to find the words "It's just been so long since I— I've never— I'm not sure if I know how to…”

"How to…?" Softly inquiring, you speak up only once Mando’s words die into the drone of hyperspace.

Mando tenses at the question, everything in his training telling him to keep his innermost emotions closely guarded. But with you, that just wasn’t something he ever wanted to do again.

"To be what you need. With my way of life, the creed. Never being in one place; going on hunts for days, weeks. And the— kriff, the armor…"

"Mando…” your hand reaches up to his helmet, cupping either side as if it were his face, and the Mandalorian closes his eyes and sighs as if the touch was on his skin.

“You've been all I need and more, the moment you asked me to join you aboard the Crest."

His eyes snap open at once. Roaming across your face as he watches it break into a smile. The last ounce of doubt in his mind was erased, his heart filling with air.

Mando can’t stop himself then from picking you up, spinning you around as you laugh and he laughs too, overwhelmed by the moment, the care that the two of you shared for each other.

And then Mando’s setting you on the dashboard, breathless with the sensation of joy that courses through him.

You're holding onto him, arms wound into the fabric of his cape and cool beskar. The world is still spinning but you're not entirely sure it's only from being swirled around.

And then it dawns on you. You’re close, so close, close enough to press your forehead to beskar, to hear the sounds of the man within. And Mando realizes it too, drawn to you as if by a magnetic pull.

His helmet makes contact with your forehead, as the Mando’a phrase for the tender act of affection crosses his mind. Keldable kiss.

You’re close enough now to hear his breathing, the soft sighs that leave his heavy chest making your whole body stand to attention.

You try to imagine what face he's making, but his expression is a blur and his features are indiscernible. Still, you feel closer to Mando than you'd ever dreamed of.

Under the beskar, you hear Mando yawn.

“Tired?” You hum, and he nods.

“How long have you been up for?” You knew all too well how taxing his hunts could be.

“Mm… forty…” he mumbles, sounding half-asleep already.

“Forty what?”

“… Hours.”

You pull away in shock, making Mando stumble to catch himself on the dashboard.

“Stars, Mando. You need to sleep. Forty hours, that’s nearly two whole days,”

"This... is... s'the way…" he mumbles in protest, but you're standing up and taking him by the hand before he can say anything else.

“Get some rest, please. We won’t make it out of hyperspace for days.” You ask him, pointing to the meter on the dashboard that shows you have a long journey ahead of you.

"Go nap with the kid for as long as you need. I've got it all covered up here." You reassure, pulling him by the arm and leading him out of the cockpit.

He looks down at the ladder to the hold, and then back up at you as he fights off the urge to ask you to join him. Not now, he tells himself, not when he’d pass out in mere seconds.

Instead, he brings a gloved palm to your cheek, pressing it to your soft skin and watching as your face relaxes in his hold.

You sigh, leaning into the Mandalorian’s tender touch, wishing it would never go away.

And then, with a tentative step forward, you reach up and press a delicate kiss on the cheek of his beskar helmet, closing your eyes and imagining it were on the skin underneath.

Once you pull away you find your heart racing, and you retreat into the cockpit before you can see the expression written across his body.

This newfound intimacy would take some getting used to.

---

Mando and the child are out for a while.

You hear some noise downstairs for a short while, the sound of the fresher sink running and beskar clanging to the ground. Eventually, all is quiet, and it stays that way.

You patter around the ship mindfully, keeping yourself busy with the odd repair job, feeling grateful that you were finally back on the ship you’d grown so familiar with.

Of course, your interaction with the Mandalorian was persistently at the forefront of your mind.

The tentative touches, his vulnerable words, your pliant kiss against unyielding beskar—there was so much to take in.

When it’s been half a standard day your mind wanders to him and the child once more, wondering how long it’s been since they last ate a proper meal.

You head down to the hold and gather some food from the supply cabinet, brewing some tea in a thermos and grabbing the kid's tiny spoon and wooden bowl.

The hold is dimly lit and the hydraulic door to the bunk firmly closed, which means only one thing— the Mandalorian is sleeping without a helmet.

"Mando?" You call to him, standing to the side of the door to his bunk and knocking with a gentle strum of your fingertips on durasteel "I have food for you both."

You hear movement from inside the bunk, and the child’s sleepy squeaks as he stretches awake.

“I’ll leave it by the door for when you’re ready,” you suggest, placing the thermos, bowl, and ration packs down and going to make your way back to the cockpit.

The door to the bunk glides up at once, and the rich baritone of Mando’s unmodulated voice breaks the air.

“Thanks, mesh’la,” Mando murmurs, and you press yourself against the wall, turning your head away from his view as your heart rate quickens.

Mesh’la?

"How long were we out for?" His voice is delightfully groggy and closer than you expected, telling you that his head is right by the opening to the bunk.

“Not long enough for someone that’s stayed up for two days,” you note, and you hear the child squeaking in surprise as if he’d only just noticed the helmetless Mandalorian was laying below him.

You hear Mando make a little sound you’ve never heard before, something so soft and quiet that makes your heart melt, and then some shuffling as he reaches up and lifts the child out of his hammock and into his arms.

“Su’cuy, ad’ika,” Mando says, voice all low and full of love, and the kid replies with a coo.

The bond that the Mandalorian and the child had was like no other you’d encountered—they each brought out an entirely different side to each other that nobody else got to see.

“That’s Mando’a, right?” You inquire, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor as you open the ration pack and start to prepare the child’s breakfast.

“Yeah,” Mando replies, voice sounding faraway “it is.”

“What does it mean, ad’ika? I’ve heard you say it before,”

“Ad’ika… translates to little one. To describe someone you care deeply for. Like a son,”

The breath catches in your throat, and you feel your eyes well with tears. Ad’ika, little one, like a son.

The whole time, Mando had been calling the child his own.

“That’s beautiful," you whisper, and are greeted by a contented silence in return, the air filled with a calm exhale from the Mandalorian you'd never had the opportunity to hear.

Another question comes to your mind, and you have the urge to break the silence just to know.

“Mando?” You call, checking he hasn’t fallen back to sleep. He hums in response, sounding drowsy as he reaches down and takes ahold of the food for him and the child.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the same golden skin you've glanced at once before, but this time it's so much more. Strong forearms dusted with dark hair that you can barely look at without getting flustered. The same arms that wrapped around you half a day ago.

“What about mesh'la? What does that mean?” You ask another question, desperate to distract yourself.

He doesn’t respond for a while, the air filling with a curious type of quiet that makes you feel like you’re teetering on the tip of your toes.

Even the child is silent, as if he knows just how impactful the Mandalorian's next words will be.

"Well… you just said it," he answers cryptically, and the room turns silent once more as he starts to feed the child little spoonfuls of food.

It’s not until you’re sitting up in the cockpit alone, watching hyperspace pass by, that the meaning behind his words dawn on you.

Beautiful. It means beautiful.

---

Time in hyperspace seems to pass at a snail's pace, and sometime later you're dozing off in the pilot's seat when the pneumatic hiss of the cockpit doors opening stirring you from your slumber.

“So you’re the captain of the Razor Crest, now?” A baritone voice asks from behind you, dark as the night and smooth as silk.

“That’s right,” you tease, kicking your legs up and resting them on the dashboard.

“Excellent,” Mando exhales, and you hear as he approaches the pilot’s seat, placing an arm on the backrest “you can go ahead and land when we arrive, then.” He adds, causing you to look up at him in surprise.

He's standing to your side, dressed in full armor down to the gloves and cape, and the child resting in the nook of his arm as if the spot were made for him. You shoot the kid a loving smile, and then your attention focuses back on the cocky Mandalorian.

"I wouldn't advise that. Last time I landed a ship, it was... Let's just say some parts were lost due to a particularly, uhm, impactful landing.” you say sheepishly.

“You’re saying the last time you tried to land a ship you crashed it to pieces?” You can hear the smirk hanging thick in his voice.

You nod, face starting to redden. And when he hangs his head in reaction, emitting a low chuckle, it lights a fire in your belly.

“I’m sure the Crest could handle it.” He reassures, and you can’t help but smile up at him.

He holds your gaze for a moment longer than usual, the sensation of his beskar stare sending your skin into goosebumps.

“Oh,” you exclaim, standing up at once to offer the pilot his seat “it’s all yours.”

Mando tilts his head to one side in disbelief, before letting out another chuckle.

"That's… not why I was looking at you," he says low and slow, and drops the kid down into the seat instead. You glance at the child, who looks up at you with a certain ear-twitching curiosity.

The child switches his focus to his dad and appears to come to a conclusion in his wise little mind, nestling himself deep in the pilot's seat as if to give you and Mando some privacy.

“So,” you break the silence, fingers tracing lightly on the headrest of the pilot seat as your eyes flit to the durasteel floor “Where are we headed next?”

Mando’s helmet turns slightly, and you get the feeling he’s watching your hand skirt along the leather.

“Little place called Corellia,” he drawls. The name conjures something familiar in your mind, firstly of that night spent gazing at the stars, but also from hushed cantina conversations of underground spice trades and powerful crime syndicates.

You want to ask more, to know what kind of job he has there and just how long it’ll take him so you know when you’ll next have a moment together, but the words die on your lips as you look up and meet his gaze once more.

He stands before you, so broad in all the beskar, and as still as space itself. The streaks and swirls of hyperspace reflect off each curve and convex of his intricately-forged armor, and the more you stare at him the more you feel like you’re being pulled into his magnetic hold.

The heat creeps up the back of your neck, and you find yourself feeling shy all of a sudden, nervous to stand before him with everything you'd so recently confessed, even though you'd had your arms wrapped around him on this very spot some hours before.

The tension in the air is cloyingly thick, heavy with months of silently pining, crushing on each other from afar, suddenly laid on the table, naked for both of you to see.

All it takes is for one of you to be bold enough to make the first move, to close the distance between you, and let your emotions steer whatever comes next.

But the decision is taken out of your hands, as an invisible force seems to pull you in each other’s directions.

“Hey, kid!” Mando says gruffly, but his actions are the opposite—gentle arms are there for you to sink into them.

At first, you're confused at his swiftness to blame the child, until you turn around and see his little face scrunched up in exertion, his hand extended towards you and Mando as he pushes you together with the force.

When he opens his eyes and sees you standing together, he opens his mouth wide in an adorable gap-toothed smile, his ears twitching with glee, and then his eyelids promptly droop shut and he collapses back into the pilot’s seat, exhausted.

And you double-over in Mando’s arms as you snort with laughter.

“I think he got tired of waiting,” Mando says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, and as you stand up straight you wind your arms around Mando’s neck, gazing up into the endless black of the helmet’s visor.

It feels almost natural when the Mandalorian's warm, expansive hands find their way to your waist, then; soft leather gloves pressing against the thin fabric of your tunic.

If only it weren’t for the goosebumps that prickled your flesh at the feel of him, the way your body ignites and stands to attention beneath his hold. The rawness of the passion you had for one another, finally expressed.

You’re not entirely sure who makes the next moves, then, but before you know it your hands are wound tightly in Mando’s cloak, fingertips brushing the back of his helmet as if it were his hair, and one of his hands is at the small of your back, pushing you closer to him while the other gloved hand cups your face.

He leans back, gloved hands resting on either side of your hips as the words leave the modulator in but a strained whisper.

"Did you work out what it means?" He asks inquisitively, head tilting to one side.

“Mesh’la?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes, and he nods once, steady and stoic.

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly, unable to hide the grin that creeps across your face as you ask “it means beautiful, right?”

“Yeah— because you are. Maker, you’re so beautiful,” he gushes, and then he can’t stop.

“So, so beautiful. Not a second goes by where I don't think of you." Mando brings his hands up again, hovering mere inches away from your face.

"Where I don't want to…" his fingers make contact with your skin, running across your lips as every fiber of his being longs for them. So many sleepless nights spent daydreaming, longing for the softness of your mouth pressed to his.

“Please,” you ask, soft and saccharine and heart-meltingly needy. Your eyes fixate on his helmet, exactly where you imagine his eyes to be, and little do you know you're looking directly into them.

Mando stills, naked under your gaze. He aches to tear the helmet off right at that moment, to take you in his arms and crush his lips to yours.

But there’s something he has to get off his chest first.

“If we… continue, there’s something—things, we need to talk about,” his voice regains its usual tightness, telling you that this is a serious topic that means a lot to him.

"My devotion to the creed can't change. You still won't be able to see my face,"

Not being able to see the Mandalorian’s face was something that hurt deep down, but your longing to see the man beneath the beskar was overridden by your respect for his way of life.

For it was fast dawning on you that what you shared was a connection beyond any kind of physical attraction.

“I understand,” you say, hoping for nothing more than for the sincerity of your sentence to come through.

He nods once, thumb stroking across your face as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"You'll be even more at risk. If my enemies find out what you mean to me…" there's a pain in his voice, and you give his chest plate a playful tap to lighten the mood.

"Good thing you're training me to fight, then," you murmur, earning an affectionate head tilt from Mando.

And maker, you’re so close. These past few months of bubbling sexual tension; intoxicating chemistry; heart-wrenching pining. It had all come to fruition.

Your life with the Mandalorian was entering new territory, where your wildest dreams were coming true.

“I want it, Mando. Don’t care how dangerous, just want us. You.” you're almost ashamed at how needy the words spill out of you, months of yearning reaching a boiling point in one sentence.

But those words have a drug-like effect on Mando, as he holds you even closer to his sleek iron chest plate, one hand staying on your face as the other settles on your waist.

You can hear his real, unmodulated breaths beneath the helmet, his face inches from yours.

Mando’s fingers trace the mouth he longs for, heavenly soft. Even with the helmet on, you can tell there's only one thing he's focused on. The one thing you long for, too.

"I know I can't look at your face, but can we still…?"

“Close your eyes, mesh’la” he requests, voice raspy. You squeeze your eyelids shut so tight that stars appear behind them.

Your hearts are both filled with air as the Mandalorian slips his hand over your eyes for good measure, large palm wrapping around your face securely.

In the darkness of his hold, you feel as his hand releases from your hip, and every nerve in your body is supercharged as you await what happens next.

The helmet releases with a pneumatic hiss, and Mando lifts it above his eyes to take you in with an unadulterated gaze.

You're every bit as breathtaking as you are through the helmet's visor, he thinks to himself. His head spins with joy and anticipation, and elation at finally seeing your face without anything to block his wandering eyes.

He leans down ever so slowly, ready to bring his lips to yours, feeling your little breaths wash across his mouth, and then he stills. Sighs. Taking in the moment. Drinking you in.

He can't wait anymore. Not for you, after all this time, all this longing.

In one fluid motion, Mando presses his lips to yours; soft, warm, hungry for all of you.

You lean into his touch, mouth melding with his as he kisses you, savoring your lips long and slow.

And behind your eyes, the stars explode into supernovae.

While you can’t roam with your gaze, you let your other senses do the discovering— peeling back the layers of the once enigmatic Mandalorian to reveal to you the man within.

His face is dotted with stubble, and around his mouth, you feel the thicker prickle of well-groomed facial hair.

He smells absolutely divine. Alluringly musky and dizzily fresh, his skin radiating with the woody citrus notes of his soap bar you know the smell of all too well, having stood in the shower, inhaling the fragrance as the steam fogged your mind.

You hum into the kiss, wondering what color his hair would be. Dark, to match the hair on his arms? With another kiss to your willing lips, your thoughts are swept away in the sizzling heat of the moment.

It feels natural, like home, to have his lips on yours. Leaving you feeling closer to the man beneath beskar more than ever.

And stars, to finally feel that it’s real— the connection you had lingering in the emotional for so long, finally branching into the physical.

Full of yearning, you're reaching up on your tip-toes, mouth chasing his every time your lips slide together.

You can’t help but want more, your tongue sliding to greet his lips and savor him like the ripest fruit of the season. And when his tongue meets yours, the sensation is indescribable— it’s all-consuming, setting you into a near-frenzy of lust and need.

Mando can barely contain himself. Everything about him feels rock-hard, burning up from the effect you have. Your mouth so sweet, body so pliant to his every touch.

His inner monologue is going haywire, as he loses himself more and more with every touch and trace of your hands and lips on him.

Even through the layers of armor and fabric, Mando has to fight the gut instinct to jerk away from your heady hold and gasp for breath— choked by the sheer touch-starved sensitivity that hiding behind the iron smothers him with.

With each kiss, he further forgets the shadow of a man he pretends to be, and yields entirely to the man he wants to be; the man that longs to give all of himself to you.

But there’s the underlying reminder of the child fast asleep in the pilot’s seat beside you, stopping you both from losing your heads to the moment.

With one more gentle peck on your lips, Mando's helmet is back on, and when his warm palm leaves your eyes you already mourn its loss.

“You can open them,” his voice is modulated once more, but even then you hesitantly creep your eyes open.

Staring back at you is the familiar face of the helmet, somehow full of emotion, and it brings a smile to your face that makes your eyes crease at the corners with its earnestness.

Mando brings a gloved hand to your face, cupping your jaw as he traces a thumb across your cheek,

“Cyar’ika…” he breathes, the modulator crackling at the emotional weight of the phrase.

“Mando…” you murmur back, uttering his name so low and soft that it sounds like it’s all yours.

Silent and tranquil in his movements, Mando steps over to the pilot's seat, scooping up the sleeping child and cradling him in the nook of his arm. He sinks into the leather measuredly, and once he's seated his helmet twitches in your direction.

“You wanna sit and watch the stars?”

He doesn’t need to say anything more for you to know what he’s really asking; the question he’s too hesitant to put forth.

You step over to where Mando and the child sit and sink onto the Mandalorian's welcoming lap.

And so, with your place in the arms of the Mandalorian, your head tentatively nestling in the nape of his neck, the three of you huddle contentedly and watch hyperspace pass by in its endless streaks and swirls.

Notes:

its so weird to finally not write them as painful slow burn mutual pining unrequited love emotional messes anymore!!! thats not to say their romance won't be a slow burn either...

thank you to one very special reader who inspired me with their comment about wanting grogu to use the force to smoosh mando and reader together so they could just kiss already. you made me laugh and your comment planted a seed in my brain that grew into that little scene.

Chapter 12: Atin’ika

Summary:

Mando, Reader, and Babybug touch down on a very special planet for a few days. In this entirely new environment, Mando and Reader find themselves getting closer than ever before-- in more ways than one...

Notes:

*** This is where the fic really enters explicit territory! Please take note of the tags and rating before proceeding. ***

soooo i wrote this in a week while suffering with covid and i may have got a little carried away-- its nearly 9k words WHOOPS my hand slipped

Mando'a translations can be found in the end notes

The Mandalorian sits alone in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, his steely gaze focused firmly on the holomap projecting from the dashboard as he tracks the trajectory of the ship across the galaxy.

With the roundabout way you were making to Corellia— circling Outer Rim territory until you reached the Rimma Trade route, the best super-hyperroute you could take with the child’s safety in mind— it set you on the direct course of a planet Mando had been thinking about all too often.

His fingers hover over the hyperspace lever, itching to push it back to a neutral position and not miss the chance to visit the planet that had been on his mind. You’d only been in hyperspace for a handful of days, and there was still time to go, so it would serve as a nice divide between the extended time in the liminal.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Mando starts making the calculations in his head, determining how much time he could spare until he has to pursue the next quarry.

He was already a little ahead of schedule thanks to the two elusive bounties he’d dealt with back on Nevarro, so a few days there wouldn't hurt at all.

The lever is pushed back, the Crest surging and jittering out of hyperspace like the weathered beast it is, and Mando’s chest feels set to explode with it at the prospect of the next few days that suddenly lie ahead.

All qualms are eased as he takes manual hold of the ship controls, tilting her down by the nose and being greeted to the sight of the great blue and green planet, swirling with clouds and practically glowing in the light of a nearby sun.

Something in his heart told him you were going to love this.

---

You’re bathing the kid in the fresher sink when the ship jolts out of the hyperspace lane, bathwater sloshing across the floor as the kid giggles in glee as his soapy body glides out of the basin.

“Woah there, babybug!” You gasp, trying to grab the kid as he flies into the air, but when he defies gravity by halting suddenly and floating back to the sink, you’re reminded that he can save his own skin.

“What’s that phrase? Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater?” You chuckle to yourself, rolling your eyes as you bundle the child into a towel and clamber up to the cockpit to try and make sense of what was going on.

“That was quick. We’re here already?” You ask Mando as you approach, resting one hand on the back of the pilot’s seat to brace yourself for your imminent descent.

“Kind of,” Mando replies, his modulated voice tight, telling you he’s highly focused “There’s been a change of plan. We’re heading someplace else first,”

“You could have warned me,” you point out, gripping tighter to the back of the seat as the ship enters the atmosphere of the mysterious planet. As with every new planet you land on, you find your insides bubbling with excitement as you wonder what kind of environment awaits you.

It's safe to assume Mando's gotten word of a lead to another quarry or something else business-related, which you do understand, but exiting hyperspace without warning isn't always the most pleasant thing in a ship this old, and not always best for the hyperspace drive, you think with a grumble.

And then, suddenly, you’ve entered the atmosphere of this mysterious planet, finding yourself drifting high amongst the baby-blue backdrop and peachy clouds as the sun rises on a new day. The sheer tranquility of it nearly robs you of your breath, leaving you to stare agape at the serene skies before you.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Mando admits, voice quiet, and you can’t help but blush at the way he says the words so deeply as if they were just for you.

“Oh, it was a surprise alright,” you utter breathlessly, assuming he's only talking about the clouds “The fresher’s covered in little green alien bathwater” you quip, and the child cackles as if he were a part of the plan all along.

“What’s a fresher for if not a place to spill water?” Mando teases, leveling out the Crest and switching the ship to cruise mode. He swivels the chair to face you and the child, helmet softly trained on your face as his gloved hands come to rest on your hips, their worn leather hold both warm and comforting.

You sigh into the touch, smiling gently at the shadowy visor that gazes back at you.

"What are we doing here? And where is here?" You can't help but ask, a twinge of curiosity in your voice. Mando takes a deep exhale before answering, an action that you're learning to read as something he does while he thinks of what to say.

But the words he does settle with only add to the mystery.

"I think it's best you see for yourself,"

You chew on your lip, trying to decipher the ever-enigmatic Mandalorian's clipped sentence. Even with the two of you getting more comfortable around each other, prying him out of his beskar shell was still a challenge at times.

“Can you take him?” You ask after a contended silence, placing the kid in Mando’s lap “I need to mop up down there before we land.”

“He’s naked,” Mando says, dumbfounded as the child’s towel unravels leaving him in nothing but his birthday suit. He looks up at his dad with a gap-toothed smile, huge eyes creasing at the edges, and he laughs.

“What, you expected me to bathe him fully clothed?” You smirk, and when Mando's hands release from your body to wrap up the kid, you’re turning away to head down to the hold.

“Wait,” Mando’s voice is devastatingly deep, his words tensely desperate in a way that steals the air from your lungs “Let me sort out the fresher. I don’t want you to miss the view.”

“The view…?” You repeat, bemused, and then the clouds are parting before your very eyes to reveal the landscape of this planet you had yet to know the name of.

The land lays untouched, lush rolling mountains giving way to endless meadows of flowers and wild grass green. The greenery is only divided by that of crystal-clear blue waters, winding through the valleys in the forms of trickling rivers, pooling in great wide lakes, and, in some cases, cascading down cliffs as ferocious waterfalls.

You gawk at the landscape in awe, only tearing your eyes away to glance at Mando once you roll through a billowing cloud.

A low rumbling chuckle emits from his chest at your expression, and he stands up, handing you the kid and pressing the cool beskar of his helmet to your forehead

His words feel like they reverberate through your very being as he utters them, baritone voice filled with tender affection.

“Welcome to Naboo, cyar’ika.”

---

There’s no place in the galaxy quite like the peaceful planet of Naboo.

This was something you came to realize in an instant, as soon as your feet met the paved streets of Theed in all its bustling beauty.

You’d spent the better part of the morning sprinting around the Crest in a bid to get ready, after Mando had come back from cleaning the fresher and finally explained what the three of you were doing on this detour and exactly how long you had to enjoy it.

Your heart felt like it was soaring when you learned that there was no other reason you’d come here other than to spend a few precious carefree days together.

Like most everyone else in the galaxy, you’d heard the stories of Naboo; of ancient royal bloodlines and flourishing creative arts, intricate architecture, and dazzling cuisine famed throughout the galaxy. But now you were here, you quickly realized no amount of tales could capture the true magic of it.

And there was no better way to experience it than with the Mandalorian at your side— leaving you not only feeling safe but excited to experience this planet with him and the child.

You smooth out your clothes, creased from the time you’d been sitting in the shuttle from the hangar to the city center. Mando had insisted you wear something you cherised, so you pulled on the nicest outfit that you hadn’t had the chance to wear in Maker-knows how long.

Stepping off the Crest and into the sunlight, it doesn't go unnoticed to you that Mando has spent extra time and care polishing his mirror-metal armor, meaning the two of you looked quite the sight wandering the upscale streets of Theed.

Even the child was looking dapper, dressed up in a newly-stitched onesie that you'd sewn up on one of the slower days aboard the Crest.

The three of you stood on the main pedestrian walkway at the edge of the city, the wide path leading to the city center. Behind you was the burble of a clearwater canal flanked by delicate, leafy trees, their branches reaching out and casting shadows along the waterway.

Before you can take a step forward Mando’s arm wraps around your waist, gently leading you to the back of the shuttle station, where there lies a narrow passage shrouded in shadow and out of sight.

“Close your eyes,” Mando murmurs, his words melding in the mottled shade of the trees swaying in the breeze, and your heart skips a beat as your eyelids shut and you await what happens next.

The Mandalorian’s lips press onto yours, plush and needy, and it takes all your might to not moan into the kiss, your arms roaming up to his shoulders and wrapping around, pulling him deeper into your hold.

The kiss intensifies, the edge of his helmet pressing into the bridge of your nose. Mando’s trembling, almost— you can sense he’s holding back from losing his head to the moment.

Just meters away are the footsteps and chatter of people wandering the streets of the city, a constant reminder that the Mandalorian is risking everything just to steal a kiss from your lips for the day.

And that fact is so undeniably thrilling, the feeling of not only being wanted but needed, too, to be craved by Mando as you were craved by him.

Your tongue traces his lip, tasting him as if he were a delicacy. The hand that isn’t on your eyes roams up to your ribcage, drawing circles on the skin there with worn leather gloves. Your shirt is thin, and stars, it feels almost like he’s touching your bare skin as he strokes you.

And then Mando’s mouth is roaming to uncharted territory, reaching your jawline and lower still, placing a tortuous peck on your oh-so-sensitive throat.

“—Making up for the fact that I won’t be able to do this all day,” he admits with a kiss to your neck, his words washing over you with warm breaths, reminding you that this is real, the Mandalorian’s lips are roaming over your skin.

His voice is so unbearably seductive without the helmet– the scratchy staticness of the modulator giving way to the soft lilts of his treacle-dark voice, and his kisses set your skin ablaze with passion.

You can’t help but pull him to your lips again, tongue sliding into his mouth to taste him one last time.

“PATU!” The kid exclaims exasperatedly, and you and the Mandalorian pull apart at once, laughing. He’s opened his little cradle and is staring at the two of you with folded arms and a scowl on his face.

“Sorry, little guy,” you apologize, opening your eyes only once you hear the pneumatic lock of Mando’s helmet engaging over his head.

“Ready to see Theed?” Mando bends down and asks the kid, the rich tones of his unfiltered voice now masked by the deep static of the vocoder. You’re sad to hear it go, but a part of you is happy that you and the kid have it all to yourself.

The kid’s ears twitch at the question, brain working furiously to understand what his dad is saying. At last he nods, just once, and shoots off in his cradle before you can stop him.

Mando turns to you, then, the ghost of his soft tone somehow still making it through the helmet as he asks “And you, cyar’ika?”

You gaze up at him, studying the helmet in all its intricate forms. Eyes firmly focused on the visor you were once so shy to look at, now finding yourself staring deeply. And, above all, connecting closer with the man whose eyes lie behind.

In reply to Mando’s question, you nod with an enthusiasm you don’t want to hide.

With that, the two of you step out onto the pedestrian street where the sun’s rays kiss your skin. You stand there for a moment, taking in the pleasant morning warmth, before Mando offers you his arm and you take it, looping a hand around his vambrace and walking side by side down the grand paved path to the heart of Theed.

Walking beside him feels different than all the times before, the proximity alighting something new. His armor is warm to the touch in the sun, the broad beskar reflecting the street view like a mirror, leaving him blending in and standing out all at once.

Mando strolls, no, saunters effortlessly. You find yourself absentmindedly stroking at the duraweave of his flight suit at the crook of his elbow, musing at how surreal this all is. With no destination in mind, no bounty to hunt, just the three of you and the lanes of Theed to explore.

You spend the morning wandering the vast expanse of the palace, visiting churches and halls and sitting by the fountains, letting the kid splash in the shallow water.

The whole time Mando’s by your side, you’re subtly aware of the darting eyes and hushed murmurs of passersby, reminding you that you're walking beside one of the most elusive bounty hunters in the Outer Rim.

His aura demands an audience even in the vast, grand streets of Theed— it makes you feel dizzy with power a little to be reminded of that, and to know how he is behind closed doors only for you and the child to see.

Eventually, you come across a great square lined with rows and rows of market stalls. Colorful wares, lively music, delicious spices rising from the sky in small plumes.

You’ve never seen so much life, so much happening, and you want nothing less than to immerse yourself in it entirely. Your eyes light up at the sight of it all, and Mando's all too quick to pick up on it— a comforting palm pressing to the small of your back as he encourages you.

"Go ahead, I'm right here."

Mando stands a couple paces away, letting you explore the stalls at your own pace. You take in everything there is to see, from intricate carvings and delicate tools, to fine jewelry and fragrant skincare.

You pull the child out from the cradle and sit him on your hip, and he takes glee in exploring the market stalls, taste-testing little chunks of food the vendors give him, and receiving adoring attention from passersby.

As you stroll from stall to stall, the many vendors offer you more food samples and tiny trinkets than you can manage, handing you thing after thing so that eventually you have to start turning them down. The food samples are not an issue though, being devoured in moments by the little womp rat before you can even stop him.

Each time the vendors hand over the goods with a smile, their eyes glancing just behind your shoulder, before wishing you good wealth and health and abruptly turning to serve another customer, as if they didn’t want to waste a single second more of your time. Yet, every time you get curious enough to look behind you, you see nothing or nobody standing there.

At one stall you're given a cupful of a traditional Nabooian drink to sip on as you walk, the honey-gold liquid almost glowing in the wooden mug it’s handed to you in. You bring the drink to your lips, sighing quietly to yourself as the sugary sweet goodness hits your lips, rife with a hint of a fuller-bodied herb that rounds out the saccharine flavor.

Later, you try to buy an intricately-carved pocket knife with your own credits after eyeing it for the better part of ten minutes, until Mando steps in, slipping the tokens into the vendor’s hands before you can protest.

The vendor looks positively startled at the interaction, counting the credits hastily and giving you back too much change in their rush to end the interaction quickly.

People seem to be more subtle at stealing glances at Mando in the marketplace, but once they glance at you and back at him again, they appear to come to a conclusion and avert their gaze for good.

It isn’t until a person at the stalls strikes up a conversation with you that you realize exactly what they think the Mandalorian is doing glued to your side, and why the vendors have been extra nice to you today.

“The things I would do to have a bodyguard like that…” a woman about your age leans towards you as she speaks, eyeing Mando almost hungrily “Tell me, how much does Mandalorian protection set you back? Surely it can’t be much more than, say, a Wookie?”

You smile tightly at the woman, glancing sideways at the Mandalorian as he stands an arm’s length away, giving you just enough space for it to not seem like he’s smothering you, but his helmet is tilted in such a way that you know he’s listening to every word that’s being said.

"I'm not so familiar with the price of Wookie bodyguards," you begin to tell the woman, running your hand across the delicate fabrics laid before you as you conjure the words “But Mandalorians like mine… well, simply put, they're priceless.”

“Oh— Oh!” The woman splutters, as if an obvious realization had just dawned on her “By the Maker, of course,” the woman gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth in polite shock.

“I apologize for my boldness, your greatness. Have an excellent day,” the woman gushes, bowing deeply, and retreats before you can say anything in return.

You turn to glance at Mando, eyes wide in a mixture of shock and disbelief, and you watch as his chest shakes, trying to repress laughter over the interaction.

Were people mistaking you for some kind of important person all this time because a Mandalorian had your back?

As the afternoon rolls in, the sun starts to hang lower in the sky, kissing your skin with its warmth and winding down the upbeat vibe of the bustling market.

There’s something in the air— be it the throngs of sweat-glistened bodies, the lingering spices, or the dreamy music; altogether it leaves you feeling tingly, almost giddy.

You find yourself taking deeper and deeper drinks from your cup, somehow becoming thirstier with each sip and always wanting more.

Once you reach the end of a row of stalls you spin around all of sudden, realizing you’ve been so engrossed in browsing the wares that you haven’t glanced at your beskar bodyguard in a while.

He’s standing just a couple paces behind you, the crowd parting as they walk past him to give him a wide berth.

Something about the sight of him standing there all rigid and armored, a head taller than the passersby, ignites a flame that licks your belly and sends heat pooling to your core.

All of those fantasies from the months you've known him come rushing to your head in that one moment— of unraveling beneath his beskar form; feeling his gloved hands roam over every inch of your body; fantasies of taking care of him when he returns from a hunt, helping him unwind as you ease him out of his pants and take him in your mouth with a moan.

Every fiber of your being screams that you need to be close to Mando. Now.

You amble towards the Mandalorian, watching him intently as he remains unaware of your approach, too busy studying something in the distance as he adjusts a dial on the side of his helmet.

But then someone pushes by and you lose your footing, not-so-gracefully stumbling forward before being caught by strong armored arms.

You straighten up and find yourself face-to-face with a very surprised Mando, who lets out a sigh as you look up at him through the strands of hair that frame your face.

And when you step a little closer, brushing the curves of your body against the unforgiving rigid planes of his plate armor, his exhale turns into a throttled groan.

“Careful,” Mando warns, his deep voice rumbling through his chest plate that you press yourself a little closer to, craving the feel of his voice against your skin.

And you’re not entirely certain he’s just talking about you tripping.

“Don’t need to be careful with a Mandalorian bodyguard at my back,” you utter, and then, completely out of character, a little giggle slips past your lips.

Something changes in Mando’s body language, then— head tilting ever so slightly as his grip loosens on you. He looks down at the cup in your hand, and then back up at your coy smile.

His voice is as firm as his body as he asks lowly “Where’d you get that?”

“Mm, one of the vendors gave it to me,” you say vaguely, and you start to trace the mudhorn signet on his pauldron with wandering fingers, relishing in how extra smooth and sleek the metal feels under your touch.

“Why, d’you want to try some? I can go ask if they have a straw,” you tease, but your suggestion is ignored as Mando pries the cup from your slack grip, swirling the liquid and bringing it to the underside of his helmet, sniffing lightly.

And then he curses, something short and gruff in Mando’a that makes your toes curl with lust.

“This is an Onoam Elixir. It’s a very… potent— it’s an aphrodisiac. You know that, right?” His voice is tight, so tight, and the severity of his tone does something to you, your mind fogging over the meaning of his words and only focusing on how they make you feel.

Usually, you’d be instinctively burying the obscene thoughts that come to mind when his voice is all gravely like that, but something in you wants to let them out, to test the patience of the already worn-thin Mandalorian.

“Are you speaking Mando’a? Aphra-huh? Elec-what?” You tease, and then you’re standing on your tip-toes so you can whisper into the dark void of the visor.

“No, wait, let me decipher— ah-licks-ir… you want to lick my what?” and then, before you can stop yourself you draw your tongue out, trailing a little kitty lick from the bottom ridge of the helmet to where you imagine his lips to be.

Something breaks in Mando, then, and you don’t need to see his facial expression to notice it.

He tips the remaining liquid onto the ground, placing the cup on a nearby stall and wrapping his arm around your waist with a grip of durasteel, leading the two of you back to the main city walkway, the child in his cradle in tow.

“That’s enough for today— I’m taking you back to the ship,” he says, voice deathly flat to match his motivated strides. You’re practically stumbling to keep up with them, grateful that his grip on your waist is keeping you standing.

Besides the two of you, the child whizzes ahead and watches the city pass by contentedly, giving you enough space to talk privately.

A small part of your brain, perhaps the still-rational part, tells you to keep your mouth closed so that you don’t say something stupid again, making a fool of yourself and blatantly revealing to the Mandalorian how badly you wanted him.

But that sliver of rationality stood no chance against the abashed horniness that had taken over your mind.

“So soon?” You gasp, feigning surprise “But Mando, it’s only our first date—“

Mando’s already frayed nerves are about to snap entirely. It’s just his luck, having his back to you for two seconds and not realizing you’ve been downing a whole mug of one of the most potent aphrodisiacs in the galaxy.

That kind of stuff was meant to be sipped over the course of hours, and often shared between lovers looking to last the whole night. But it seems the very generous vendor had filled your cup to the brim, and you, not knowing any better, had drunk it like water.

So now Mando’s got a very horny you on his hands, and it’s taking every ounce of restraint in his body to hide the fact that your every innuendo-ridden word, daring sensual touch, boldly flirtatious gaze, is having an embarrassingly powerful effect on him.

It didn't help either, the words you'd exchanged with the stranger at the market stand— calling him your Mandalorian. Kriff, it stroked a depraved part of his ego to hear you use those words, to hear you refer to him as yours, just as he'd been wanting you to be his for so long.

“You seem… tense, Mando,” there you go again, teasing words whispered into the side of his helmet as if it were his ear.

Your voice is like velvet, lips flushed red and cheeks rosy in the Naboo heat, and Mando tries his damndest to keep looking ahead as he guides you to the shuttle station “Maybe I can help with that, when we get back to the Crest and are all alone—“

“Osik— gar ner pir'kyram’ika,” Mando grits, barely able to think hard enough to speak basic, every drop of blood in his body rushing south by the second. “Just— stop talking, gedet'ye,”

"Or…? What're you gonna do, cuff me like I'm one of your quarries?" you pout, stopping dead in your tracks and holding your wrists out for dramatic effect. There’s a deathly alluring glint in your eyes, making Mando realize— stars, you’re enjoying making him suffer like this.

Hopeless to your advances, Mando's unable to stop himself from throwing a threat your way, and the first thing that comes to mind is more of a treat for him than punishment for you.

“No,” he utters, leaning down so he’s at your level and resting a hand on his bandolier, feeling the thrum of his racing heart beneath “but I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to the Crest unless you keep moving, your greatness,”

Warmth rushes to your core at the thought of the bounty hunter hoisting you over his shoulder and carrying you through the city as if you were some kind of bounty he’d captured.

That was meant to subdue you? Fuck, it only makes you want him more.

Lost to the fantasy, your mouth runs dry and you stay rooted to the spot— and before you know it, the world’s being flipped upside down as the Mandalorian heeds his warning, hoisting you over his shoulder with ease.

And he carries you like that all the way to the other side of the city, where the shuttle awaits to take you to your hangar.

The journey back to the Crest passes by in a blur; by the time you’re stepping off the shuttle and into the hangar you start to feel a heaviness in your limbs, and all you want to do is curl up in the passenger seat and take a nap.

Mando stays stoically silent with every flirtatious advance you make on him, as if he knows uttering any word to you could provoke you to tease and torture him further.

He's grateful by the time you arrive to the Crest and all you want to do is lay your head down and rest— with the little experience he'd had with aphrodisiac elixirs, once it has worn off all you usually want to do is pass out into a deep slumber, which seems to be your exact motive right now.

With a gentle shake on your shoulder, Mando wakes you and lets you know you’re parked at your destination for the night. You look up at him with sleepy eyes and smile lazily, the lingering effects of the drink still pumping through your veins.

“You should join me next time in drinking some of that stuff,” you tease, walking out of the cockpit and to your hammock before you can get an answer, but you hear him grit something low just as the door slides shut.

“Osi’kyr— don’t need an elixir when you talk to me like that.”

---

You awaken in your hammock to a cool fresh breeze drifting from the hold and brushing past your face— a sensation you haven’t felt in a long time.

It almost makes your brain trip and thinks you’re back on your family homestead, the window of your childhood bedroom wide open, the land whispering to you as the breeze blows by.

And then you come-to, and you hear the soft lapping of water and sounds of the woods, and it’s so jarring compared to all of the ways you’d usually wake up on the Crest. To the drone of hyperspace, the whirrs and beeps of the ship in orbit.

There's no sound of babybug’s gurgles or Mando’s measured steps on the durasteel. You’re on the ship alone.

You slide out of your hammock and onto the cool floor, slipping on your pants and descending the ladder to the hold.

It takes you by surprise the moment the sunlight hits your eyes.

You squint, peering down the hold to see the back gangplank wide open, revealing the view before you.

Water, so much water. As far as the eye can see, cool and crisp and bright blue. Flanked only by green-capped mountains, far in the distance. You step towards it, not quite believing what you’re seeing. Truly, you were in the middle of nowhere.

You reach the end of the gangplank, and there to the east you see it in the distance. A smattering of buildings at the edge of a teetering cliff; cascading waterfalls splitting from several parts of the land; a dome-topped palace extending proudly onto needles of cliff.

The city of Theed.

And the water looks so inviting— your body damp with sweat and sticky with the slick that coats your thighs, reminding you of what happened the evening before.

The elixir. Your very bold advances on Mando. You groan out loud as the embarrassing memories resurface. Licking his kriffing helmet…

Eager to wash away your shame, you’re stepping out of your clothes again, peeling off every later until you’re stark naked and wading into the lake as the goose pimples prickle your flesh.

Once you’ve waded in up to your waist, the surface of the water lapping at the bottom of your ribcage, you bend your knees and sink under, resurfacing your face but keeping the rest of your body under, consumed by the peace of the lake.

You’ve never seen so much water in your life, much less swam in it, but something about the calmness of the tiny waves that lap the sandy shores makes you feel safe among the depths. It’s delightfully chilly in the most pleasant way, a far cry from all the swampy, desert, and volcanic planets you'd landed on before.

You’re not sure how long you stay there, feeling weightless as your hair splays out and you keep your feet just touching the ground, but when you tilt your head up out of the water, you realize you’re not alone.

“How is it? Not too cold?” the filtered voice of the Mandalorian calls to you, and you bite your lip as you glance down and consider your bare form that currently lies beneath the water.

“It is…” you shrug, peering over your shoulder to see Mando standing a few strides away from the shore. The child wanders ahead into the ship as he babbles to himself, the remnants of his breakfast across his face and in his hand, leaving the two of you alone.

Your first instinct is to ask Mando to look away so you can get out of the water and change in privacy, but then you remember the events of yesterday, your desire for him laid bare, and suddenly you’re not so nervous about him seeing you like… this, anymore.

There was no need to hide when the truth was laid out, and especially not when it was just the two of you and the nature of Naboo.

“But I like it,” you finish your train of thought, and then you rise up out of the water, revealing your bare back. You hear the leather creak of his gloves as he clenches his fists.

And when you turn around, facing him fully with your exposed torso, the way Mando’s body stiffens is unmissable— until he takes a deep breath, countering it with a piercing head tilt that makes your whole body tingle.

You wade through the water to the shore, squeezing your hair dry and picking up your clothes from the ground, taking longer than necessary to dress yourself as you face away from the Mandalorian.

“I hope you weren’t looking,” you utter as you walk up to him, now fully clothed.

“My eyes were closed,” Mando replies almost too quickly, despite the way he drawls out the words.

“I’ll have to take your word for that,” you say with an innocent smile, fingers tracing up and down the dark t-shaped visor, following the same path your tongue had yesterday.

Mando can’t quite believe the situation he’s in. Your nude form emerging from the water, skin slick with water, dripping golden droplets that shone in the morning sun.

Slamming his eyes shut before his body betrayed him any more than it was already, and once he finally opened them, finding you before him, tracing his helmet with the delicate pads of your fingers, somehow making his skin tingle at a touch he can’t even feel.

He wonders for a moment whether it’s the elixir somehow still… riling you up— even though he knows for a fact that the effects of such liquids disperse in a matter of hours. It’s been half a standard day already.

When your finger hits the bottom of his helmet and starts tracing the thin fabric at his throat, Mando’s snapped out of his thoughts— helmet tilting down as he watches you trace a tantalizing line down to the chest plate. He doesn’t have the patience to know where it ends.

“Didn’t you have enough fun doing… this to me yesterday?” Mando asks, trying to sound exasperated, but the raspy, breathy tones of his voice give away his want for you completely.

“Mm, no. I quite like seeing the effect I have on you, Mando,” you shrug so casually, but Mando can see clear as day the way your nipples are starting to peak under your damp tank top.

“You best be careful, atin’ika,” his deep voice rumbles through his chest plate, and your eyes light up at the new nickname.

“Why?” you dare to say.

“Because two can play at that game.” he leans in as he says it, a gloved hand taking you by the chin and tilting your head up ever so slightly, exposed to his gaze.

By the Maker, Mando doesn’t think he’s ever seen you blush as deeply as you have, then. Not when the two of you first opened up to each other, or even as you flirted relentlessly back in the cantina days.

You have no words to counteract Mando’s devastatingly sexy warning, so you head into the ship to get changed into some fresh clothes, heat pooling in your core fiercer than ever before.

A short time later you’re walking back into the hold after getting changed, you notice there’s breakfast left for you on one of the crates— some munch fungus bread, a cup of caf, and an interesting fruit you haven't seen the likes of before.

You step out onto the gangplank where Mando sits, noticing a plateful of the same food next to him. The kid is splashing in the water just in front of the ship, having fun chasing fish in the crystal-clear shallows.

“So, did you enjoy our first date?” Mando asks the moment you're seated, and you choke on your caf at his boldness. When you finally swallow the drink down and open your mouth in protest, he's quick to say something else to further make you stumble over your words.

“Your words, not mine.” he points out, and you narrow your eyes at the evil reminder.

"I know," you say as calmly as possible, despite the fact that your cheeks feel like they’re burning up already "But in my defense, I had drank a whole cup of that… juice,"

"Onoam Elixir doesn’t alter your thoughts in any way," Mando counters. "You just become a lot more… honest," he puts emphasis on the final word, and you know it’s not the h-word he wanted to say.

You narrow your eyes at him as you take a bite of your breakfast, your glare turning into a scowl as you hear the not-so-subtle chuckle emit from beneath the helmet.

You eventually tear your eyes away from the cocky Mandalorian, focusing on the water as you try to take calming breaths to ease how built up you already were from mere moments of intense conversation with Mando.

From your peripheral vision, you’re acutely aware of the way he places his plateful of breakfast on his lap, taking a piece of bread as his other hand grips the underside of his helmet, tilting it up ever so slightly.

Your cheeks are ablaze, mouth dry despite the caf you periodically sip on. The Mandalorian had eaten around you before, but he had done so while still maintaining a wall between the two of you— whether it be the red leather of the pilot's seat, or the gleaming beskar of his back. But never had he done it beside you like this.

It speaks to a whole new level of intimacy that you share, your heart burning with an unwavering desire and curiosity. Knowing that the mouth that had pressed to your jaw just a day before, still a total shielded mystery to you, was out in the open. It drove you crazy.

The two of you eat in silence, and only when Mando places his empty plate to his side do you dare to speak again.

“I wanted to thank you, you know,” Shooting him a sideways glance, you speak your mind.

“What for, sweet thing?”

Your eyes widen at the new nickname— kriff, where did that come from? And why does it affect you so much? Clearing your throat, you continue to speak.

“For this,” you explain, gesturing loosely to the tranquil nature of Naboo, “I think we needed it— all of us.” you look at Mando from over your shoulder, sending him the most honest, bare-souled gaze you can muster.

“After all the time apart on Nevarro, it means a lot to be together again.”

“Hey,” Mando says, his gloved hand slotting over yours “It was not only needed, but deserved. You and the kid have been golden, putting up with me dragging you across the galaxy,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You let out a puff of breath, a smile coming to your lips as you look down at his hand. His hold is so warm, even without skin-to-skin contact. The skirting touch makes you want more of him, the urge to scoot closer to him, to climb into his lap, coming to mind.

“Speaking of Nevarro…” There’s a different tone to Mando’s voice, something resolute that piques your curiosity about what he’ll say.

“You still haven’t shown me what Dune taught you while I was gone.”

“Haven’t really had the chance,” you shrug, finishing off the last bite of your breakfast and wiping your mouth.

“We mostly focused on sparring. Not much weapons training.” There wasn’t much for you to show him in that way— Cara doesn’t pack anywhere as much of a punch as Mando did, and you struggled to keep up with her. To spar with Mando would be a death wish.

“And?” he questions, clearly not seeing the issue you do, or at least not considering it out of the question as you did.

“I don’t see much point in sparring with someone twice my size and covered in beskar,” you say matter-of-factly, letting your eyes roam across his wide armored form “You’d have me pinned beneath you in the blink of a parsec,”

The words slip out your mouth before you realize their double meaning.

“That doesn’t sound too bad to me,” Mando utters, voice like gravel as he takes the opportunity to turn your words on their head. The way he squeezes your hand makes it all the more intense.

He was right. Two can play at this game, and right now he’s beating you at it.

When you stay silent, hiding your face behind the mug of caf as you hopelessly try to compose yourself, Mando speaks up, sweetening the deal a little.

“What if I remove the beskar? Would you spar with me, then?” he prods, and your eyebrows raise in response. He rarely took off his armor out in the open like this. Which told you one thing…

He really wanted this. You can’t lie, seeing his body without the Mandalorian iron hiding it was something you craved. And being able to press yourself against it under the guise of sparring was a desire beyond your wildest dreams, suddenly within reach…

But you wagered his lust to spar with you was stronger, which dared to challenge the Mandalorian further, testing your luck with a question you try to frame as innocently as possible; even though your intent was anything but pure.

“Sparring with you… What's in it for me?” you wonder, slipping your hand from his hold to let your fingers draw lazy circles on the back of his gloved hand.

Mando latches onto your hidden meaning immediately— helmet cocking to one side as he surveys you, studying the way your plush lips stay parted, eyes blown out. Your desire was clear to see.

“If you best me…” Mando drawls, leaning in close to you and finding a thrill in the way your whole body shivers “You can have whatever you want,”

“Whatever I want?” you breathe, bottom lip trembling, and stars, Mando wants to tear off the helmet and take it between his teeth.

“Whatever you want.” he confirms, tone excruciatingly deep, and you can’t help but imagine how it would feel to have the low words of his vocoder pressed against your skin.

And then, before he gets a reply, Mando starts to remove his armor piece by piece. First, the vambraces and pauldrons are carefully unlatched and placed to the side, and then his bandolier is lifted above his head and laid on top of them.

When he reaches for his chest plate, unlatching and peeling the heavy beskar cuirass off his chest, you know he’s deadly serious.

“Fine. I’ll spar you, Mandalorian.” you huff, standing up so suddenly you start to see stars.

“Someone’s eager,” Mando notes, peeling off the final layer of his armor and standing up a lot more casually than you had— of course he did, you think to yourself, he makes everything look kriffing effortless.

“Yeah, eager to kick your ass,” you bite back, walking down the gangplank until you reach a clearing in the forest, a short way from the ship. Mando chuckles at your response, sauntering down after you, mirroring your every step.

“Give me your best shot, sweet thing.” Mando utters that devastating nickname again, and then he’s holding up his forearms in front of his helmet in a defensive stance.

You haven’t seen him without full armor in a long while, and you forgot how hulking he is even without it.

Standing a head taller than you, broad-chested and strong-armed, he’s pure muscle and built to fight. You have no clue how you’re going to show him anything without him blocking every move you try to make.

Much less how you’re going to best him and get whatever you want in return.

You raise your fists, rolling your shoulders and sucking in a shallow breath. You might as well try.

He’s gentle with you at first, letting you land a couple of blows on his forearms without pushing back. Just standing there, stance wide, one leg just behind the other, dwarfing you even without the armor that broadens him.

And that’s fine at first, to warm up your swings and remind yourself of all you learned during your time with Cara, but after a while, you start to get irritated. You were supposed to be sparring, not training your punches on him without resistance.

“Come on,” you sigh exasperatedly, giving him a little shove as you lower your fists “You’re just standing there. Be rough, Mando, spar me!” you urge, suddenly realizing how desperate you were to prove yourself to him.

“Fine,” he grits out, voice raspy as he latches onto one word that slipped out of your mouth without thinking of the consequences “You want rough? I can give you rough.”

The next time you swing at him blindly, Mando grabs you by the wrists, spinning your body around and pinning you to his back. You growl at him, squirming beneath his grip as you try to release yourself from it.

Maker, his body was just as solid as it was when he was wearing the beskar— revealing to you that he really was all muscle and metal. The mere thought of it makes you feel like you’re losing your head.

“Gotta try harder than that, cyar’ika,” he utters in your ear, and when his hold releases, you stumble forward, body feeling white-hot with want.

You get more and more riled up every time you mess up— Mando catching your hands or countering your blows with ease. Every. Single. Time. With more anger on your side comes bigger swings, messier throws, and less coordination as your more primal instincts take over.

And then, as if to rub salt in the wounds of your struggle to fight, Mando starts to throw in some punches of his own too— not hard enough to hurt you in any way, and slow enough that you’re finding enough time to put your arms up and block them.

Then you remember Cara’s advice for when you had a hard time sparring with her, about dodging and ducking and using your smaller stature to your advantage.

So instead of swinging and blocking for every move, you start to favor dodging and ducking, and instantly, you see the difference in the fluidity of your fighting movements.

You’re panting with exertion as you get in the zone, a thin sheen of sweat coating your body as you dive out of the way every time Mando tries to grab you.

You can only imagine how warm Mando must be under the thick protection of his dark flight suit. Then again, he was probably used to fighting in these conditions, considering he’d traverse planets like the Dune Sea and ashy Nevarro for days on end to hunt dangerous quarries, wrestle them into cuffs, and take them back to the Crest all in a day’s work.

Still, it doesn’t stop your vivid imagination from depicting his toned body prickling with sweat under the strain of your sparring.

You initially assumed you’d get tired the longer you fought with Mando for, but you instead find your body feeling the opposite— as if an invisible energy was charging you, sending more focus and power running through your veins than you ever fathomed.

The feeling reminds you of when you were a kid, whizzing across the skies of your home planet in your little rusted skyhopper. Nothing but you and the clouds, pushing the T-16 to its absolute limits.

It gives you the strength to go on, even as you doubt if the Mandalorian’s relentless stamina will ever tire.

Eventually, you are rewarded for your perseverance, as you manage to dodge a swing of Mando’s with such smoothness that you successfully hook him around the ankle as you duck and dodge out of the way.

Taken totally by surprise, Mando loses his footing at once, stumbling back onto the forest floor— but not before grabbing you by the arms and dragging you down with him.

You land on top of the Mandalorian with an almighty thud, legs framing his hips, hands splayed on either side of his helmet.

“Pehea te osik—“ Mando splutters, so flustered for a moment that he forgets how to speak Basic. All he can think about is you, hovering over him, your thighs framing his torso, chest heaving inches from his face.

“Would you look at that,” you breathe, leaning back and onto your heels, triumph written across your rosy-cheeked face “Looks like I bested the Mandalorian after all.”

Mando’s first instinct is to take back control. It would be so easy to flip you over now, make up some excuse about reminding you to not let your guard down as your pliant body squirms beneath him.

But he knows deep down that you won fair and square, and then he’s reminded of the ultimatum you both came to, and the temptation to see that outcome trumps all.

“What do you claim as your prize, atin’ika? Remember, it can be whatever you want.” Mando utters, putting emphasis on his final words.

His whole body stands to attention as he awaits your reply, the hairs prickling from the back of his neck all the way down to his arms. He’s grateful you’re not resting on him, or else he’d be betrayed by the raging hard-on he has over this entire situation—

As if you wanted to answer his highest prayers and worst nightmares, you sink, sitting back on your heels, pressing your white-hot core to his erection in the process, and your eyes light up at the feel of his thickness, obvious even through the layers of clothing.

Mando lets out a choked gasp, and you feel the way his abs tense as you seat yourself on him.

You sigh dreamily. Fuck, he was huge, and he felt as hard as beskar steel. You fight the urge to give in and roll your hips onto his longing cock, letting lust take the two of you right then and there.

No. You wanted to win this fight, and you meant it. And there was only one way you could see yourself truly winning against the Mandalorian in this intense situation.

“Mesh’la,” Mando says, urging you to reply to his earlier question, and you hear him take a shuddering deep breath as he goes to say the next word on his mind. Please—

“The look on your face is enough.” you tease, leaning down to flick Mando’s helmet at the forehead.

And then, before you can argue yourself out of it, you’re climbing off his rock-hard body, ambling back into the Crest where you plan to lock yourself in the fresher.

An ice-cold shower calls for you, not only in an attempt to ease your body from the bruises earned from sparring, but also the shockwaves of pleasure that came from your success.

Mando watches you walk away and he undoes completely, cursing for letting himself fall into such a vulnerable position like this; for a moment, he was completely at your will. His whole body aches, and he knows for a fact that it has nothing to do with the admirable fight you just put up for him.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, cyar’ika.” Mando groans at your retreating figure, and his helmet hits the forest ground with a soft thud.

Notes:

Osik= fuck
Gar ner pir'kyram’ika= you're my poison
Gedet'ye= please
Osi’kyr= strong exclamation of surprise
Atin’ika= stubborn/tenacious "little one", but i used 'ika here to turn this phrase into more of a pet name, like cyar'ika
Pehea te osik= how the fuck

Chapter 13: Just Us

Summary:

The crew touch down in Corellia. Things go pear-shaped and Reader is put to the test. Mando and Reader share intimate time alone.

Notes:

As always, Mando'a translations can be found in the end notes 🖤

"Are you sure we can make that landing? It looks a little… tight,"

The Mandalorian glances over his shoulder at you, voice deep and bold in a way that makes your stomach flip "Are you doubting my ability to fly my own ship?"

You shake your head, bringing your knees to your chest as you bite back a shy smile.

"I wouldn't dare," you reply teasingly, earning a low hum from the bounty hunter. He turns back around, focusing on landing the Razor Crest without a hitch.

After two serene days on Naboo, it was time for the three of you to return to your galaxy-spanning, planet-hopping, bounty-hunting adventures.

The intense moment while sparring had raised the tension between you and Mando even more—the air around you was electric, charged with static so strong that every move, every breath, left sparks.

You could practically see it on his body; the tension in his movements, shoulders squared, fists clenched, head cocking to one side every time you spoke.

The hairs raise on the back of your neck as you feel him watching you go about the ship, his steely beskar gaze burning into your skin like his heated lips when they pressed searing kisses to your jaw.

The tension was thrilling, leaving every nerve end of your body supercharged as you awaited the moment the two of you would be alone again. Your body sang for him, core aching to be close, and you cursed yourself for choosing to prove a point back on Naboo instead of giving in to what you both craved.

Yet you couldn’t deny that a small part of you liked this, enjoyed working up the Mandalorian even more, as if the months of tension and dancing around each other on the Crest wasn’t enough.

It thrilled you to wonder exactly how Mando would react, what he would do fueled by such tortured passion, when the time finally came.

That time was not now.

No, now you were flying into Corellia, where Mando would disappear into the depths of Coronet City and track down his quarry for Maker-knows how long, and the thought of spending an intimate moment alone seemed so far away.

You wrinkle your nose as you look out at the landscape of the fast-approaching planet before you.

Open gray waters meet a grim cloudy sky, as brutal concrete structures fill the space between; haphazard shacks hanging off the side of towering industrial buildings.

Corellia was a far cry from Naboo, that was for sure.

You’d heard the stories of this planet and they warned you well enough, but seeing Mando tensing up as you made your descent made you take those tales seriously.

The ship touches down in Coronet City and into the dark and discrete alleys of the Santhe shipyards. Mando's out of the cockpit and down to the hold in an instant, gearing up with his regular arsenal and looking as menacing as ever.

You follow him down with the kid in your arms, placing babybug on the floor to let him run up to his dad, who hugs onto his boot to bid him farewell.

Mando's slinging his Amban rifle over his shoulder as he speaks "Coronet’s not a good place. Need you to stay vigilant for me. Can you do that, cyar’ika?”

You nod determinedly, reaching into the weapons cabinet and choosing the lightweight blaster you trained with. He was not only asking you to keep the ship safe, but the kid too, and that was a request you took seriously.

"No, take this one," Mando stops you, reaching into the cabinet and taking the engraved pistol he'd given to you on Nevarro.

He places the blaster in your open palm, gloved fingers wrapping around yours as he closes them around the weapon. The worn leather on your skin alone makes you tumble into your feelings helplessly.

You look up at him, the breath stuck in your lungs as the helmet’s visor bores into you with the intensity of a thousand suns.

You start to melt under his gaze, turning into a puddle of want as the words hover on your tongue, phrases and requests you don’t dare to utter.

Don’t go. Stay here, with me, and we can fly someplace nice where it's just the three of us again.

The kid makes a gurgling sound, and you’re sucked out of your thought-train.

"This shouldn't take long,” Mando says reassuringly, his hand unwrapping from yours, and you mourn the loss of his touch.

"You have eyes on the quarry already?" you ask, checking the mechanisms of the blaster pistol in a bid to distract yourself from your inevitable farewell.

“Should be somewhere in the sector," Mando's rooting through a cubby hole in the wall as he talks, and you wonder what he's looking for.

"But just in case, I want us to use this." he says, and he hands you a familiar object, metallic and small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. A comlink.

You look up at Mando with wide eyes, taken aback. You’re aware of the dangers of comlinks being used in crowded locations to trace people and their locations. Keeping in contact in a place like Coronet City could be a serious risk.

"You sure it's not too dangerous?" you ask him, voice small.

“You’re well worth that danger,” he says lowly, and you swear you'll combust on the spot.

He crowds you, narrowing the distance as one hand hovers by your forehead, the other gripping the underside of his helmet, and you know instantly what he’s silently asking.

You close your eyes and press your face into the worn leather palm of his glove, awaiting the second his lips press onto yours.

The kiss is everything you long for it to be—a desperate urgency that underlies your every little interaction, paired with a raging passion as his tongue slides into your mouth, hot and needy.

You lean into Mando, hands coming up to the back of his neck and winding through his cloak. With every searing kiss you lose yourself more and more, fingers reaching up until they sneak under his helmet, taken aback as they brush against the wispy curls at the nape of the Mandalorian's neck.

Too close, your mind jolts. Forbidden.

As if burned, Mando flinches at the sensation "Osik, mesh'la—Have to—" Mando gasps into your lips, the words painful to say "—have to go."

His helmet is back on in an instant, the pneumatic hiss harmonizing with the sigh of the Crest as the rear gangplank releases.

You peer out at the dingy passage Mando had parked the ship down, illuminated only by a flickering streetlight, and let out a low whistle.

"Damn Mando, you really did squeeze us into a tight spot.”

Mando leans down to you once more, hand resting tauntingly low on your back. "Too tight isn't an issue for me." He murmurs, and the flicker in your core ignites like he’s added fuel to the fire.

The breath catches in your throat, an almost moan. Not fair, so not fair. You think back to how you'd relentlessly teased each other on Naboo, and muse at how much fun it would be to continue doing that.

Struck by a moment of assertiveness, you take the blaster he gave you out of your holster, running your fingers along the barrel before his anticipating gaze.

"Well, good thing I can always work with something bigger than expected," you utter, voice innocently sweet and thick as honey.

You smirk at the choked sound that leaves the helmet vocoder, his grip turning to death before leaving you entirely, and as you watch the bounty hunter silently leave for his mission you find yourself already counting the moments until his return.

---

Which turns out to be barely half a day's wait.

The Mandalorian's voice comes through the comlink, gritty with interference and background noise, and you jump up from organizing the Crest wiring in the hold.

"You there?" Mando asks, his voice void of emotion. He reminds you of the Mando you met in the cantina, a man driven by the hunt, menacingly mysterious and ready for anything.

"Yeah, I'm here," you reply. You're struggling to pick out the exact sound of what's going on in the background, but you can hear blaster fire and shouting in what sounds like Huttese.

"Good. Need you to do me a huge—" Mando's words are cut off by a booming sound, and when he speaks again his voice is muffled by gusting winds " —favor,"

You scoop up the kid, placing a hand on the ladder, anxiously anticipating what's coming next. Sometimes you’d relay him some coordinates, or search for a location using the ship’s GPS system "Anything,"

"You have to come—" You hear his footsteps through the comlink, and then the sound of his jetpack taking off, before more blaster fire rains down again "Pick me up." he finishes, exceptionally calm in the midst of battle.

You freeze. This was something you'd spoken about before, the possibility of you needing to fly the ship, but after all this time the opportunity hadn't risen. Until now.

Even though you knew the Crest inside out, opened up every panel to study the wiring and mechanics, as well as watching Mando man the ship countless times, the buzz of nerves still got you.

The silence says a thousand words to Mando, who speaks up again in the same gruff tone, though his words are the opposite.

"You've got this, atin'ika," He utters with such conviction, and suddenly your nerves are melting away "I wouldn't trust her with anyone else,"

Your heart flutters at the affirmation, and a certain bravery in your soul that had long laid dormant awakens like an animal coming out of hibernation. If you can figure out how to handle a weapon, learn to spar and best the Mandalorian, how hard can flying a starship after all these years be?

"I've got this." you repeat his words, climbing up to the cockpit. Once up there, you strap the kid into his seat and hand him his favorite metal ball for good measure.

Before you can talk yourself out of it you're in the pilot’s seat, flicking switches and prepping the Crest for flight. After all, the Mandalorian needs you.

“Well,” you turn back to the kid, throwing him a shaky smile over your shoulder “Here goes nothing. “

You straighten your back. Breathe. And with the press of a button, your flight begins.

The Razor Crest hums to life, and as your hands grip the steering wheel and ease her up, you're amazed at how steady she feels. Nothing like the little ships you've flown in the past—the Crest is another beast entirely, solid and hefty yet somehow still incredibly responsive.

The tiniest tilt of the steering or tap of a button and she responds.

The adrenaline’s coursing through your veins from the moment the landing gear lifts off the ground, heart racing and head spinning. Your hands grip the steering with white-knuckles and you chew the inside of your cheek to hoth with the intensity of it all.

"Maker, Mando," you hiss to yourself as you ease the ship out of the perilous passage, breaking out above the Santhe shipyard with a sigh of relief. Could he have chosen a narrower spot to park the Crest in?

After what feels like an eternity of holding your breath and maneuvering the magnificent beast out of its tiny cave, the Razor Crest breaks out over the top of the shipyard and into grimy skies.

"I'm in the air, where do I meet you?" you ask, and the first sound that comes out of the comlink is the guttural grunt of someone being taken out.

"Relaying my coords to the ship," Mando grits, and moments later a string of numbers flashes on the dashboard.

You enter them into the Crest's tracking system, following the blip to a nearby division of the sector where a thin plume of smoke rises up from a rundown factory building.

As you tilt the steering, marveling at how the Crest glides to its destination, you’re in awe at the feeling that soars through you—the thumping in your chest dispersing to a thrilled, lightheaded elation that only came to you when soaring through the clouds.

It was one thing to sit in a ship while it was being flown; another experience entirely to be at the helm, with full mastery of the ship’s control, the intricate mechanisms giving in to your every will.

Any place, whichever direction, it was all yours—with the tilt of your fingers and flick of a switch.

Stars, you never realized how much you missed the feeling until now.

Looking back at the child, your heart swells even more to see that he’s having the time of his life, smiling widely as his ears flap back and forth.

Once he catches sight of your face he lights up, his smile turning into a toothy open-mouthed grin as he sticks his hands in the air, waving them around as if he were on a rollercoaster ride.

“Yeah, kid—cabur can fly, too!” you beam back, using the phrase Mando had called you back on Nevarro. The kid lowers his little arms in response, bringing his hands together and clapping as if you were putting on the most entertaining show in the galaxy just for him.

As you get closer, you see that the factory Mando’s coordinates are leading you to billowing smoke and missing a wall, blown half apart by something, or someone, explosive.

"The burning building—anything to do with you?" you ask Mando, unable to hide your concern.

"Haarchak, you got here fast—The building? Yeah, I might have had a part in it," Mando replies, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice. You think back to when he blew your cantina to bits back on your home planet, and shake your head in disbelief.

"We haven't even been here half a day and you're tearing this city apart? Must I remind you that you're a bounty hunter, not a demolitions expert?" you tease, and over the comlink you hear a low chuckle.

“Let's just say I don't have many friends on Corellia.”

“Haven’t I heard that one before…” you reply, rolling your eyes with a smile.

You're getting closer now, squinting as you look down at throngs of people dotted on the ground, embroiled in a brutal blaster fight that's played between the smoking factory and the nearby rubble.

Mando comes in on the comlink again, his panting breaths revealing that he's running, probably with the hauled quarry over his shoulder.

"The long building with the chimneys—The roof, is it flat, level enough?" the comlink crackles at the sound of his modulated voice, words clipped.

"I see it.” You swerve the ship around to face the building, studying it as you bring the Crest to circle the area “Seems flat to me. Why?"

"Can’t do an aerial embark—low on fuel, too risky. Need you to land.”

Your stomach sinks. This whole time you’d expected him to be able to jetpack up to you, but without sufficient fuel, that was a no-can-do.

"You don’t remember what I told you happened last time I tried landing?" you protest, referring to your recent conversation where you’d tried and spectacularly failed to land a starship.

There’s a moment of silence. A breath-stealing, chilling, teetering silence, and for a split second you wonder if the Mandalorian is second-guessing this entire operation.

Until you hear a noise; a dreadful whistle that quickly turns into a shriek, filling the air and making the walls of the Crest vibrate with its sheer power.

And then you see it. Coming straight for you, an angry black needle flying through the sky, trailed by an ugly tail of black smoke beginning in flame.

It seems Mando wasn’t the only one who brought missiles to a gunfight.

“MOVE THE SHIP, MOVE—“ Mando’s words are cut off abruptly as the comlink line dies, replaced by static that fills your chest with dread.

Time both slows to a crawl and speeds up to the race of your heart. You lose all thoughts, all autonomous function, mind screaming at you the words Mando had roared through the comlink.

Missile. Move the ship. MOVE.

Your body jolts to the side as you dart the Crest out of the way before you’re even aware that you did it, and the combination of the rash decision and your unfamiliarity with piloting the Crest sets you into a corkscrew spin that soon spirals out of control.

Up is down, down is up, and nothing makes sense in the vacuum of a moment where you’re left uncontrollably spinning.

The wailing groans of the Crest grow louder with each fatal roll, sending you closer and closer to the ground. The vile taste of fear bubbles up your throat, but there’s no time to give into that dread—not with the child and your life on the line.

Clutching the steering with a death-like grip, you pull up with all your might, trying to gain control of the ship to no avail.

“No, no, no, kriff, NO—“ the missile screeches by as you and the kid are hurled around in intense g-force, and you thank the Maker that at least one of your problems is solved—but the ship is still spinning wildly, ground getting perilously close with every twirl.

Thinking fast, you reach across the dashboard and start stabbing at buttons, compiling your rusty knowledge from your skyhopper days on cutting engine power to level an out-of-control ship.

To your amazement, it works; the ship stutters to a halt, leveling out and jittering into a smooth forward motion. In all the time you’d flown with Mando, you’d never seen the Crest be so responsive. Almost unbelievably so.

Taken aback, you snap your gaze to where the child sits, ready to utter a few words of amazement and relief his way.

But the words are stolen from your lips as you take in the sight of the child in his seat.

His little face is scrunched up in concentration, arm outstretched and palm shaking with exertion as he struggles to reach out from where he’s strapped in.

It dawns on you, then, the sensation that permeates throughout the whole ship—an all-encompassing, otherworldly feeling, of a lifeforce that flows through each and every thing, suddenly called to attention and channeled by the incredibly powerful little being sitting behind you.

The kid had used the force to stop the ship, saving you both.

“Babybug!” you cry out, heart shattering as he slumps in exhaustion, head held low. Tears of both relief and worry prick your eyes, and you feel helpless as you turn around and focus on the most urgent thing at hand—landing the ship so that Mando could get onboard with the bounty.

You try comming Mando in the midst of the chaos, but silence from the comlink line confirms your worst fears. The line had been cut around the same time the missiles went off.

Scanning the ground to assess the situation, you still see aliens and humanoids running about and shooting wildly, and you hold your breath until you see the tell-tale glint of beskar amongst the smoke and blaster fire.

Mando was okay—of course he was.

Your hands are shaking as you grip the steering, making the steep descent down to level yourself with the rooftop you were to land on. You're pressing methodically at the buttons on the dashboard to prepare for the rushed landing, making sure the gangplank is ready to open for Mando's arrival.

Miraculously, you manage to sink the ship down onto the rooftop without a hitch, breathing a sigh of relief as the landing gear makes soft contact with the hard concrete.

Your hands stay on the steering, listening for the tell-tale sounds of beskar climbing up the gangplank.

“C’mon, Mando, c’mon…” you utter into the deafening silence, turning around to see the kid looking back at you weakly. The sight of him looking so helpless brings tears to your eyes again “Hold on there, kid—just gotta wait for your dad to hop on board, any second now…”

The child nods weakly and you find it in you to turn back around, readying yourself mentally for takeoff, waiting for the cue of heavy beskar footsteps on the gangplank and the gangplank hissing to a close.

The footsteps come at last, steady and measured like the Mandalorian always is, but then they quieten suddenly, and the sound of the gangplank closing doesn't come.

The hair prickles on your arms, mouth going dry. Something doesn't feel right. The movements downstairs sound… off. The footsteps are erratic, tip-toey, not like Mando at all.

Unholstering your blaster and clicking the safety, you step towards the cockpit doors, pressing your body to the wall.

“In the crib,” you mouth to the kid, pressing a hand to the spherical cradle that floats by the kid’s side. He listens attentively, using all his energy to crawl inside and as you press the button to engage the lock mechanism.

You hold your blaster at the ready, letting the cockpit doors slide open halfway so you can cautiously peer around them.

There you see the cause of your suspicions.

Poking her head from the top of the ladder is a complete stranger—a ghostly-pale Twi'lek with a nasty cut on her forehead and an even nastier look in her eyes. She looks positively feral, a predator seeking her prey, and on laying her eyes on the open cockpit, she’s found her target.

You.

For a split second you're frozen, until the bloodied Twi'lek starts making her way further up the ladder, drawing her vibroblade, and then you're hearing another pair of footsteps entering the ship, forcing another wave of adrenaline to rush through you, charging your veins with molten fury.

The kid is back there in the cockpit, passed out from exhaustion after saving your lives, and you'll do anything to protect him.

Charging forward, you use all the might of your boot and do a sweeping kick across the Twi'lek's sneering face. Your shoe meets her jaw with ferocity, taking her by surprise to say the least. The Twi’lek flies back, letting go of the ladder and falling down, down, down.

You flinch at the sound of her body hitting the hold, and you hear swearing in what sounds like Mando'a as somebody grabs the body by the legs, hauling them out of sight. Next comes the tell-tale hiss of the carbonite freezer, and then all is quiet.

You hover over the ladder, waiting with bated breath to see if it really is your Mandalorian below. Every nerve on your body stands on end, the adrenaline pumping through your veins and making every second feel like an hour.

Slow footsteps approach the base of the ladder, and then looking up at you is the familiar beskar tower of a man, with his endless black visor and warmth practically oozing off his body. Mando. Safe, your mind sighs, and your body melts in to ease, the adrenaline that courses through your veins slowing to a trickle.

The sight of him is an insane relief, like finding an oasis in the middle of the Dune Sea, as you drink in his mirror-metal armor and the familiar curve of his helmet. He grips the ladder with intensity, shaking his head in disbelief as if he can't keep steady at the sight of you.

"Kandosii'la… Atin'la cyar'ika," Mando breathes up at you, and even though you don't understand everything he says, you can’t help but blush at the way he says it with his whole chest, in the language he holds so close.

"Can you get us back in the air?” He asks then in Basic, tearing his gaze from you for a moment to look around at the hold that’s out of your sight “Need to clean up down here.”

You nod, heart blossoming at the trust he's instilling in you “On it.”

The second takeoff is miles smoother than the first, not only due to not being wedged in the winding shipyards, but also from the confidence you’re feeling at finally dusting off your piloting skills.

Once the ship is steady and jet-setting amongst the clouds, you hear a disturbance behind you as the kid’s cradle opens and he squeaks out a one word question in a shaky voice.

“Patu?”

You turn to look at him, who despite being a little pale and bleary-eyed is still awake.

“Yeah, he’s here, babybug,” You reply, tilting the steering upwards as you prepare to break through the planet’s atmosphere. “I'm getting us up into space first, then you can come out and say hi."

The child listens to your words intently, and with a little determined nod he presses the lock mechanism on his cradle and hides back inside.

You’re unsure how long you’re alone for—so focused on piloting the ship out of wretched Corellia and up into the stars. As the ship stutters through the final layer of atmosphere and enters the dark vacuum of space, you release the tension you didn't realize you were holding.

Muffled behind the cockpit doors is the sound of heavy boots on durasteel, and then the Mandalorian is barrelling through the cockpit with a fervor you haven't seen the likes of before.

You stand up in anticipation, and before you know it you’re swept up in a bone-crushing hug that consumes you completely.

Everywhere is beskar and leather, the smell of blaster smoke and musk and the overwhelming scent of Mando, warm and soft and strong all at once.

He surrounds your senses, sweeping you off your feet and taking you to the place you feel the safest; in his arms. You close your eyes, taking in the moment.

"You're incredible," he exclaims, his voice more full of emotion than you ever thought was possible through the helmet's vocoder.

"The ship—how did you get it back under control?" you feel his words vibrate through his chest plate as he says them, as if they imprint on your skin from the deep, dark, richness of his tone.

"It was the kid. He used his powers," you whisper into the beskar, still amazed at the sheer power of the tiny green baby.

Mando releases his hold on you to bring his gloved hands to your face, cupping it oh so gently as he lets out a shuddering sigh, gazing up at the hazy view of the helmet in the dim light of the cockpit.

"Dank farrik," he swears, bowing his head and pressing the curve of his helmet to your forehead "I'm so glad you're both okay,"

You hum contentedly at the feeling of the cool beskar pressing to your flushed skin; the two of you taking a breath to count your blessings and be thankful you left Corellia unscathed.

It feels so good to be able to show your affection for each other like this. So natural, so needed.

"What was that about not being able to land the ship?" Mando teases as he pulls back, visor locking onto your face. You're smiling shyly up at him, shaking your head as if you have no answer, and he continues with the praise.

"The way you piloted the Crest—stars, cyar’ika, you're a kriffing natural," he grits, and his hands anchor to your waist, hold electric.

Mando's chest swells with every word, his hands roaming up and down your sides as your body melts at his touch.

"Finding me in all of Coronet, dodging that missile and landing the ship like it was nothing, knocking out the quarry before she reached the cockpit—"

His words are cut off by the hiss of the kid's little metal cradle opening, and as you turn you see the child's mouth open in a soundless squeak, his hands reaching out in exhaustion for you and Mando.

Mando drops his hands from your waist to reach for the child, resting him perfectly in the nook of his arm and giving him a scratch between the ears.

"And you—you saved the day like you always do. Good job, ad'ika!" Mando murmurs softly to the child, and you swear your heart turns into a pool of goo at the sight of the two of them sharing a tender moment.

"Don't worry babybug, you can rest now," you whisper lovingly, and you lean down to press a peck on the top of the kid's fuzzy head.

Looking back up at Mando, you notice his gaze so intently on you, that you can't resist reaching on your tip-toes to press an equally gentle peck to the cheek of his helmet.

"Babybug?” He murmurs, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve called the kid that special nickname in front of him “Is womp rat not good enough?" He asks, and you chuckle.

“He’s nothing like a womp rat. He’s just a baby. And his eyes are huge, like a bug’s.” You defend, and Mando lets out a laugh in reply that’s melodic to your ears.

His arm meets your waist again, drawing you in closer, squeezing the kid between your bodies. You let your eyes flutter shut, relaxing into his cool chest plate.

It's just the three of you now, in this hodge-podge pre-empire ship you call home, drifting through the vacuum of space.

For a fraction of a parsec, time stands still.

But the hunt must go on. Soon you're leaning against the pilot's chair, watching as Mando pulls the ship into hyperspace. The kid is chilling on Mando's lap, looking out at the streaking stars sleepily.

"Gonna go hit the fresher. I might be in there for a while." you turn and announce to Mando the instant his shoulders drop into relaxation "Our little sith lord here threw up on me earlier, and even though I changed I swear I can still smell it," you groan, looking down at the adorable culprit as he pulls back his huge ears guiltily.

"Our…" Mando murmurs, mulling over your choice of words. As if the little guy was your child, making you his parents. You blush, embarrassed at your forwardness "Oh, n-no, I didn't mean that we’re—"

"No," Mando cuts you off, voice tender. "I like it," he confirms. You snap your jaw shut, biting your lip in a bid to hide the giant grin that wishes to spread across your face.

---

The droplets from the shower soothe your tense muscles and wash away all nasty smells, and as you stand beneath the steaming stream you can't help but compare the warmth to the way Mando makes you feel.

No, it’s different, you think to yourself as you step out into the hold, the cold air clinging to your damp hair while your heart stays warm.

Even with the cold beskar encasing him, Mando makes you feel so much warmer.

Once dressed, you enter the cockpit to the sight of Mando spoon-feeding the kid some nutrient paste. You pause, smiling as the sight reminds you of the time you first met, when he fed tiny spoons of soup to the little green secret hiding under his cloak.

Mando’s helmet raises at the sight of you, gaze holding with brief intensity before he cocks his helmet over to your seat where a ration pack lies.

"Thought you might be hungry,"

"Starving," you huff, stomach growling at the mention of it. You take the pack into your hands, shamelessly tearing it open and going to shove the food in your mouth, but you hesitate, looking over at Mando and not seeing an empty ration pack nearby.

"What about you? Have you eaten?" you check.

"I'm fine," Mando offers in a roundabout response, and it doesn't take much thought to know what he really means.

"So you haven't?" you sigh, putting the food back down on the silver packaging. You're looking at him solemnly, but he's focused on spooning the final scoops of paste into the child's mouth.

"That's the last ration. Kid must've gotten into the food supply somehow" he wipes the kid's mouth with the edge of his cape, and goes to set him into his cradle, knowing he'll be sleepy after a full meal and wild force-wielding experience.

"Kriff... I'm sorry, Mando." you swear, low enough so the kid can't hear.

You both kept an eye on the little rascal as much as you could, but sometimes you'd turn your back for two minutes and he'd get himself into all sorts of trouble.

All of the dangerous weaponry was locked away securely, so that was never an issue, but you hadn't thought of how accessible the food supply was until now.

You look down at the meal, and your heart is torn in two. So grateful that Mando would let you have the final ration, but so defeated that your recent top-up at Nevarro was all for nothing.

You tear the polystarch bread in half, picking up most of the jerky strips and walking over to where he sits.

"I'm not letting you go hungry. Share with me."

He's reluctant, but when you turn his gloved hand over and place the food in the palm, closing it again gently, he knows not to give it back to you.

You take a seat on the floor, just behind the pilot's seat, making sure you can't see him. He leans his helmeted head to the side, and even though his visor isn’t facing your way you sense his eyes trained on you, asking a silent question in which you nod in nonverbal understanding.

He leans back then, and with a steady hold you watch as his helmet rises above the chair, held between his worn leather gloves, and then, at last, the familiar unmodulated sigh of the Mandalorian breaks through the air.

Goosebumps erupt on your skin at once, every inch of your flesh standing to attention at the sound of the Mandalorian’s raw breaths.

Except, it wasn't the Mandalorian sighing. No, it was the man underneath all the armor, the creed, the expectations.

You didn't know his name, nor his face, and you knew pieces of his story… But one thing you were certain of was that you knew him. Who he was at his core. You knew in your heart and soul just how much he meant to you.

And stars, you wanted him so badly—your core fluttering the moment you saw his helmet rise above the seat, leaving your body buzzing with tension.

Mealtime passes by in silence, and you notice just how much slower Mando is eating than usual. As if savoring it all; both the food and the moment. You relish in it, too, feeling closer to him than ever.

There was something so intimate about being around Mando when he had the helmet off. Even though you couldn't see him, just knowing he was at his most vulnerable, and willingly put himself in this position around you.

The reality of it all made your chest swell with affection and lips upturn in a smile.

It's a while until either of you speak again. Your meals are well finished, and you're resting your forehead against the pilot's chair, trying your best to quell the burning desire that consumed every inch of you.

Your head is in the stars as you ponder deeply on the man beneath the beskar, sitting on the other side of the red leather seat.

You think only of what you know, reminiscing on the feeling of his face on yours, the hints of stubble and mustache that helped you piece together the mysterious features that lay hidden under the helmet. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't quell the burning interest in mapping his features with all your senses, as if it were in your very nature to continue easing open his armored shell.

How you longed to feel his skin beneath your fingers, every inch of it, to touch more of him than the tiny slivers you had. The feeling was all-consuming, only heightened by the knowledge that he sat there, unhelmeted, in the very chair you pressed your head against.

You strain your ears, listening to the soft snores of the kid napping in his food and force coma, and use it as an excuse to take some air from the helmetless Mandalorian that was setting you on fire.

“I’m going to put the little one to bed,” you announce quietly, only standing once you hear the hiss of the helmet going over Mando’s head.

Swiftly, you head down to the cockpit, guiding the kid’s floating crib with a hand until you reach the Mandalorian’s cramped cot. With a gentle hold, you lift the child into his hammock, giving him a peck on the forehead and heading back up to the cockpit, heart somehow hammering even more than before.

So much for cooling off.

When you enter the space, reclaiming your previous seat on the floor behind the pilot’s chair, you’re surprised to hear Mando remove the helmet again in your presence, this time unprompted.

It sends a little hopeful spark to your heart, willing you to speak up and ask the question that had been on your mind for a while.

"Mando," you whisper, heart fluttering the way he replies with a dazed "hm?"

“I’d like to feel your face,” you gulp, looking down at your hands as if envisioning what it would feel like “ Can I…?”

Silence fills the air, and the longer the quiet draws the more foolish you feel for requesting such a thing. He shifts in his seat, releasing a shaky exhale that sounds like the weight of the galaxy sits on his shoulders at this very moment.

“I understand if it’s against the creed” you murmur, voice small.

“No,” he says, voice raspy with fervor, as if the same thing was on his mind “It’s not, I just—I haven’t—I’m not used to…” the torment in his tone makes your chest pang with sorrow, reminding you of his self-doubt when you’d confessed your feelings to him back on Nevarro.

You fight the urge to stand up and wrap your arms around him, to hug his anguish away.

“I’m new to all this, cyar’ika… The beskar has been a part of me for as long as I remember,” he confesses, deep voice wavering with every weighted word “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to—because I do; more than anything, I want you to know me for more than—than just—“ he pauses, sucking in a breath, and you dig your nails into your palms, holding onto every syllable “More than just the armor.”

“Oh, Mando…” you utter softly, pressing your cheek into the leather seat. You reach your hand up to meet the crook of his elbow, which you give a reassuring squeeze “I already do,”

The conversation dwindles, the air giving into the whirrs and sighs of hyperspace, but you feel no need to continue it. Instead you follow your instincts, and you wait.

You and the child were the only two people in all the worlds who knew Mando so deeply, and in this moment it was dawning on you that the feeling went both ways.

So you sit, and with all the patience of the worlds that you hold for your troubled Mandalorian, you wait.

---

From beneath the beskar, Mando’s heart is kicking up a raging storm.

The thought of baring his face to you and letting you feel it for longer than a few seconds during a heated kiss immediately sets the alarm bells ringing in his head.

The fear that had been conditioned into him ever since being taken in as a Mandalorian foundling; a distrust of auriitese, and the forbidden nature of vulnerability towards them.

Yet, with you, it was different. You all but eased Mando’s troubles and woes, with your tender touch and gentle loving heart that Mando couldn’t help but surrender to.

He mulls over the rules of the creed in his head, crystal-clear from years of repeating them.

Except the rules themselves weren’t clear—they never were. Instead, each clan interpreted them as they wished, spread so thin across the galaxy that sometimes it was like they came from a different culture entirely.

Mando had a choice to make, and with one deep breath and the thought of your delicate fingers trailing across his skin, mapping his features in a way that respected his creed, he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

After all you’d shared with him, he longed to reciprocate the vulnerability.

Mando’s hand reaches around the back of the chair, feeling out to make contact with your face as an invitation. Your heart thrums, stomach flipping wildly before it’s even begun.

He doesn't tell you to close your eyes this time; he doesn't have to. You let your eyelids fall shut, leaning into the gloved palm of the Mandalorian willingly.

The darkness is all-consuming, heightening every other sense. You're going in blind, completely driven by the want, need, to get closer to him than you ever have before.

Slowly, you move your way around the chair, one hand gripping onto Mando's hand for good measure while the other one feels the air aimlessly, seeking the side of the chair to help you find your footing.

Until your hand lands on fabric, you're not sure what exactly, but you’re left to only imagine as the Mandalorian lets out a throaty inhale, jolting in his seat.

"Sorry," you fumble, pulling your hand away and stumbling to your feet.

“No need,” Mando replies, voice rich with lust. It only adds fuel to the fire in your core, face heating under the gaze of eyes you were yet to know.

“You’re going pink.” he notes with a smug drawl, and it only makes you blush more.

His other hand is on your lower back, then, leading you closer to stand between his legs. You hear his slow breaths, feel the warm puffs of them on your neck, and you try to follow their rhythm, attempting to ease your racing heart.

His face is only just slightly lower than yours, but even without having eyes on him you feel dwarfed by his presence.

Your hands edge forward, bumping into his chest plate and slowly tracing their way up, up, up, past the rough-hewn cloak wrapped around his collar, beyond the neck of his tactical suit, before finally, after all this time, landing on the Mandalorian's skin.

The rest of the moment is lost to you, then. Driven purely by the sensory feeling, by the unadulterated longing, you let both of your hands rest on his cheeks, feeling the warmth and tremble of emotion on his skin.

“Wanted to feel your hands on me for so long, cyar’ika.” Mando exhales, a heady confession, and a shudder of surprise and pleasure and want courses through your body like a dose of pure dopamine.

“Wanted to feel you for so long,” you admit back to him, feeling his face break out into a trembling smile.

Despite his heavy breathing and heated words, Mando’s jaw is completely relaxed—you follow the shape of it downwards, musing at his strong jawline, dotted with the patchy stubble you felt every time you kissed.

Your fingers discover a bare patch of skin on his cheek where hair doesn’t grow and you start to stroke it absentmindedly, drawn to the soft spot amongst the rugged.

“From the helmet,” he murmurs, and you sigh.

And then your hands are going further up, yearning to feel his hair, to know how long it is, its texture, imagine what color it could be. It curls by his ears and the nape of his neck in wispy waves, and smells overwhelmingly of him. A small smile plays on your lips, and you can't help but speak up.

"Your hair," you breathe, hands roaming down to the base of his skull before tracing back up again on the sides "it's so soft,"

Mando’s neck stiffens as your fingers card through his hair, the unfamiliar sensation so overwhelming that it sets his spine rigid with overstimulation.

As you let out a breathy "hey" and speak up in gentle tones, willing him to relax, Mando finds himself easing by instinct, reminding himself exactly why he wanted to do this.

Slowly, the Mandalorian unravels beneath you.

Your hands find his forehead next, thumbs tracing his brows, smoothing the crease that sits between them. They follow down to the bridge of his nose, marveling at the gorgeous slope of it, trying so hard to paint a picture of him in your mind.

It's getting clearer, but it comes to you like a corrupted holo, fuzzy with static. Most importantly, his eyes are missing, but you know that no amount of tracing them with your fingers will do them justice. You'd have to see them to get the full picture.

“What color are they?” You ask, whisper-quiet, as the tips of your fingers skim his eyelashes.

“Brown,” he breathes after a slight pause, a hint of something heavy in his voice. You wondered the last time anyone but him looked into them.

“Brown eyes,” you murmur to yourself, and you try to visualize. The color of earth and cracked leather, deep and dark as his voice, warm and gentle as his hold.

Not letting yourself get lost in that train of thought, you slide down and go to sweep your fingers across his cheeks, feeling the cheekbones where there lies scars from the years of fighting. Even from beneath the helmet, the toll of battle was apparent.

At last, your fingers reach for his lips, the dizzy rush of anticipation overcoming you. Plush and parted. Mando lets out a puff of breath, the heat of it washing over your fingertips, and you feel the way his gloved hand creaks into a fist behind your back.

Why does he still have them on? They need to go.

“G-gloves,” you blurt, head too empty to string together a sentence.

You don’t even have to ask and he’s doing it—removing his hand from the small of your back and nudging it to yours; an invitation you take willingly.

With trembling fingers you pull on the orange-tipped glove, and it comes off limp in your hand. Lost in the moment, you drop it, holding your hand up and your breath simultaneously as you wait for the moment his fingers make contact with yours.

His fingertips brush yours oh so lightly, and then closer still, dry and warm and callused. And then your hands intertwine, and you hear the little groan of relief that leaves his mouth at the proximity.

“So soft, mesh’la—kriff,” he utters, and his thumb is stroking the back of your hand, digits clutching onto your palm so longingly ”Dreamt about this for so long… Feeling you, being close to you,”

“Mando…” you breathe, the only name for him you know, and in that moment you want more than anything to ask him his real name.

Too much wanting, needing, sensations, all at once.

Mando’s gloved hand that’s laying across your eyes twitches, and your breath involuntarily catches in your throat. Teeth sinking into your lip to contain the gasp that nearly leaves your mouth. He’s thinking about it, the action hanging in the air.

“If I remove my hand,” he says slowly, measured, or maybe your heart is beating too fast, anticipation too great.

“My eyes will stay closed. Promise,” you utter wholeheartedly, screwing your lids shut tighter for good measure. You hear the way he hums, satisfied by your words.

The Mandalorian removes his hand, and suddenly you’re just a blink away from seeing him.

“Relax,” Mando murmurs with a hint of amusement in his voice, and fingers trace your temples, sending sparks across your skin “I wanna see that pretty face of yours for a second,”

Carefully, you ease your face into a relaxed expression. It feels like it’s getting hotter, all of a sudden, and there’s no need to guess why.

You can’t see him, he knows, but the way that Mando gazes at you, eyes scanning your face as a smile breaks out on his, is from the depths of his heart.

Quietly, he removes his other glove, and now both of his hands are bare; and desperately longing to make contact with any and all parts of you.

The hand that was on your eyes returns with gentle haste, but the other doesn’t find its place on your waist again—instead reaching up to your lips, where he starts to trace them as you just did to his.

As if he were transferring the withheld kisses to you through the tips of his fingers.

Mando’s touch does not linger, instead wandering down to your chin where it lazily traces your jaw back and forth, reaching down further to leave a trail of sensation down your throat. He reaches your clavicle and pauses.

The sensation of it ignites the flame in your core all over again, once dropped to a simmering heat, you feel your body erupt with lust, nearly sent over the edge with his next words.

The more he gives to you, the more you want from him.

"Need to kiss you," Mando says at once, and there's this overwhelming urge in his gritted voice that you can barely describe the sensation of. It stirs something deep in your abdomen, low, curling. Something instinctual, a burning need to get closer still.

How long had he been waiting to say that? All of that time you’d spent roaming fingers across his face, and now he was doing the same to yours. Still dancing around each other after all this time, skirting on the precipice of pleasure.

Not any longer.

Struck by a sudden boldness brought on by the burning want in your bones, you lean into him, eyelashes fluttering against the warmth of his palm.

“Need you to do more than kiss me,” you purr, and then you’re climbing onto his lap, thighs bracketing his, your aching core pressing onto the bulge in his pants.

And kriff, the effect it has on the Mandalorian is pure poison—He all but snaps, his free hand shooting up to grab the back of your neck as if pained. The delicate yet lust-fueled act tears a choked moan from your chest, a hot, wet spot dampening your underwear.

You feel completely consumed by him, one hand across your face, the other clutching your neck, fingers beginning to wind into the hair at the base of your skull. You try to raise your body off from his lap, just enough to steal some reprieve from the way every inch of him had taken you wholly, but it’s no use—with a grip of steel, Mando has you in his hold.

After seemingly forgetting to breathe, Mando releases a breath; a shaky, measured inhale and exhale as his body remains so tense beneath you that it starts to tremble. And then, with a voice so low it scrapes the durasteel floor, he utters a question.

“You trying to torture me like last time, mesh’la?” You can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant, but without the vocoder you can hear the brief dips and lulls of his words, revealing to you that the Mandalorian was barely keeping it together.

That makes the two of us, you think to yourself.

A smug smirk spreads across your lips, and in your lust-fueled state you let the truth of the matter spill from your lips, thinking back to that split-second on Naboo when you nearly gave into your desires on the forest floor.

“It was as much torture for me as it was for you, Mando,” you say lowly, the smile fading from your face as you wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Good,” he growls after a pause, seemingly satisfied with your answer. His hand eases off the back of your neck, slipping down to the small of your back where he pulls you close, so close.

You feel his breaths wash over you, the ghost of a kiss yet to be received. You part your lips in anticipation, tilting your chin upwards in invitation, but instead of his lips your senses are met by his voice, dark and deep and dangerously low.

“Told myself I’d treasure this moment if it ever came” it’s a confession, a raw retelling of the soul that he shares between shallow breaths “Remember every little detail, commit it all to memory.”

He sighs, and then his lips are tracing your jaw, kissing your pulse point, sucking, teasing you, torturing you, you’re left completely at his will and regretting more than ever that you didnt fuck him when you had the chance.

“I can’t wait anymore, Mando, I want you, need you—“

“You want this?” he asks, rolling his hips into you. You gasp at the contact, the sheer size of him, and nod fervently.

“Need it?”

“For the love of the Maker, yes—YES!” You blurt, grinding down on his clothed erection in the desperate bid for friction.

The Mandalorian’s lips crash to yours as you roll your core over his hardened length once more. Tongue slides between teeth and gives way to pure pleasure, the taste of you making him dizzy.

And then he feels it, the dampness of your core seeping onto his pants, and his mouth goes dry, heart thrumming in his ears.

“So wet,” Mando notes in disbelief, murmuring the words into your mouth. He starts leaving a devastating trail of kisses down your throat, unable to stop from being all over you but longing to hear you speak

“Been wet the moment you took your helmet off,” you confess, heady from lust, gasping as his lips press to your collarbone.

Mando stills at your words. The helmet—haar’chaak, the helmet. For the first time since he’s put it on as a foundling, he’d forgotten all about it. This treasured moment with you made him lose his head, and the instant he’d been reminded of it the sickening dread of being without it bubbles in his throat again.

He was a bear without fur, a bounty hunter without his rifle. He felt naked, too naked, even though he was covered head to toe in layers of armor. But Mando was determined to forge ahead, pushing away the vicious dread that dictates him to the back of his mind. Hoping to just have this moment with you.

He rises to stand at once, lifting you like you weigh nothing and laying you down gently on the dashboard, fist slamming the power-down button as everything dies around you with a whirr.

You’re vaguely aware of the hum of lightspeed travel dying into relative silence, the cockpit darkening as the Crest leaves hyperspace to float in the uncharted inbetween. Mando’s hand stays covering your eyes nonetheless, even though you have them firmly closed and you’re certain the room is near-pitch black.

His body is towering over yours, the heat of it emanating above you as his free hand grazes the air between. You arch your back, pushing your chest into his ready hand, a moan escaping your mouth when it makes contact with your clothed breast, nipple peaked beneath your tunic.

“By all the stars in the galaxy,” Mando chokes, and he sounds pained with lust “you look so fucking good. Spread out across my dashboard, your tits—“

He can’t contain himself any longer—tearing your tunic off in the middle, flimsy buttons scattering. He’ll buy you a new one, kriff, let you wear one of his for all he cares. He just needs to see you, feel each and every inch of you beneath his palm.

At last, your chest is bare beneath him. Skin flushed, nipples peaked and pinkish. The Mandalorian’s barely keeping it together—cock throbbing with want, heart racing harder than it has during any hunt. He feels his restraint dangling on the frayed threads of his sanity, so close to losing himself to you.

But he promised himself he’d savor this moment, and the Mandalorian is a man of his word.

Mando’s free hand grips the side of your ribcage, rising up to stroke your breast, thumb rolling over hard nipple. You jolt at the touch, hands flying out wildly, one gripping his muscular forearm while the other wraps around the wrist of the hand that’s still on your eyes.

“Fuck, Mando, I need—“ More. More is what you need, but the words don’t get the chance to leave your mouth.

No, they’re caught between a whimper and a choked cry, as Mando’s head sinks to your skin, hot mouth meeting the pebbled flesh of your tits in the pure darkness of his hold.

He’s all over you, then, his lips on your torso, tracing your clavicle, teasing the underside of your breasts as he kisses and licks his way around you. The prickle of perspiration starts to pepper your skin, warm hands, hot breath, and the steamy situation making the temperature rise in the tight cockpit.

With each kiss you’re melting into a puddle of goo, barely able to contain yourself as you bite your lip to bottle the moans that so very nearly escape you.

The Mandalorian notices this, pausing his pleasureful torture to draw himself up again, hovering mere inches from your face, marveling in the way you’ve melted beneath him.

You want to touch him so badly, feel him all over, but he’s fully clothed and still armored and has you scramble-brained beneath him.

“Let me hear you, atin’ika. It’s just us and the stars. You don’t need to be quiet.” there it is again, the nickname he gave you on Naboo.

And then he puts his request to the test, sliding his hand down, down, down, past your sternum with fleeting touches, grazing your stomach as you flex involuntarily, his nails grazing your skin in a mix of pleasure and pain, and then, at last, reaching your core.

He presses his thumb to your clothed heat, drawing a tight and torturously slow circle. And you obey to his request, a long, drawn-out mewl leaving your lungs as your core throbs in white-hot pleasure.

“Ibac’ner dala,” he utters in Mando’a, and the words do something else to you entirely, the lulls and drawl of the mystery sentence sending you deeper into your throes of want.

You’re too lost in the moment to ask what he said, too caught up in the way his thumb continues to draw circles on your clothed core, giving you too much and too little at the same time. Keeping you teetering on the edge of pure pleasure. You clench your jaw in frustration, breath leaving your lungs in short puffs.

“Mando, please.” you demand, or at least try to, but the words leave you in a whine.

He slows his movements, a puff of breath exiting his mouth in what you can only imagine is a chuckle. It dawns on you—he knows what he’s doing to you, and he’s doing it on purpose.

“I’ve been left on edge since Naboo,” he says it so low it’s practically a growl, the words making your core flutter just as his fingers were “Coming up out of the water like that? Making me watch? Then when you, when—“ he falters, head clouded when the thought of you straddling him comes to mind “And you expected me to not be affected?”

Oh, so this was revenge for what happened in Naboo? Leaving you on the edge of want this way?

In an act of defiance, or perhaps it’s pure unthinkable horniess, you let your own hands wander over the man of metal, landing on the beskar plate of his chest before trailing down, down, down, hitting the buckle of his belt with a soft clink.

There’s a pause, as quiet and still as the vacuum of space. The Mandalorian’s body is as rock-hard as his armor, tense with anticipation. Awaiting your next move. Silently challenging it.

“Cyar’ika,” he warns, but for once he doesn’t sound dangerous. No, instead he sounds like a man on the cusp of unraveling entirely—all at the hands of you.

Maker, even when you were sharing such a vulnerable moment like this he was still guarded in his own little way. It reminds you of who he is to the rest of the galaxy, the nameless, faceless cold-blooded bounty hunter. But as he stood above you, hot blood and plush lips callused hands, he was more human than anything you’d ever known.

And stars, he didn’t have his helmet on—the most breathtaking part of it all. Yet the grip of his hand on your face was only getting tighter, and you wondered if it were a matter of time before he’d slide it back on.

You lower your hand further down; reaching the bulge in his pants and cupping it greedily, relishing in the way his whole body jerks at the sensation. You glide your hands up and down his length, mouth watering at the sheer size of him. Was everything about him so big?

Mando’s movements intensify in reaction to your touch, the heel of his palm pressing to your core, cupping and grinding just right. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and in turn you stroke him more, your other hand reaching for his belt to unbuckle it.

It’s the breaking point for you both. The edge of the cliff of restraint, weathered away from months of bubbling tension condensed into this blink of a parsec. You didn’t want to wait anymore, to dance around your want for each other. No, you wanted to give into it entirely.

You’re unzipping his pants and freeing him out of them, barely able to wrap a fist around his hardened length, as he starts stripping you of your own clothes, intent on having you completely bare beneath him.

Your cunt flutters the moment it meets the open air. You’re wet beyond imagination, so wet you swear you’ve dripped onto the dashboard, slick starting to coat the inside of your thighs.

You hear a shuffle as he gets closer to you, holding your breath in anticipation for the moment the head of his member makes contact… but it doesn’t come.

“I… Wait,“ Mando hesitates, and your eyes flutter open beneath his palm, concerned at the sudden seriousness of his voice.

You hear the scrape of metal against beskar as he picks up his helmet from the floor, sliding it over his head like a glove to a hand.

A teeny part of your heart pangs in pain, at the thought of not sharing this intimate moment with him while he was helmetless, but you pushed that down as best you could. Too much, too soon.

Callused fingers are removed from your eyes, and you’re greeted to the hulking, broad figure of the Mandalorian in the dim cockpit light. You can barely see him it’s so dark, but you’re certain Mando’s got clear sights on you thanks to the helmet’s advanced vision.

His bare hands reach down to stroke at your thighs, and your core is fluttering all over again, the heavy thoughts of the helmetless Mandalorian leaving your mind at once.

When you feel the velvety head of Mando’s cock slide to meet your pussy lips, the flutters in your core turn into earthquakes. He glides up and down your folds, and you relish in the modulated groans that leave his helmet at the mere stroke of your pussy.

Fuck, you love the way the modulator turns his voice all gritty and dark.

Your body quakes as you do your best to suppress your drawn-out moan into a longful sigh. It feels so perfect, to have him there between your legs, and you haven’t even begun.

Cock thoroughly coated in your pleasure, Mando slots himself at the apex of your thighs. The cold beskar thigh plates press against your bare flesh, contrasting his warm hands that grip your waist.

He pauses, again, and this time you’re ready to take control, grinding down onto him yourself, until you feel a hand to your eyes as plush lips press to yours, hot and needy.

Mando kisses you with fervor and passion, his tongue sliding into your mouth and sending an electric wave of heat circulating your body.

His mouth slots perfectly over yours, low hum emitting from his throat as you squirm beneath him, fit to burst at the sensation of the cool beskar against your burning body. The edge of his helmet presses into your face, a constant reminder that it’s there.

With one last peck he raises himself back to standing, and with it you take in a lungful of air—just in time for him to position himself by your entrance again, grabbing you by the hips and sheathing himself into you in one smooth stroke.

“O-oh, stars—“ you choke, gulping down air as every atom in your body screams at the sensation of him inside of you. He’s stretching you and it hurts so good, each vein and ridge of him molding into your hot, tight walls.

“Gngh—fuck, cyar’ika—“ Mando grits, punctuating his words with shallow thrusts, each one drawing a choked gasp out of you “Squeezing me s-so—tight.”

You think he’s entered you entirely, but then he’s pulling out and in and just keeps going—leaning further forward as more of his length enters you, engulfing you, pushing out the air from your lungs that you’d just breathed in as he fills you entirely.

It’s unmistakable, the instant he buries himself in you completely. You feel him hit something so deep inside, pressing onto a spot of blinding pleasure that sends a shock of ecstacy to every corner of your body.

He’s so big you feel him everywhere, stretching you open for him as he stays right there, the hands on your hips reaching for your thighs instead, raising them up and hooking his hands under them, thumbs gripping into the back of your knees.

There’s a tiny oh-shit moment in your brain, a realization of the tsunami of pleasure that’s about to come before it hits you, no, blindsides you, when the Mandalorian begins pounding into your pussy.

His pace is brutal, your tits bouncing with each thrust as he curses a string of words you can barely decipher, unsure if they’re Basic or Mando’a or another language entirely. You’re lost in him, taken by the unfaltering way he hammers into you, sending sparks of euphoria fireworking deep inside.

“Make some noise for me, mesh’la,” the words are finally registered by your brain, and oh kriff, he’s talking to you.

“It’s jus-just us ‘n the stars, us ‘n the stars…” For someone usually so curt with his words, the Mandalorian sure loves to run his mouth in the moment.

You let it tear from your chest, the earth-shattering moan you’d somehow been holding in, and the noises don’t stop; whimpers giving way to whines, sighs punctuated with a stuttery breaths in as Mando’s hammering pace never falters, his cock catching your g-spot each time it glides in and out.

You knew the Mandalorian had some steam to burn, stars, you knew that from the moment you first spoke in that seedy cantina. But never, ever, had you imagined him needing to fuck you this hard, the brutal stamina he sets sending you to crescendo in a matter of minutes, orgasm building hard and fast as a tight ball in your belly.

“G-gonna—cu-cum,” you barely manage to gasp, and Mando reacts at once, one hand readjusting his grip on you so he can press his thumb to your clit and draw sickeningly sweet circles, bringing you ever so closer to your release.

“Lek, cyar’ika—good, good girl, cum on my—ngh, my cock,” If the way he fucked you was brutal then the way he spoke to you in both Basic and Mando’a was utterly devastating, core turning to lava as your orgasm hits the precipice of implosion.

Mando swipes his thumb across your throbbing bud of nerves just so, and your back arches of its own accord, eyes rolling as they look up behind you at the pitch blackness of space, stars gliding by in faded twinkles.

Suddenly you’re there with them, chasing ecstasy as your orgasm cascades through you full-force. Mando takes you all the way through it, his pace quickening and making you realize in half amazement half horror that he wasn’t even giving you all he had.

White-hot pleasure melts your body from the epicenter of your core, rippling in shockwaves down your limbs and up your back, and you’re vaguely aware amongst the pure ecstasy of how the Mandalorian’s brutal hammering thrusts start to falter.

“Fuck, gonna—wh-where should I—“ he gasps, voice ragged through the modulator, and the desperation of it is primal. You don’t reply with words, you can’t, instead letting out a breathy wail as you clamber to reach for any part of him to pull closer, fingers winding into his cloak and tugging him close.

At last his cock nests deep inside your warm, wet, heat, and with a deep, gritted grunt Mando cums hard, coating your walls with ropes of hot, thick, and sticky. It punctuates the end of your orgasm perfectly, giving you one last high before it plateaus into a humming glow.

You don’t think you’ll ever fathom how such a feared man’s touch could be so gentle, you muse as you come down from the bliss. Your awareness slowly comes back to you in the form of the way the Mandalorian’s touching you, running gentle circles to your inner thighs that threaten to rile you up all over again.

With a sated sigh, you reach up, hands wrapping around his pauldrons and beckoning him to lean over and hold you close, helmet pressing to your forehead. He’s still seated in you, but you feel a trickle down your thighs as he grants your wish, folding over to shrink the space between you.

The coolness of his beskar greeting your burning skin is pure bliss, if a little shock to the system, reminding you of his fully-clothed form while you lay totally naked beneath him.

All you can do is lay there limply, thoroughly spent and relishing in the intimacy the two of you were sharing.

“Back on Naboo, when I said you could have whatever you want,” he utters, words vibrating from the helmet onto your skin “This was more of what I had in mind,”

Your stomach does a flip, shy smile toying on your lips as you’re about to tell him you feel the same, until the memory comes back to you. The tiniest blip of time where you didn’t want to tease him rotten, or give in to your desires, but to ask something else of him entirely.

“If I’m being honest…” you whisper into the darkness, head turning to the side so you can watch the ever-so-faint stars that crawl by “This wasn’t what first came to mind for me.”

“Hm?” Mando replies, voice delightfully groggy in a post-coital daze. It’s as if it takes a second for his brain to catch up with your words, a subtle but shuddering exhale leaving his lungs before he asks “What did you want to ask me?”

You bite your lip, waiting for the anxiety to bubble in your chest at the difficult conversation you imagined lay ahead… Until it doesn’t. Whether it be the aftermath of desire pumping through your body, or the emboldened intimacy you’d come to share. Now was the time to ask, if ever.

“Your name,” you confess, turning your head back so you’re staring right at him, half expecting to see that mystery face looking back at you but only seeing the helmet, the almost outline of him before you “I wanted to ask your name.”

His body stills for just a moment, and somehow it’s as if the beskar tenses in reaction, or perhaps the muscle underneath, before he breathes again. Regret starts to bubble up into your chest like bile.

“Well, why didn’t you?” Mando asks, voice as deep and dark as treacle, and your mouth goes dry.

“Y-you said, when I first joined you aboard the Crest—“

“Things have changed, cyar’ika,” he cups your face with his hand, stroking your cheek “Everything’s changed,"

“So… I can ask?” you squeak in disbelief, and are met with the rumble of his chuckle that fills your heart with air.

“No,” he counters, standing up straight and bringing his hands to your waist “But I can give it to you,”

With a groan, he slides his half-hard cock out of you, his spend gliding out with him. You shudder at the sensation, a mini-wave of pleasure trickling over you all over again.

You feel lost the moment he steps away from you. There’s nothing to ground you but the increasingly painful dashboard, buttons and dials digging into your back. No warmth of the Mandalorian, nor the light of a sun or glow of a planet. Just you and space, drifting alone.

Until there is light; the dim glow of the cockpit’s emergency lighting, low enough so it doesn’t hurt the eyes after a prolonged time in darkness.

Still, you find yourself blinking to adjust, the blurred figure that stands above you soon shaping into the Mandalorian you know every inch of. His helmet visor firmly trained on your naked form, beskar gleaming a silvery blue.

The helmet is a face you know so well at this point, or perhaps a lack thereof. You smile at it, sated, and feel so close to the man behind it, yet so far.

And then Mando takes a step towards you, placing now-gloved hands on your thighs as if to get your full attention.

“It’s Din,” he offers, voice crackling through the modulator, and before you open your mouth to ask what he means he’s saying it again, the imaginary lightbulb going off in your head with a little ‘ding’

“My name is Din Djarin.”

Notes:

Osik= fuck
Cabur= guardian/protector. i couldn't find much info about this word so i use it as a step down from ver'gebuir
Atin’ika= stubborn/tenacious little one. i used 'ika here to turn this phrase into more of a pet name, like cyar'ika
Kandosii'la= stunning, amazing
Ibac'ner dala= that's my woman. there doesn't seem to be a word for 'girl' but i imagined it to be more like "that's my girl"
Lek = yeah

*********

alsoooo thank you to the reader that said they wished reader asked for mando's name last chapter. i pushed the name reveal forward because of you and it feels so much smoother.

Chapter 14: To Hunt and To Heal

Summary:

Another chapter, another planet, except Din's more nervous than usual about this one--and cautious to tell you about what kind of bounty he's hunting. How will his secrecy affect your time on this planet? The stakes are high in this chapter, and with it comes heightened emotions. Warnings for this chapter: injury, sickness.

Notes:

i finally made a tumblr! you can find me at spacing-in.tumblr.com <3

He’d finally said it.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Din Djarin had shared his name with someone.

Shared it. It wasn’t revealed by the enemy, each syllable cutting deep as they were spoken by foreign tongues that had no right to know.

No, he’d shared it with you, watched the moment of recognition as it rolled across your face like a wave, listened to how your mouth formed the words so softly.

It contrasted how jarring it felt to hear it spoken aloud, two words that until that moment had lived almost exclusively in his head.

You’d said it twice, tongue wrapping around the letters in such a way that they burrowed beneath the beskar and melted into something warm and soothing, easing the tense muscles of his jaw and brow. Something distinctly you.

Usually, when Din heard his name spoken out loud his entire body froze up, his nervous system booting into defense mode as his heart turned to steel.

But not with you. With you, it felt natural. In a way his desire to share it with you was selfish, to hear the way it sounded coming from your sweet lips.

Yet there was a selfless side to it, too. The act of sharing, of giving you a piece of him that you could keep with you forever. You’d been doing that a lot lately—taking pieces of Din. Chipping away at his aloofness and unwinding him into the open-hearted man he found himself becoming.

He couldn’t get out of his head, the way you’d sat up before you said it, mouthing the words just inches away from his helmet, so close to him that you fogged up his visor.

“Din Djarin,”

And then you slid off the dashboard, murmuring about cleaning up as you stepped through the cockpit doors, the dim lighting of the hall backlighting your naked silhouette. The curve of your waist, roundness of your ass, slope of your shoulders.

“I’ll be right back, Din.” You’d said to him over your shoulder, voice delightfully raspy from the multitude of noises you’d made as you came undone beneath him just moments earlier.

And fuck, his cock twitched in his pants at the sight of you, the sound of his name coming from your lips, looking at him, speaking to him like he was the only person in the galaxy. It was all Din could do to muster a nod, mouth dry as the blood rushed south again already, and just like that, you were gone.

That was then. Now, Din grips the hyperdrive lever, pulling the Razor Crest out of hyperspace to opt for more manual controls in a bid to bring himself back to reality. To ground himself with the descent to the solid earth a planet.

The only irony is that you would be landing on Bespin, a gas giant where its only settlements were cities in the clouds. Not a single landmass in sight.

The inky black expanse of space fades into the pastel-hued atmosphere, but as Din steers the ship to your next destination his mind is somewhere else completely— replaying your earlier interactions once more.

---

"Hey,” You’d called to him from where he was working in the hold earlier in your trip, sleeves rolled up to his forearms and smeared with gun grease as he prepared his weaponry for the next hunt.

It didn’t go unmissed, the way your eyes focused on his bare arms for a second too long, swallowing before you made eye contact with the helmet again.

“I wanted to ask you something,” your voice was nonchalant enough, but you were chewing on your lip as you spoke— you were uneasy about something, he could tell.

“Ask away, mesh’la.” Din returned to his rifle cleaning, partly in hopes of lifting the weight from the conversation, but also so he wouldn’t lose himself in you before his upcoming hunt.

“It’s about your name. Can I say it? Or was that only for… then?"

Your voice was so delicate, eyes roaming across the helmet as if to find the answer written on the visor.

Din had laid down his amben rifle and gone to pull you into his arms, before looking down at his greasy hands and stopping himself. Instead, he’d opted to lean into you, pressing the forehead of the helmet to yours in a Keldabe.

“My name is yours, mesh’la. Nothing would make me happier than hearing you use it,”

“Mine?” You’d said breathlessly as if you still couldn’t believe it. “But what about the Mandalorian code, aren’t you meant to…?” your sentence had trailed off, but he was sure he could read on your face what you were trying to articulate.

"My name isn't kept secret to abide by any code of honor. It's for my own sake—staying anonymous, protecting myself. My clan.”

He’d pulled out of the Keldabe to meet your eyes again, his next words grave, solemn, almost.

“My only request is that you only use it when it’s just us. Nobody else can know— but I have a feeling I don’t need to tell you that already,”

As much as he’d tried to keep his voice light, Din’s words are heavy and so is his heart, turning his filtered voice to stone. Weighted. Toneless.

“I know. And I understand,” you had laid the palm of your hand on his chest plate, fingers tracing the Mandalorian diamond that sits in the middle.

Just as he was thinking you couldn’t surprise him more with your total understanding, you utter three words that send his heart tumbling into the abyss of your pull.

“This is the way.”

“This is the way.” he’d repeated back, a smile forming on his face that he wished he could share.

---

“Patuuuuuu!!”

The kid’s cries pull Din out of his daydream. Back to the now, as the billowing clouds part in the pastel skies, revealing your destination.

Cloud City.

If you read the brochures, Cloud City was a floating metropolis of sophisticated beauty and political freedom. To Din, it was home to a gas mining colony and various ‘institutions’ that were small enough to go unnoticed by larger guild authorities.

Making Cloud City a honeypot for criminals looking to lay low while still living the life of luxury.

“This city is meant to be famous for its casinos, but I don’t understand why you’d want to spend all day cooped up at a sabbac table when you could be looking at this.” Din hears you express from behind him, and he nods steadily.

“Couldn’t agree more, cyar’ika,” He murmurs through the modulator, but he wasn’t looking at the way the magnificent spinning-top city rolled in. He was instead watching the way your face lights up in the viewport reflection, as you see another new place for the first time.

It gets him every time. He swears he hasn’t watched a planet come into view since the day you joined him aboard the ship.

The Crest lands gracefully in a shipyard in the lower section of the city. As Din goes to leave the cockpit he notices your empty chair, realizing you’re already down in the hold.

That was fast.

With each step he takes down the ladder, the pit of dread in his stomach is slowly filled. It had been a long time since he dreaded a bounty, but this was surely one to dread.

A reminder of bad times. Dangerous times.

He’d be in and out; it would be smooth. No fuss, bring ‘em in hot or cold. So long as he was out before drawing too much attention to himself.

Which, when you were dressed head-to-toe in a waning creed’s armor, was harder said than done.

As soon as his heavy boots hit the hold Din’s attention is on you, heart softening at the way you fussed over the kid. Grateful that you were oblivious to what was happening under all the layers of leather and armor.

Worrying you was the last thing he wanted to do.

Once Din is fully geared up—the weight of weaponry on his shoulders as heavy as the pit in his stomach—he turns your way, helmet tilting down and angling to the side so he can look you straight in the eyes.

Now was the hard part. The goodbye. Yet, before he could utter a throaty farewell, brushing over the details of this particular mission, you were speaking up.

“I was thinking that the kid and I could leave the ship with you, this time. Go our separate ways and explore the city, y’know?”

Din exhales, chest falling silently. This was not the conversation he wanted to have now, not at this moment, on this planet, with this kriffing bounty—

“He’s not been himself since Corellia,” you continue, bouncing the green bundle in your arms “I think he’s bored. A change of pace would do him good,”

Following your eye-line, Din tilts his helmet downward, visor locking eyes with the little guy. You were right—the fire that was usually behind them had faded, somehow.

“Plus, I’ve been reading up on Cloud City on the holonet, and it’s not just casinos and bars. They have indoor gardens, a playhouse, and even an anti-gravball stadium. Doesn’t that sound like fun, little guy?”

You lean down, pressing your nose to the kid’s, and he lets out a joyful squeak in response, beaky mouth opening wide.

The pit in Din’s stomach is that of molten beskar, burning heavier than a black hole. It was clear from your words that you’d been researching this, and now he had to crush your hope?

The modulator crackles with the weight of words he can’t bring himself to speak.

“You’ve been quieter than usual. Something on your mind, Din?” you murmur, all too knowing.

He can’t help it, the soft call of his name draws his gloved hands into fists.

He’d tried to hide it all from you, to keep level-headed before the hunt. Maker knows he’d tried.

But you see past the armor, both physical and metaphorical. You notice the conflict within him. And the eagerness in your eyes falters.

“Cyar’ika…” he brings himself to say, at last, a hand reaching up to brush his leather against your skin “You can’t leave the ship this time. Not while this kind of quarry is running loose.”

As if sensing the tension, the kid starts to squirm in your arms.

“What kind of quarry?” you press gently, trying to still the child “Who—?”

The tracking fob begins to beep faintly, adding to the chaos, and your questions are cut short.

Din glares down at the fob, jaw tensing in frustration.

He all but manages to shake his head, and then he’s reaching a hand up to the underside of his helmet to signal his urgency.

It was time to say goodbye.

You look at Din through narrowed eyes, trying to keep the child still as he wriggles and writhes. Still awaiting a reply to a question he knows he can’t answer.

Before either of you can say or do anything, however, the kid lets out an almighty high-pitched sneeze—and suddenly your tunic is covered in baby alien snot.

“Dank farrik.” you sigh through gritted teeth. Way to kill the moment, womp rat.

Din steps forward, still, pressing the beskar of his helmet to your forehead as his hand holds the back of your neck.

“I’ll be a few days. Don’t comm unless it’s an emergency.” He says gravely, the faint beep of the tracking fob punctuating his every word like a ticking clock.

He steps back, taking one last look at you as the gangplank hisses open—the forlorn look on your face taking to his heart like a vibroblade.

He doesn’t want to leave you like this, the last sight of you before the hunt being that of misery.

So he presses a hand to the lower part of the helmet, extending his arm outwards to blow you the kiss he wishes he could have placed on your lips.

Your face melts into something tender as you catch the kiss in your hand, pressing it to your mouth. When you remove your hand, Din’s chest lightens to see that you’re smiling, and it’s only then that he can turn around and leave.

His heavy leather boots step off the gangplank, and the moment they hit the ground he is Din Djarin no more.

He becomes the Mandalorian.

---

You don’t have anything to wear.

That’s the first thought that enters your head as you lose sight of Mando—not Din—the second the gangplank creaks shut.

You owned a grand total of three climate-appropriate tops—one of which was in need of a sonic wash, the other now buttonless thanks to Din’s, ahem, eagerness, and the third covered in baby alien snot.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you repeat out loud, and the kid looks up at you with wide eyes, ears pulled back in guilt.

You shake your head and sigh, not able to be annoyed at the child even if you tried. You head over to the bunk and press open the door with an elbow, placing the kid in his hammock.

“Hey, look at it on the bright side—you didn’t get any on yourself. Good job!” you smile, scanning the kid’s makeshift knapsack outfit to be doubly sure. Nope, he made sure it was all over you.

The kid giggles, ears perking up again. There’s the babybug you know.

“Now try and get some sleep so cabur can figure out what to wear,” you say softly, stroking the peach fuzz atop his wrinkly head. “We can play I spy once you wake up,” you add as if to sweeten the deal.

The kid smirks, satisfied with your offer. His eyes slip shut immediately, head hitting the pillow as he snuggles into his hammock bed.

With a quiet giggle, you head to the fresher, careful to peel off the snotty shirt without getting any on your hair or skin.

You study your topless form in the mirror, eyes skirting over the bruised lovebites where Din had left his mark from your heated cockpit moment. Inhaling softly as you skirt your fingertips along the flesh, the memories of the moment flashing before your eyes.

You think back to the orgasm that tore through you beneath his hold. You'd never come so fast in your life, your climax feeling like it came out of nowhere, swallowing you whole and leaving you feeling like a whole new person.

And now you were alone, and Din was the nameless, faceless Mandalorian, expertly tracking elusive quarries in his mirror-metal armor; a predator reflecting his surroundings to silently hunt his prey.

Or, in some cases, to hunt another predator before they got him.

Your heart ached to know who he was after, and what danger they posed— a danger so great that he’d deemed it too dangerous for you to leave the ship. Even with combat training under your belt.

This was the hard part of your feelings with Din— perhaps the hardest of it all. His hunt, absences. The necessary secrecy, for your peace of mind, or so you told yourself. Yet still, the dastardly curious part of you that wanted to know it all…

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, looking around the cramped fresher for any sign of something to wear. You could always wrap a towel around yourself and hand wash your shirt, you concluded— this was definitely not a job for the sonic washer.

You turn around, ready to grab your towel from the cabinet and cover yourself until your eyes catch sight of something else bundled on the shelves.

Something dark, ribbed, cotton. With long sleeves and a wide neckline. Something that was undoubtedly Din’s.

It’s over your head and falling down your torso before you can stop yourself.

You bundle the oversized mass of fabric to your face, breathing in the smell of him. It was a warm scent, of safety and comfort. Mixed with the slight smell of oiled leather and blaster smoke. Just like his cloak, the one you’d so often fallen asleep to find yourself covered with.

In a release of breath and emotion you sigh, wishing you could have pressed yourself to the beskar and taken him in one more time before he left for the hunt.

With each and every farewell it got harder to let go.

---

A day passes, the sun setting over Cloud City in the course of two hours.

You watch it sink below the hazy horizon in the cockpit viewport, the Razor Crest positioned roughly north so that you have a view of the floating city to your right, and the endless expanse of clouds and sunset turning into stars to the left.

Thoroughly exhausted, you pass out in the cockpit with the kid bundled in your arms. When you wake up, the sun is low in the sky, ready to set again.

It disorients you at first, heart jolting as you wonder how many impossible hours you must have slept—twenty? twenty-two? And then you remember from your research that Bespin’s day-night cycle is shorter than most planets—only twelve standard hours, and your heart stills.

You press your face into the sleeve of your— Din’s shirt, and your mind flits back to your heated moment in this very cockpit. It amazes you, how a man so hardened by years of fighting could coax such intense pleasure out of you with such gentility. To lay you down and let you soar to such heights.

The Mandalorian, a galaxy-wide bounty hunter at large, who'd experienced more perils than you could ever imagine. The mere thought of it sends your toes curling.

Keen to distract yourself, you decide to start the wampa-sized task of adjusting the circuitry beneath the dashboard to improve latency between button presses; an issue you'd noticed when piloting the ship through the tight maneuvers of Coronet City.

The child sticks by your side the whole time, watching you work and dozing off every so often, though not making babbly conversation as he usually did.

"What's up, babybug? You're quieter than usual," you wonder, detangling your hands from a mass of wires to scoop him up.

He protests weakly against your hold as if the movement is smothering him.

And then he starts to tremble, head shaking, and you watch in anticipation as you wonder what he's doing…

The child sneezes. Not just once, but twice, three times in a row. It clicks at last, why he's been kinda sleepy, a little bit cranky, and grumbling like a short-circuited battle droid.

"Oh no," you groan, holding him out in front of you in disbelief. "You're sick!"

You're heading down into the fresher in an instant, rummaging through the medicine cabinet in hopes of finding something to ease his lethargy. A bolt of guilt and panic strikes through you when you turn up empty-handed.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner, babybug," you apologize, looking down at the kid as he stares at you with half-open eyes.

"Lots of liquids and rest for you, kiddo. And tarine tea, I'm sure we have some left," you reassure him, heading to the food crate to brew up a soothing hot beverage.

"You'll be better in no time." you smile down at him, spinning around on your hip and earning a weak smile from the green baby. Trying to convince both him and yourself that he’ll recover without medicine.

Except, he doesn't get better. Rather, things take a turn for the worse.

You're woken in the middle of sleep to the child's cries, and he doesn't settle again for nearly half a Bespin day cycle.

As you go up the ladder to sneak to your hammock, finally relieved that you can catch some more Z’s, he awakens and the crying starts again.

Hopeless, you collapse onto Din’s cot, child in your arms. You sigh at the solace of sitting on something cushioned, after spending hours pacing the room and cradling from the floor.

Your hand reaches out, smoothing across the surface of the bed, and you soften.

You think back to your conversation long ago, when he'd offered to let you sleep in his cot and you'd denied it, partly due to how cold the hold was, but also due to your utter shyness and embarrassment of feeling so deeply for the man you were certain felt nothing back.

Things were different, now. You're almost certain Din had upped the temperature in the hold, because since that day it hadn't been anywhere near as frigid. No, it was just right, and the cot was soft and filled with pelts and blankets, as if it were an invitation to dive in and cozy up.

How nice it would be to lay here and rest your eyes…

You're passed out in Mando's bed in mere minutes, curled up in a ball with the kid snoring softly in your arms.

Yet it seems no amount of tea and naps can heal the child, his condition worsening as you become more and more concerned.

After ten Bespin day-night cycles you break, looking down at the sickly kid as you clutch the comlink in your hand.

He said not to reach out unless it was an emergency. And, well, looking down at the green-gray tone of the kid’s wrinkly skin, you reckoned it was.

With shaky hands you bring the comlink up to your mouth, trying to maintain a steady tone as you talk.

"Mando, y'there?" you call out into the void, and in return all you hear is silence.

"I— sorry to bother you, but the kid, he's sick. I— I don't know what to do." you're stuttering all over the place, the panic of this entire scenario seeping in. Wasn’t Mando meant to be back already? He said he’d only be gone a few days.

"Could you bring some medicine when you return? Bacta, symoxin, and maybe some hydration tablets? We're all out."

You keep the comlink up to your mouth, awaiting the rich tones of his voice to come through the speaker, but they don't.

He's probably right in the middle of something and can't reply for now.

It's okay, you can wait. You place the comlink on the little shelf in Din’s cot and curl up inside, throwing a pelt over you and the kid for warmth.

The child wouldn't fall asleep without you right next to him, so sleeping in Din’s bed is absolutely necessary, you tell yourself. Definitely no other reason you'd want to be laying in here, inhaling the formidable fragrance of your Mandalorian.

You bury your face in his pillow, inhaling deeply, as you fall asleep dreaming of running your fingers through featherlight locks.

Piercing screams break through the darkened hold.

You awake with a start, finding your arms empty. Clambering into an upright position, you fumble for the light switch, finding the kid on the floor pacing confused circles.

"S'okay, you're alright…" you try to soothe, picking up the child and rocking him sleepily. But his wails don't subside, going as far as to grab the pendant of your necklace, almost pulling it clean off with his weak desperation to seek help, to feel better.

"Maker, babybug… You're in a bad way," you whisper, tears welling in your eyes. You reach for the comlink, seeing if there were any attempts to reach out to you, any messages left unanswered.

None.

A pit the weight of beskar weighs heavy in your chest, and you wrack your brains for your plan B, C, and more, anything other than the last resort.

There are none. With no way of knowing when the Mandalorian will get back, and no clue to why he's not answering you, there's only one thing left to do.

Your eyes bore into the side door of the ship, as a mixture of dread and agitation douse you. You take one more look down at the kid, placing a soft kiss on his fuzzy head, and your mind is made.

Din wouldn’t answer the comlink. You had no idea when he’d return, and you couldn’t afford to wait.

No, you had to leave the ship, find a healer, and get some medicine for the child.

You get dressed quickly, slipping on your boots and slinging the baby-carrying bag over your shoulder.

Reaching into the cot, you grab one of Mando's spare capes that you'd been sleeping with and throw it over you for anonymity.

With the push of a button, the side door opens and gives way to the ramp down, and you step out into the foggy air of dawn on Cloud City.

---

He was foolish to have not seen it coming.

That’s what the Mandalorian told himself over and over, the bitterness of the truth the only thing keeping him moving forward.

Going into the Bespin mines was not supposed to be a part of this hunt, but when he’d been fed what he assumed to be a tip leading directly to the quarry, he couldn’t offer up the opportunity.

What he was met with instead was an ambush.

A dozen imperial remnants, waiting for him to stumble into their territory like a sarlacc does a dewback.

He’d gotten away, though barely. The pitch-black of the mines was disorienting, their winding tunnels brewing the perfect cocktail of disaster that ended up with Mando being jumped by the stormtroopers.

But hey, at least he’d gotten the quarry.

“‘S what you get for going after an ex-imperial warlord…” he grunts aloud, his train of thought breaking out into the crisp morning. The reality in his head blurred with the one before him, as his vision swam with the pain.

The cut on his leg was warm and wet, but that’s all it was to him right now. He had no time for injuries— he had to carry back this body to the Crest, make sure you and the kid were okay, and get the kriff off this maker-forsaken planet.

Mando turns a sharp corner from a back alley to a side street, heading in what he hopes is the right direction to the ship. A sharp pain shoots up the entirety of his left leg, ankle to groin, and he buckles, nearly dropping the quarry in the process.

A passerby turns onto the street and gasps at the sight of him, scuttering away. Mando reacts slowly, too slowly for a supposed Mandalorian fighter.

Shit, this was no good. He was meant to be quick at this— smooth, discreet. And here he was, stumbling through side streets with a body slung over his shoulder, scaring the locals.

He grits his teeth, forcing himself to stand up straight and march on. The only thing keeping him going is the thought of you.

The sanctity of the Razor Crest comes not a moment too late, and once Mando’s shoved the quarry into the carbonite chamber.

His beskar-clad shoulders relax, body untensing for the first time in days. He's vaguely aware of the ache in his thigh, the sticky wetness gluing his pants to his skin, but he can’t even begin to think of it.

Not until he's made sure you’re alright.

"Cyar'ika," Mando calls up the ladder, mouth twitching with an expectant smile as he waits to see you lean over the ladder railing to look down at him, ready to shed the persona of the Mandalorian and become Din again "I'm back."

No response. Strange, Mando thinks, but perhaps you're taking a loth-cat nap in that chair of yours. Mando calls once more, and when he’s met with silence again he ascends the ladder with a struggle, stepping into the cockpit and looking to his left.

But the cockpit is empty. And so is your hammock, and the back room.

Mando tunes into his comlink at once, and is immediately disturbed by the static that emits from the speaker integrated into his helmet. Running some quick diagnostics, it dawns on him that his embedded comlink is broken— destroyed on Corellia, he realizes, during the blast.

And Mando, well, he panics. The entire ship, devoid of both you and the kid, and your one connection to each other broken. He tenses up, jaw clenching in an effort to stop his head from spinning as the pain in his leg worsens, rivaled only by the jolt of his heart.

From there he’s on autopilot, sweeping the ship for any sign of a break-in or altercation, only to find himself more concerned to see that everything is as it was.

Until he checks the weapons cabinet, noticing everything in its place except for your pistol.

It hits him, then. You did the one thing he’d asked, no, told you not to do. For your safety—for fear of more Imperial remnants lurking in the city undetected, for the sheer sickening thought of you and the kid being put in harm’s way.

You’d left the ship, and the realization makes Mando’s blood run colder than carbonite.

There’s no time to ask himself why, or how, or where the hoth you had gone. His mind is running at the speed of light as he throws himself out of the Crest, letting adrenaline take care of the rest.

Once away from the landing pad and in the main shipyard he starts to search, body stone-still as his eyes frantically scan the yard, hoping to find you amongst the groups of people scattered across the vast space. But the sight of you and the kid is nowhere to be seen.

Bitter bile hits the back of Mando's throat, threatening to make him lose his head completely. No. He can’t let his emotions take control of him right now. The Mandalorian’s going to do the one thing he's kriffing good at doing.

He's going to hunt you and the child down.

Switching to the footprint vision on his helmet, Mando begins studying the hundreds of pairs of prints scattered across the ground, the noise of his mind drowning out as he gives in to the primal instinct to hunt.

He thinks of the way you move, the lithe, light steps you take, and of the laced leather boots you wear, the thin soles leaving an imprint as dainty as the kisses you pressed to his lips.

With that in mind, finding you was almost easy. He locks onto the trail of prints leading out of the shipyard and to the city center, and he starts to track.

It eases him to see the way you tread, your measured steps indicating no sign of a struggle or hurry. And with no pair of footprints following you, Mando’s worries of you being taken are all but dispersed.

But the low droning threat of Imperial remnants hangs over him.

The day is only just beginning, and the once-empty streets Mando skulked through with the bounty have become home to city-dwellers and tourists alike. Their hushed whispers and fearful ogles don’t go unnoticed, the discomfort of seeing a Mandalorian in the open seeping into his bones.

Regular people shouldn’t be seeing this— they shouldn’t have to, but right now he cares so little about the rest of the galaxy, not when everything he cares for is teetering on the edge of being lost.

Your steps lead him to a cobbled square, a strip of green grass outlining a small fountain in the middle, and it’s the first time Mando pauses

His head tilts curiously as he notices that you'd walked up to the fountain, taking a seat on the stone and staying there for a while. In his mind's eye, he imagines you crouching by the water as the child splashes in it gleefully.

The footprints that walk away from the fountain are much fresher than those before, no more than an hour old, telling him he was hot on your tail.

Mando chases the ghost of you for a little while longer, your steps getting ever-so-fresh as a thin sheen of sweat glistens his face as he hunts you down. Beyond the sickening anxiety and dread of not knowing where, or why, you and the kid left the Crest, is this twisted little part of him that enjoys tailing you.

He tries to squash it down, just as he had tried to crush his feelings for you, but he knows exactly how that went. No, seeing the traces of you spread across this sprawling city, the little pieces of personality and intent you'd left behind with each step you took, it made the Mandalorian feel closer to you in a whole other way. Curiosity strikes him as he wonders just what a real hunt for you would be like.

At last, the footsteps lead into a street in the heart of the city, and Mando finally lays eyes on you. He breathes in so deep, and it's like the sight of you injects life back into Mando. You're so radiant from afar, bouncing the kid on your hip as you speak to a stranger outside a great domed building that Mando recognizes as the city medical center.

The urge to stride over to you and sweep you up, carrying you back off to the Crest, is stronger than ever, but Mando doesn't give in to that will. No, he's not quite ready to stop playing this game yet.

Instead he stays rooted on the spot, and watches you from afar, awaiting your next move and drinking in the sight of you. His body sways slightly, pain searing in his bleeding leg, but he bites down the pain with a pound on his stomach in an attempt to distract.

The Mandalorian watches. He waits. He indulges in the hunt.

---

You feel his presence before you see him. It's as if the air around you shifts, and goosebumps prickle on your skin.

It feels the same way it used to when the bounty hunter would walk into your cantina. A stranger to you, then. Nothing more than a patron with a proclivity for bounty hunting that you found yourself inexplicably drawn to.

You draw your eyes away from the healer that's giving you tips on how best to treat the child's condition, studying your surroundings watchfully. Looking out for that tell-tale sign of shiny armor.

Nothing.

It's not long until you say your goodbyes to the healer, thanking them profusely as they hand over extra disinfectant wipes and bacta-patches, reminding you to keep good hygiene in your living conditions.

The child had been diagnosed with a nasty bacterial virus that caused a quick deterioration, and you soon realize such a thing had to be picked up on Corellia. You feel awful for the kid, holding him extra close in his little bag on your side, but the medicine you carry in a satchel gives you hope that the kid will make a speedy recovery.

The sun was high in the sky, indicating you'd spent a good few hours away from the ship—longer than you'd hoped or expected. Your eyes were dry and limbs tense from being on high alert the entire time, hand resting subtly on your blaster pistol as you scanned your surroundings for this unknown threat Mando wanted to protect you from.

You turn down a back street and start making your way back to the ship, dead-set on locking yourself in the safety of the Razor Crest and running some diagnostics on the comlink connection with Mando—

There's the sweeping sound of a cape. The glint of something reflective in your vision. And then a creaking glove, as a firm yet gentle hand lands onto your shoulder.

“Don’t you ever—“ the hand on your shoulder tightens, as the body behind leans into you “don't you ever…” his voice cracks, and your heart pangs at how deeply wounded he sounds “Scare me like that again,”

And then he steps into your sight, the Mandalorian, your Mando, and your whole body sighs and freezes up at once, realization hitting you like a punch in the gut.

“D—Mando,” you stammer, hand reaching to grab him by the forearm, longing to feel the weight of him beneath you “I can explain—“

“Not here,” he grits, and your breath catches in your throat as you notice how ragged his voice is. Fuck, he was really shaken up.

Of course he was. You did the one thing he asked you not to. You can scarcely imagine what pain you’ve put him through.

His arm wraps around your shoulders and presses you close to him, taking the kid out of your arms and walking back to the ship. Holding you so tightly, as if he feared you'd escape from his hold with a gust of wind.

Arriving at the ship is like finding an oasis in the desert. The Mandalorian slows to a halt, holding out a hand as he indicates you walk up the ramp, always the gentleman.

Moving past him, you hear his breathing is rattled, pent-up with the thrill of the hunt and terror of your disappearance. It’s enough to break a man, yet here he stands.

The child is fast asleep, and you pray that his slumber will be a restful and healing one, as you lay him in his little floating cradle and close the button to ensure nothing wakes him.

The gangplank begins to close, and you await with bated breath as the final sounds of the Razor Crest sealing off to the outside world meet your ears. Only then are you and the Mandalorian alone.

You can't ignore it, how charged the air is. Thick with tension. You're anxious to turn around, to see how much you hurt the Mandalorian by disappearing.

Sucking in a deep breath, you turn on your heel, and you're surprised to find that he's standing just behind you, leaning up against the wall with his arms folded as if he doesn't have a care in the world.

He takes up so much kriffing space, both physically and mentally—the hold of the ship looking so narrow compared to his broad armored body, your mind running amok with sensation: the press of leather and beskar to your skin, taste of tongue, vibration of satisfaction as he hums against your lips.

Not yet. First, you had some explaining to do.

"Din,” you murmur, stepping forward and gazing up into the visor with all the sincerity you can muster. “The child is sick—he was getting worse by the hour. I didn’t know what else to do,” your eyes start to burn with the threat of tears, and you have to bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

You're waiting for a sign, any indication of what he feels towards you and the situation.

So when he unfolds his arms, gently clasping your shoulders and pulling you into his hold, you relax. You hear him make a small noise beneath the helmet, part sigh, part hum, but you’re too caught up in the way his large gloved palm cradles your head to notice that something’s off.

"You…" Din slurs, and he's holding onto you tighter, leaning into you more intensely.

"Will be the death of me, mesh'la."

Words you've heard before, but in a vastly different context.

The unbreakable Mandalorian sags, his entire body weight melting into your arms.

You cry out breathlessly, hands scrambling to hold his arms. He's still conscious, but his breath is leaving his body in shallow, irregular puffs. With a struggle, you stumble to a crate where you ease him down in a seated position.

"Where are you hurt, Din? Tell me." you're trying to keep your voice low and steady, but the fear that courses through your veins sends your body into overdrive. You've never seen him in such a way, he's the Mandalorian for maker’s sake, your strong, stoic, tall, undefeatable bounty hunter.

To see him hurt and swimming in and out of consciousness sickens you to the core.

Your hands press to his thighs, trying to grasp his waning focus, and you notice as he winces at the touch. Looking down, it’s a mystery to you how you didn’t see it.

Deep red soaking into his pants, caking it. The tear of his trousers, a deep cut poking out underneath.

"Kriff, Mando, how long have you been walking around like this?" you lament, turning towards the medicine cabinet in hopes of finding something, anything, to stop the bleeding and get him to the medcenter in one piece.

But Din has other thoughts, his hand latching onto your wrist as he pulls you back to him.

"Cauter...izer…" he spits out, as if each breath is far too painful. Your face contorts at the word.

"No, Mando, you need to get to the medcenter—"

"N’ get some stupid dr—oid to patch me up?" he grits, fists creaking under the strain of leather “No—need y-you to do this,”

You look down at his clenched fists, at the blood that oozes out his thigh. Bile gnaws the back of your throat at the sight of seeing the man you cared so deeply for in such a state.

Despite his ailments he doesn’t cease to make you swoon, hand reaching to cup you by the cheek as he speaks in one labored breath.

“I b-believe in you.”

His words give you the strength you need as you head to the weapons cabinet and take out the cauterizer.

"At least let me clean the wound first." you murmur, placing the tool beside him as you make a beeline for the medicine cabinet.

When you come back a minute or two later, arms full of sterile bandages and disinfectant, your eyes catch the way the Mandalorian’s shoulders are slumped against the frame of the ship. He’s so still, the curved steel of his armor blending in perfectly to the surroundings.

The only sign of life is the faint movement of his chest, the too-slow rise and fall as he struggles to take each breath.

“Din? You still with me?” your voice is weaker than you’d hope, chest tightening as you wait for a sign that he’s conscious. Ever so slowly he raises his hand, giving you an okay sign, and your nerves are eased a little.

You get to work right away, kneeling before him and organizing your materials. Gingerly, you reach up to the wound on his thigh, noting how dangerously close it was to an important artery. If the attacker had got him just a couple of inches higher… You shake off the thought, taking a clean cloth and sterile water and preparing to flush the wound before disinfecting and dressing.

The act soon proves hard, however, as you struggle to do the job with the torn fabric getting in the way.

“I don’t know if I can do this with your pants in the way,” you admit, and are met only with the silent buzz of the hold in return.

“Din? I need you to take your pants off,” your voice is but a murmur, hand reaching for his uninjured leg to place a palm on the knee. No response. Kriff, he was out cold. Meaning you were going to have to do this yourself, and fast.

Your hands go for the safest option first— his blaster, tucked safely into his gun belt. You place the prized pistol on the floor, and after unclipping it, the gun belt soon follows.

His legs are littered with holsters and pockets strapped to his pants, containing a myriad of weaponry that you remove methodically, taking note of just how much ammo he carried on him at all times. It was enough to supply a squadron.

With the accessories taken off, you move onto the bulky beskar thigh plates, taking extra precaution to remove the plate off his injured leg.

You pause. Inhale shakily. Letting it dawn on you that there was only one thing left to remove.

Face burning, you reach for Din’s belt, undoing the buckle and sliding it apart. The metal clinks against the crate behind him, ringing into the silence and harmonizing with the buzzing in your ears.

Shaky fingers unbutton the button of Din’s pants, taking hold of the zip and slowly dragging it down. With every move you pause, looking up to the expressionless helmet in hopes of seeing him stir. Still, nothing. You didn’t have the time to stop like this—you needed to stop the bleeding by cauterizing his wound now.

In one smooth movement, you slide down his pants, peeling it off the wound and letting the fabric pool where his boots meet his calves.

His skin is tan and hot to the touch, and there's so much of it to see. The blood of the wound has partially crusted over, telling you the injury is not fresh, but it's still weeping crimson.

You pause, eyes meeting the visor that seems to be looking directly at you. There was no way to tell if he was looking at you, or out of it completely, but your lips part all the same, as you hope to offer some words, any words, but nothing comes.

It was hard to keep a straight head when you had the bare skin of the man you so very much desired right before you.

Instead, you lift your free hand up, placing it on the side of his helmet, wishing it were his cheek. Dreading what was to come—the pain you’d be inflicting on him.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, bringing your hand back down to steady his leg, and you let the tip of the cauterizer zap red against the flesh of Din’s thigh.

Din flinches with the first impact, shocked out of unconsciousness with a sharp gasp that pierces the modulator, but after the first shock he stills, championing through what you can only imagine is unbearable pain.

The air is filled with smoke and the smell of burning skin, but you're trying your best to not focus on any of it, trying to focus your attention on closing the wound.

Trying being the key word—you tend to him, despite your trembling hands and the sweat that creeps up the back of your neck. From your kneeled position in front of him, you have a direct line of sight of an incredibly distracting view, and it’s taking your every shroud of sense to not let your mind wander.

The edges of the knife wound aren't clean, the jagged lines forcing you to go over some parts again. When you draw the cauterizer over a particularly marred patch of flesh Din’s hand immediately reaches down to your hair, grabbing a fistfull and tugging ever so tauntingly.

A choked gasp leaves your lungs, a mix of pain and pleasure shooting down your spine.

“Osik—ni ceta,” Din’s voice is gravel and grit, raw and real, and the mysterious Mando’a words hit you somewhere deep within “I’m sorry,” he adds, in what you assume is a translation to Basic.

“Don’t be,” you utter, skin erupting in gooseflesh. You feel so warm—feverish, almost. Kriff, are you sick too?

Din’s grip in your hair loosens as he brings his hand to your chin, cupping your jaw tenderly, and the way the heat pools in your core is undeniable.

Oh. Oh. What you were feeling wasn't sickness, at least not that kind.

“So good to me,” Din drawls, the final nail in the coffin of your self-restraint, and he lets his hand slip into your locks again. His head rolls back, helmet clanging against the durasteel walls of the Crest.

You bring your palm to his thigh again, trying to steady him and you as you find it in yourself to continue.

A part of you wonders if you're able to even continue with this, your mind too distracted by the way he's holding onto you, leg tensing under your touch before you’ve even laid the cauterizer to his skin again.

At last, the wound is sealed from top to bottom.

"There," you sigh at last, placing down the cauterizer and hoping you'll never have to pick it up again. You angle your head to one side, grimacing at the uneven scar that spans the side of his muscled thigh. "It's not pretty, but at least you won't bleed out."

"Don't need pretty…" Din mumbles, voice croaky "when I've got you."

You can't help it, with his hand in your hair and yours on his thigh— you’re so unbearably close. You blush from head to toe, the burn of desire strong in your core.

“Is this a dream?” Din breathes, and you tilt your head to the side, flustered and confused.

“Must be,” he elaborates; hand sliding out of your hair to stroke your cheek “‘cause I’ve got the sweetest thing in the galaxy kneeling before me.”

The deep shade of red you turn rivals the Tatooine sunsets.

“You’re delirious,” you retort, scrambling for any reprise from the way he fills your senses— towering over you, leather on your face, your mouth dry from the overdose of Din Djarin.

You reach for the bandages to dress the wound, and as you lay them on his skin he jolts in pain at the motion, but takes it all the same.

“So fucking worked up—“ he confesses, starting to run his mouth “Kriffing quarry ambushes me, fucking imps—coming back here to find you gone—hunting you across this w-wretched city,”

“Imps? The bounty was an empire remnant?” You catch on. Din freezes, realizing what he’s let slip. Your head starts to spin at the implication. Imperial remnants on Bespin? The last time you saw the Empire was back on your family's homestead…

“I didn’t wanna worry you, cyar’ika.” He confesses, voice so heavy with the weight of guilt.

“That’s why I couldn't leave the ship?” You ask, voice weak as you look up at him with wide eyes “You were trying to protect me?”

Din tilts his head down, visor firmly locked on you. Beskar gaze sinking into your soul— and then he nods, visor glinting in the low light of the hull, and your heart melts. No, implodes.

It implodes into a mess of emotion and feeling, merging with the lust that courses through your veins to create an intoxicating cocktail of wanting without thinking.

He'd remembered what you went through at the hands of the Empire, that time you opened up to him beneath the stars on Seolona. It wasn't something that left his mind, and this action spoke to you about the volumes he went to protect you.

Which in any other scenario would make your heart melt, but right now when you're already simmering and burning with want, it leads you to act in another way entirely.

“You take such good care of me,” you utter sultrily, both your hands grazing up to rest higher on his thigh.

“Now, let me take care of you.”

“Wh—“ Din goes to ask, but his words are cut into a choked groan by your wandering hands, as you bring them up to cup his already hard cock, rubbing it through the thin fabric of his undergarments. Oh, so he really is worked up.

His gloved hands start to roam, sliding down your neck before latching onto your chest to squeeze your tits, thumb brushing over taut clothed nipples.

"Haar'chak… How can I ever focus on a hunt again?” He breathes, and his voice is desperately ragged “How can I, when I know this is back here waiting for me?"

"Mm, you can never go on a hunt again." you reply, gasping as he gently pinches your nipples, sending pleasure shooting to your core.

"Or I could hunt you, instead," he utters, and you’re gone, desire taking over you completely.

You pull his cock free, gripping it with both hands and pumping teasingly. You look at it with wide eyes, seeing his veins and ridges in all their glory—the most you’ve ever seen of him, here now before you. You lick your lips in preparation, knowing fitting him all in will be a challenge.

"F-fuck, mesh'la…" He’s stuttering, pleading with you. “Yes—no—please—“

Your tongue extends, dragging a brutal, drooling path from the base to the tip of his thick erection. You stop just shy of the head, choosing instead to drag your thumb across the tip, smearing the precum across the agonizingly sensitive skin.

Din’s trying to form a full sentence, something about stopping so he can fuck you instead, but he’s barely able to get a word out, and there’s no way in hoth you’re letting him lift a finger in his current state.

Instead you take charge, sliding your lips around his cock, taking him and slowly sinking down as far as your gag reflex will go, and Din loses his senses completely.

Your mouth is sliding up and down his length, hot and wet and plush, undoing him with each brutal stroke. You’re so wet that it’s soaked through your underwear, cunt clenching around nothing as you try your best to take all of him down your throat.

You can’t count the times you’d dreamed of this moment, of seeing him storm in from a hunt and tend to his wounds in the corner of the hold. Silently and stoically bandaging his countless injuries as you watched from the corner of your eye, longing to take care of him in every way imaginable.

Tears form in the corner of your eyes, sweat prickling on your skin as you kneel before the beskar-clad Mandalorian. Completely undone from the effect you have on him.

"Stars— look at you." Din groans to himself, knuckles skirting across your cheek as he strokes your face "taking my cock—so—well." His longing words only egg you on and you quicken the pace, throat relaxing as you manage to take him all the way down in one go.

"Fuck!" Din flinches, finding the mental strength to slide out of your mouth, chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath "I don't know how much longer I can last, cyar'ika, you're too much—"

"Then let go." you whisper up to him, and you're taking his rock-hard cock into your mouth again, sucking and running your hands up and down his length in a ruthless rhythm.

Your words must have an otherworldly effect on him, because with just a couple more strokes his hips are stuttering, fucking into your mouth and releasing his hot load as it shoots down your throat.

You close your eyes, riding the feeling of your Mandalorian coming undone wash over you, relishing in knowing that you were the reason. When he slides his cock out you close your mouth, not hesitating to swallow his cum as your cunt clenches again.

"Osik—did you just?" Din asks, tucking himself back in as he watches you intently "Maker, you're perfect."

You bite back a smile, rising to stand and look Din straight in the visor.

"Your turn, mesh'la," his voice is gravel, thumb dragging across your lips so tauntingly that it's a miracle you don't combust on the spot.

"Not now," you protest weakly, holding onto the last shred of sanity you had "we should get off this planet first,"

Din takes that as a sign, attempting to stand despite his injured condition.

"Nuh-uh," you insist, pressing your palms to his knees "You rest. I'll get us up in the air."

Before he can debate it you're climbing up the ladder, ready to lead the Crest off this planet and into the sanctity of hyperspace.

---

“A little to your left?” You ask, rag in hand.

Din complies, helmet turning so the light perfectly hits the spot of dirt you were buffing out.

When you told Din not to lift a finger after his injury, you meant it. So when it came to cleaning his armor from top to toe, you all but insisted.

There you stand, between his legs as he sits on a crate pulled up to the workbench, the spotlight attached to the bench lighting up your view from behind.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he says for the thousandth time, his crutch for being a lone wolf grating on you in the most charming way.

“Really? And let the most infamous bounty hunter of the Outer Rim walk around looking like a rusted service droid?” You tease, bringing the rag down to place a hand on your hip for dramatic effect “Not a chance.”

Din lets out a weak chuckle, hand reaching for your hip to stroke it soothingly.

“I appreciate it. Truly,”

You hold his gaze, letting yourself feel the true depth of emotions you now had for Din. It was already so different from the passionate teasing on Naboo. So tender. What you had was vast like the plains, deep like the valleys, layered like the mountains.

You only break your gaze to look down at the child slumbering softly in Din’s arms. He’d been asleep since your departure from Bespin, and you imagined he would sleep for a while longer as he healed. The quiet gave you a chance to explain to Din all that happened in the week he was gone, the desperation that led to you leaving the ship.

You glance at them both, father and son sitting before you, and your heart softens at the sight of them. Both beaten up a little, but also stronger than ever. You were gonna be sure of that.

“I can’t reach this spot,” you note, tapping at a mark on the chin of the helmet that just won’t budge. Din brings a hand to run over it, feeling the dirt caked into the groove of his helmet, and nods understandingly.

“Maybe if I removed it,” he suggests, and you’re instinctually turning to face the wall, awaiting the song that is the airlock of his helmet disengaging.

The sound greets your ears willingly, and then Din’s hand comes into view, placing the helmet in front of you on the workspace. Even after the times he’d removed his helmet around you, it never got any less starkly intimate.

You get to work straight away, and it seems the removal of the beskar barrier lets Din speak his mind more freely, his melodic unmodulated voice meeting your ears.

“When I first noticed you and the kid were missing from the ship, I felt so lost. Like for the first time in a long time I didn’t know which way to turn,”

Your chest tightens. This topic is a heavy one, and you wish you could turn around to comfort him through it.

“But when I started hunting, tracking you through the city and inching closer and closer, it dawned on me. I know exactly what I’d do if I couldn’t find you.”

He pauses, and the silence is too much to bear.

“What would you do?” You ask, awaiting the answer with baited breath.

“I’d tear it all apart for you, cyar’ika. Cloud City, Bespin, kriff, the entire galaxy. I’d do anything just to make sure you and the kid were safe.”

Your motions slow as the beskar polishes to a shine. Placing the buffing rag on the table, you stare into the visor of the helmet, surrendering to the feeling of being watched, protected from all around.

The tears well in your eyes of their own accord. To be so strongly cared about… the feeling was all-encompassing.

Din’s confession, however, isn’t done there.

“But then I had to stop myself. Because the more I followed in your footsteps, the more I came to realize something,”

“Oh?” You reply with curiosity, eager to hear more.

You reach for the workbench spotlight, turning it off in hopes of shrouding the hold in darkness, allowing you to turn around and press your lips to his as you wish so deeply to.

But you forget about the dim lighting that runs the length of the floor, backlighting Din and casting his shadow on the wall in front of you.

You look up and see the silhouette of him, unhelmeted, unabashed. His head tilts up, glancing up at the shadow he casts, and you see the soft curls of his hair shift at the movement. The curls you had run your hands through, but never seen.

There’s a moment where it seems the entire galaxy holds its breath. Is this allowed, you want to ask? Does this go against The Way? Din’s so still, you wonder if he has those same questions, too.

You’re ready to avert your eyes, to pretend this split-second view never happened, but then he’s sitting up straighter and not saying a thing, and you ease into the moment.

This is okay. Seeing the outline of Din, but not the details. The shape of him and the space he occupied in your life was all that mattered.

Din clears his throat, and you’re drawn back to your conversation.

“I realized I wouldn’t have to do any of that. Because you’re a fighter. Flying the ship, acing combat training, handling weaponry. Thinking fast in dire situations. Hoth, you can even do first aid,”

He’s pulling you back and into him, then, his plush lips meeting the juncture of your neck in a tender kiss that leaves your skin tingling.

You close your eyes and turn, letting your lips meet his in the embrace you were longing for. His tongue tastes of salt and a tang of blood from his injuries, melding with the sweetness and sincerity of the moment.

“Ner’atin’ika,” Din murmurs into your lips between kisses, and your desire to understand more Mando’a burns brighter than ever.

“My tough, tireless little fighter.”

Notes:

this is probably my favorite chapter so far because CAUTERIZER SCENE WOOO. huge shoutout to the one and only rough day for the major inspo on that scene.

Chapter 15: Hyperspace Lane to Nowhere

Summary:

With Din and babybug being injured, its up to you to take care of them. Once he's healed, Din has something in mind to make it up to you...

Notes:

HAPPY HOLIDAYS! This chapter is soft but also spicy. Hurt/comfort and domestic fluff galooore

The tendrils of hyperspace greet you like a spindly hug, soothing your tense body and racing mind and unwinding all the knots and cricks.

It hits you then just how tired you are, not having gotten a proper night's sleep in days. You only mean to rest your eyes, but you end up passing out in the cockpit chair before you even make it to your hammock.

You awake with a start, looking at the cockpit dashboard and realizing you’ve only been asleep for a few hours. You head down into the darkened hold, met only by quiet, Din and child nowhere in sight.

You get to work gathering the medicine you need to give the kid, pouring bacta powder into a bowl and adding water to create a gross-looking paste that is easily digestible.

As you approach the alcove where the baby's hanging bed lies, you find Din slumbering, lying on his back in the cot. You try your damndest to creep over quietly and not wake him, but it's no use trying to sneak past a Mandalorian.

"Where are we?" his gravely voice breaks the silence once you're stood at the foot of the cot. His helmeted head is by your thighs, and you're very much aware of that fact, voice deliciously sleepy as he drawls his words low and slow.

"Hyperspace," you say simply, and the way that Din's body eases at your one word sends little flutters straight to your heart.

"Where to?" he inquires further, an edge of alertness appearing in his voice. You can tell by the way he slurs his words that he's still out of it, weakened by his injury.

"Nowhere,” you shrug “which gives the kid—and you—plenty of time to rest," you add.

You feel Din's unwavering steely gaze bore into you from below, and you sense he’s mulling over the situation. The man who chased bounties across hostile planets for weeks without rest nor sleep, was now having to do the one thing you’d never seen him willingly do. Rest.

But Din’s care for the child outweighs his every Mandalorian instinct, so when he nods subtly, you know he’s come to an inner agreement.

With the bacta formula fully mixed, you gently wake the sleeping kid and start to spoon-feed him the concoction. He's still drowsy from the meds the healers gave him back on Bespin, so getting him to open his tiny mouth is a challenge. It's no wonder Din always asked for a small spoon at the cantina.

"How's your leg?” you murmur softly, hand reaching down to skirt your knuckles across the forehead of his helmet as if it were skin "You lost a lot of blood, walking around with an injury like that,"

Din lets out a rattling sigh, looking down as his hand reaches below to his bandaged wound, touching it gingerly and subtly flinching on impact.

"I'll be fine," he slurs, and then his helmet turns back to you as he says his next words slowly and seriously "All thanks to you, cyar'ika."

You can tell he tries to say the words with complete lucidity, to fight against the drowsiness and thank you properly.

"Anything for you," you confess breathily, your whole chest going into the words. The sigh that leaves Din's chest is soft, stricken by the raw honesty that still sometimes felt totally new to you after dancing around your feelings for each other for so long.

"And besides, it was nice to finally see what was beneath all that leather and beskar," you flash a teasing smile, scrunching your nose for added effect. The breath that leaves his chest this time is softer, broken only by a small chuckle that fades into a sigh.

Din's head then tilts ever so slightly to one side, and even through the beskar you can feel his eyes on you again. Staring, no, gazing, with a certain intensity that doesn't fail to send gooseflesh rippling across your skin.

You bite your lip, focusing on spoon-feeding the child in a bid to subdue yourself.

"What did you do?" you ask, very much aware that Din's visor was trained on your every move "When you returned from the hunt and we weren't here?"

"... Panicked. Was sick to my stomach." Din confesses, and his words drive a knife through your heart. Your worst nightmare.

"Maker, Din, I can't even begin to express how sorry I am,"

"Hey, s'okay," you barely register his words over the sound of your worrying.

"I tried to reach you but something was up with the—"

"Helmet comlink...'s busted. Didn't realize 'till… I tried... to get in touch." Longer sentences are a struggle for the stoic Mandalorian, making him pause to catch his breath just to get through his words.

"All that matters is... you kept our little... womp rat safe." he finalizes, and his words eat your worries up whole. Our little womp rat. His phrasing doesn't go unnoticed by you.

And then, as if to sweeten those words, the Mandalorian's bare hands are trailing around the backs of your knees, tracing a path up your thighs.

Maker, it takes all your might not to moan at the bare touch of his smooth, calloused fingers on your skin.

"Want a taste?" you ask Din, holding out a spoon of the gross bacta-paste. You can tell by the way he tilts his head that he takes it you're not just talking about what’s on the spoon.

"I have all the medicine I need right here," he replies lazily, and when you look up to pop the spoon in the kid's mouth you feel Din's lips press a kiss to your bare thigh.

Maker, how did he take the helmet off so quickly? Your gaze shoots up to the ceiling, squeezing your eyes shut for good measure.

But the single kiss is all you get, satiating your need for his gentle touch while igniting the fire in your core all over again.

"Get some more rest, you must still be delirious," you quip, using your sleeve to dab the kid's mouth clean.

"Only for you, mesh'la," Din drawls, voice modulated by the helmet once more. You look down at him with narrowed eyes and a smile.

You turn away from the bunk, ready to clean up and try to get some rest, but Din’s hand hooks onto the back of your thigh to reel you back to him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, baritone voice sending shockwaves through your body.

"T-to clean up, and then hit the hammock—*

“You’re sleeping in here with me.”

You choke on the air, embarrassingly flustered at just how smooth he’s being.

“But, I—it’s your cot—“ you protest weakly, as if sleeping next to Din isn't your idea of heaven.

“My cot? That didn’t stop you from being in here while I was gone,” he manages to slur in one full breath.

Kriff, he noticed?

He's a bounty hunter, of course he noticed.

Din props himself up on an elbow, shifting to the side to give you just enough room to squeeze in beside him. Your eyes glaze over the tiny, narrow space of the cot—to Din’s unarmored body, so broad and clothed in dark layers.

You want nothing more than to press yourself between the two.

Stepping out of your boots, you slip into the sleeping alcove and slide in feet-first so your head lies next to Din’s. He reacts to your presence immediately, a hand pulling you close to his chest at the small of your back, while his arm slides by your head for you to rest it on.

“From now on it’s our cot,” Din insists as your legs tangle with his, the heat radiating off him in waves. You press your face into his chest, inhaling all the goodness you’ve come to associate with him. And you nod.

“Ours,” you repeat, and the confirmation only makes him pull you closer. The weight of him feels so good against your body, his broadness, the space he takes up.

And while your body burns for him brighter than ever, the sheer exhaustion overrules the flames of lust, your body feeling like an empty shell that can only be filled up by a good, long sleep. Judging by the heaviness of Din's limbs and labored way he breathes, you sense he feels the same.

You steal a glance up at him, admiring the glean of the angular helmet as he pushes a button on the wall that causes the door of the cot to slide shut, shrouding the space in darkness.

At last, all is still.

The sound of the child's almost snores drifting through the enclosed alcove. The rise and fall of Din’s chest. You break the silence with a whisper, voice so soft it's almost a sigh.

“You sleep with it on?” you ask him, looking up towards the helmet again, despite not being able to see a thing. You wonder if he can see you, watching your roaming eyes and blown-out pupils through the greeny hue of night vision.

“Usually," Din replies, voice thick as treacle as sleep starts to take him already "'s a habit,” he adds, in justification.

You nod once, and nestle your head into his chest again. Breathing in deeply, the threads of his flight suit brushing your cheek. Expecting nothing more of the conversation, letting it fade away as sleep takes you.

Until Din's hand lifts from your body, and the familiar melodic sigh of the helmet releasing its airlock meets your ears.

“But sometimes it’s good… to break habits," A helmetless Din whispers, his warm breath washing over your face, and he seals the words with a tender and languid kiss.

---

An entire week passes by with Din and the child laying in the confines of their sleeping quarters, and the Razor Crest shuddering on a hyperspace lane to nowhere.

You spend your time ambling around the ship, taking on little tasks in between the times you tended to the injured child and checked up on Din.

The hold stays darkened and cool, so the three of you can enjoy mealtimes in quiet company.

Din stays in his half-awake state for those days, drifting in and out of consciousness as his body fights to heal the wound that wracked his body.

Now you were getting some distance from it, you were realizing just how close to disaster Din was. If the knife wound was just a few inches to the right... The mere thought of it sends a chill down your spine, leading you to dark thoughts you wish not to dwell on.

Instead, you throw yourself into the tranquility of hyperspace life.

Sitting on the floor below Din and the child, eating out of ration packs and drinking tarine tea, there's no place you'd rather be. As if the galaxy was one giant jigsaw puzzle, and you'd found the pieces that fit next to you.

You try to ask Din how the pain is, to take a look at the wound and assess how it was healing, but his fingers grip your wandering hands at the wrist every time, beskar boring into you as he insists you've done enough for him already.

Repeating that he owes you one, much to your protest.

You can't deny though that the days are a little lonely, the strangeness of your everyday life with Din and the child being completely flipped upside down as you sit in the cockpit alone, watching the tunnel of hyperspace with no end.

You missed your long conversations, you missed hanging out with the kid. Heck, you even missed landing on a new planet and parting ways with Din, only revel in the rush of seeing him again upon his return.

It felt selfish in a way, to feel like this when he lay healing in his cot, but your feelings couldn't be tamed. The fire that burned for the man in beskar was a fire you could not put out.

It barely helped that each night you lay together, bodies entangled as he entered a deep slumber, resting and healing while you were wired and buzzing.

One evening as you're stepping out of the fresher, hair damp, skin clean, and clad in fresh clothes, that fire burns stronger than ever.

You head to the cot, expecting Din to be resting in there as he always is, but to your surprise he's up and working in the hold.

Most of his body is blocked from view as he sits around a corner, but you notice his hands first.

The Mandalorian is ungloved and gripping onto tools, dextrous and focused. His legs are parted, knees framing the crate where he's working from, using a soldering iron on something that sends sparks flying.

You crane your neck to the side, trying to get a look at what he's fixing up, and your heart leaps out of your chest as you lock eyes with the all-too-familiar t-shaped visor and beskar.

It's his helmet. Din's working on his helmet. Which means he's not wearing it.

A little yelp escapes your lips, and you're slipping your hand over your eyes, pressing your forehead against the durasteel walls for good measure.

He must hear your reaction, because you hear Din put down the tools, stepping away from the crate and walking towards you.

There's no pneumatic hiss of his helmet being put on, making you slip another hand over your eyes for good measure.

"You see anything?" he asks, his wary voice sounding stronger than it had been this past week.

"Nothing. Just the helmet," you reassure, a little embarrassed that your startled reaction was over the one thing you looked at and spoke to every day.

He stops a few paces from you, and you turn your head to the side, trying to get a sense of how close he is.

Din lets out a deep sigh at the sight of your face, drinking in your dainty profile and the way your clothes hug the curves of your body.

"Don't turn around." his voice, so deep, so smooth without the helmet. Pure, unadulterated. Unwavering, demanding even. Fuck, his words shoot straight to your core. You nod sloppily.

"You're up," you breathe, and a small smile breaks out on your face "how are you feeling?"

Din's voice is deliciously deep, sending the entire back of your body tingling with his presence.

"Much better," he says, and then he's taking a step forward, diving into your lonely bubble of personal space to press a bare palm on the side of your arm.

You feel the warmth of his hand through your shirt, and it comforts you, grounds you.

He's practically radiating warmth, oozing dominance. Keeping you at arm's length, as if he knows how badly you want him.

"What you've done for the kid, for me, these past few days…" he pauses for a moment, and then he's wrapping both hands around your shoulders, squeezing and massaging up and down the sore flesh, tired from all the cleaning and organizing and busying you'd distracted yourself with.

“I can't even begin to describe how grateful I am," He punctuates the words with the press of his thumbs into the back of your neck, easing out the knots so tenderly. You melt into his touch, humming softly, edging on a moan.

"Vor entye. Thank you," he rumbles. His voice hits differently when he speaks Mando'a, wrapping around the words so sensually, reaching deeper levels of anticipation for him than you'd ever felt before.

Your chest blossoms with something unstoppable, and you tilt your head up ever so slightly to speak up to him as he stands behind you.

"I'd do it all again in a heartbeat," you tell him wholly, with all your chest.

Din lets out a modulated huff, as if he doesn't quite believe it, but he doesn't try to protest.

There's a moment of stillness between you, the air rich with the buzzing of chemistry and unspoken desires.

Din breaks the stillness with a kiss on the juncture of your neck, warm and soft and gentle, his hair tickling your shoulder with a featherlight touch.

If your hands weren't occupied covering your eyes, you'd bring them up and drag them through his scalp.

The kiss takes the words out of you, but when his lips leave your neck you finally manage to speak.

"I missed you," you confess, surprised at your own breathlessness "I mean, I know you've been right here—but while you've been recovering, it's as if… if it…" you hesitate, trying to find the words.

"I mean, we'd only just started to…" you stammer, not able to find the words for the bubbling emotion inside of you, as the blush burns furiously on your cheeks.

"I know," Din murmurs, his voice as smooth and sweet as treacle in your ear "I feel the exact same, mesh'la. Being so close to you, but not able to…" and he hesitates too, but he doesn't need to say the word for you to know what he means.

The breaths sucks out from your lungs as his hands wander from your arms to your torso, tracing delicate patterns along your waist and hips. Touch.

"I've had a lot of time to think these past few days," Din continues, and there's something dark in his voice that sends a lick of heat in your belly.

His hands are traveling lower, now, wrapping around to your front where they rest by your lower stomach.

"Oh?" you say, feeling like you're gasping for air "what have you been thinking about?"

"About how I'm going to make things up to you," he murmurs darkly, but the meaning is lost to you.

"Din, no," you start, sighing defeatedly, "I told you before, you don't need to make anything up to me, I did what I did because I care for you and babybug—"

Your words are cut off abruptly, as he's stepping forward and pressing the length of his body against you, burning and tense as if he's holding himself back from the precipice of snapping into lust.

"I don't think you understand," he utters, and one hand is traveling up to tug a breast free from your top, while the other slides to the waistband of your pants.

"Will you let me make it up to you?"

Oh. Oh.

If you had trouble speaking before, you're completely gone now. After only being able to gasp in reply, you manage to jerkily nod your head, your body singing and blossoming under his touch.

And Din's hands begin to roam.

His higher hand grasps your tit, cupping and squeezing it with gentle want.

The sensation nearly tears a moan out of your chest alone, and then as his other hand fumbles with your pants, unbuttoning them to slide in and press his palm onto your damp underwear, you let out a high-pitched whimper.

Maker, you needed this. Needed him.

You're leaning into his touch, trying not to writhe in pleasure and show just how desperate you are for him after not being touched for what felt like forever.

His finger slides into the side of your underwear, tracing across your soaking folds and drawing back suddenly.

"So fucking wet," Din grits, and something in his voice sounds unhinged "kriff, I— need—" he plants a brutal kiss on the juncture of your neck, and then his hands are retreating from your sensitive body, leading you to choke out a cry in protest.

But then his hands hitch onto the belt loops of your pants, and he's tearing them down to your ankles, exposing your pussy to the cool air of the hold. You step out of them, and Din pushes your legs apart to get a better view.

"Can't wait— wanted to go slow, but you're too good… too perfect," his words are tight, jaw so clenched he could crack teeth.

You hear him sink to his knees, and the next time he speaks the vibrations of his words are being breathed onto your trembling core.

"Sweet, beautiful girl, I've dreamed of you like this—for me—" he chokes, and you're ruined the moment his mouth makes contact with your slick heat.

Din plants one open-mouthed kiss, and then another, and with the third kiss he's drawing out a longing mewl deep from within you.

You lean into the wall for support, planting a palm on the cool durasteel to ground you as your head rises to meet the stars.

Three kisses is all you get, because Din then removes his mouth to bring his fingers to your cunt, stroking back and forth with his thick digits, smearing your wetness with the most obscene sound.

When his thumb hits your clit your knees buckle with the sheer pleasure, but Din's there to catch you—his strong arms wrapping around your thighs and hitching you up again.

The act alone sends electric waves to your center.

There's an odd moment of silence, that drags on for too long for Din to just be teasing, and fear strikes you for a split second as you wonder if he's changed his mind about this.

But the words that next leave his mouth tell you that's not the case whatsoever.

"I liked it, you know—chasing you through Cloud City," you can hear the smirk in his voice, and kriff, any sign of coherency on your end is long gone.

"Why—what did you… like… about it?" your mouth is dry as you try to form the words to ask, mind blank save for the electric waves of pleasure consuming your core. No thoughts, just Din.

"I'm a bounty hunter, mesh'la," he drones, planting a kiss on your bare ass to sweeten the statement "To track a quarry as sweet as you, well— I don't know what's better, hunting you down, or doing whatever I please to you after,"

His fingers slide into your slick heat, and the stars are born behind your eyes, a moan tearing from your chest at the incredible sensation.

Din's mouth is back on your heat again, tongue sliding through your folds with a dangerously slow pace, making you buck and grind your hips against his face desperately.

"Something the matter?" His baritone words are spoken right into your core, his warm breath and deep tone keeping you on the delicious edge of wanting and fulfillment.

He knows exactly what he's doing, you think to yourself, he has to. Otherwise, how could this man be getting you off so easily, even down to the tortuous teasing and dirty talk?

When you don't reply, the pad of his calloused thumb drags up from clit to slit and you cry out in pleasure. Your pelvic region feels like it's weighed down by one giant knot waiting to be unwound.

"Please, Din, faster," you whimper out, barely able to form a full sentence. So full of want, anticipation, yet empty of his fingers.

"That's what I like to hear," he utters, and boy does he deliver. Burying his face between your thighs, Din laps at you longingly, fiercely, his grip as solid as iron as his mouth works its magic on your molten center.

He eats you out like a man that hasn't eaten in weeks, with burning desperation and aching longing, such heated passion that drives you to the edge.

The most desperate noises begin to fall out of your mouth, then, unadulterated moans and hitched-breath gasps as you feel your body reaching places you've never reached before.

And all the while Din has a grip on you to rival beskar—arms wrapped around your thighs and reaching back to grip your ass, kneading the soft flesh with each lick and lap.

Angling your body upwards, Din encourages you to arch your back so he can sink his tongue deeper into your feverishly warm heat.

The way he eats you, holds you, panting to catch his breath and continuing on and on, it’s as if he’s getting just as much pleasure out of this as you are.

Which, Maker, makes it all that much hotter.

Your legs are trembling, whole body quaking and shaking and you realize in that split-second that the beautiful euphoric rush of orgasm has begun to blossom in your body.

Starting at your core, the warmth spreads from your super-sensitive clit all the way down your legs to your toes, up to your arms and fingers, and then arching up your back and settling in your scalp.

The hair-raising, tingly, melty feeling of the most intense orgasm of your life.

And Din, he knows. By the way your body moves against his face, the stuttered hitches of breath that leave your chest.

Your body freezes up one last time, and then the devastation of your orgasm hits you.

You reach your climax with an almighty, head-thrown-back moan, a cry so loud that Din's reaching up to wrap his hand across your mouth, adding a whole other dimension of pleasure.

The warm scent of his skin mixed with your juices, right beneath your nose.

The feeling of his tongue drawing pleasure out of you. The way his fingers tease at your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure that sends those delightful, almost overstimulating shocks through your body.

The sensation of riding the wave all the way down, enjoying every last bit of fleeting pleasure as the orgasm slowly seeps out of your body.

Time has no meaning when you're in the throes of such intense sensations, but at some point you find your head back in the Razor Crest, twitching beneath Din's hot mouth and calloused hands.

Slouched against the wall, your mind is totally empty, heart completely full. Feeling nothing less than pure bliss, warmth that spreads through your body and leaves you feeling warm from the inside out.

---

Din's head is resting against your thigh, and your skin is so unbelievably soft beneath his stubbled cheek.

The air is rich with the musky smell of your pleasure, and it makes him dizzy with lust. He's relieved you're so spent, clutching to the wall for dear life as you catch your breath, because he's pretty sure he'd explode if you touched any part of him right now.

His hair is plastered on his face, a mix of his sweat and yours. He plants a kiss on your leg, the soft rounded part of flesh where your cheek meets your thigh. Delighting as you twitch at the sensation, humming softly, sleepily, your voice melodic.

How incredible you are, Din thinks to himself. Sounded. Looked. Tasted. Felt.

After nearly two weeks of not being able to be close to you—first because of being on a hunt, and then being wiped out by his injury—Din truly found solace between your thighs.

And even more so after longing for your proximity for so long, fantasizing about this very moment over and over, torturing himself in his head with it as he tried so hard to push it away, it had finally come to light.

His dream had become a reality.

It was both beautiful and scary, to finally bring you to the brink of pleasure, make you feel so good that you practically melted.

A life of solace rarely left space for a closeness like this. Never had he been as close to someone as this… and never had anything ever felt like this.

It was equal parts beautiful as it was scary. A thrill that he leaned into with his whole heart.

Din feels the way you shuffle, standing up straight with your face to the wall, vision obscured from his naked face.

Eager to look into your eyes, he reaches for his helmet and slips it on, hoping you'll hear the sound and turn around.

Bleary-eyed, you turn back to look at him, your tousled hair framing your face, lips and cheeks stained pink.

Kriff, you looked so fucking beautiful. There never was a more fitting nickname for you than mesh'la.

"Tired?" Din murmurs, and when you nod in reply he's standing up and sweeping you off the ground and into his arms.

You startle at the sudden movement, resting your palms on his armored chest to steady yourself.

"I've got you," Din soothes, voice emanating through the modulator, and he carries you to the other side of the hold, opening the hatch and laying you down to rest in the cot. The child sleeps soundly in his little hammock above, rocking away peacefully.

Something flutters in Din's chest, then. It fills with air, with joy. The sight of you and the child in such a private place, resting soundly. A place the Mandalorian used to have only to himself.

Never in a billion parsecs had he imagined finding two most treasured people in the galaxy and sharing this life with them.

And then something else flutters—a sensation that blossoms into a sharp pain digging into his crotch, right above where his injury is.

Din hisses, laying a hand over his pants to check over the healing wound. The bacta was working, the injury still swollen and warm to the touch. At least it didn't hurt like a mudhorn kick as it had the day he stumbled into the ship, leaking crimson

Din collapses onto the cot beside your sleeping body. He just needs a moment to sit down, catch his breath.

He'd lost enough time to this injury already. The time to return his bounties to Karga was soon approaching.

Din rises, taking one more glance at the sight of the two of you before turning away and taking steps towards the ladder up to the cockpit.

"Don't go," you call out to him, stopping Din in his tracks.

He's heard you use that tone before. Whilst lurching into hyperspace after Tatooine, as you sat in the red-leather captain's seat of the Crest.

It was before your lips had even met, when you were still skirting around your feelings, barely knowing if the other felt the same.

Din had been near-delirious from lack of sleep and full of adrenaline from the hunt, and you'd asked him to stay in that gentle tone, setting his need for you on fire. He was aching to be close to you, sick with want, and believed so strongly that showing his feelings would ruin what little you already had.

But it wasn't that way any longer. Here you were now, requesting the exact same thing from him, and it was a request he could never deny again, be it through will or want.

Din retraces his steps. Looking back into the alcove, staring straight into your warm, lash-framed eyes. Feeling so seen, as if you're looking past the helmet and right at him. Your gaze never falters.

"Of course, cyar'ika," Din murmurs, sinking back down onto the cot. "I'm here as long as you need me."

And so he stays. Squished in the tiny alcove, leaning on the side of the wall and stroking your hand beneath the blanket as you drifted to sleep once more.

Skin-to-skin contact never ceased to thrill Din—his nerve endings feeling like they were on fire from overstimulation.

And your skin just so happened to be the smoothest, softest thing Din had ever known.

It strikes him, then, that he's so overtaken by you that he can't stop it in his tracks. So he daydreams, daring himself to believe.

To believe that a life like his could be normal, that he could have someone as incredible as you and the kid in his life forever.

You turn around at one point, head coming to rest by Din's lap. Ever so gently, he reaches out for your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and can't help but chuckle as you pull a little grimace in your sleep at the touch.

Sitting in the quiet like this, with nothing but the whirs of hyperspace and the meld of your deep breaths paired with the child's soft snores, Din's mind is allowed to truly wander, unbridled.

There's no ticking time bomb of a quarry, no tight limit to the time spent in hyperspace. Right here, this moment, it could last forever.

And all Din could think about was how hard it was getting to justify abiding by the Mandalorian creed he was raised with.

Remaining nameless, faceless, closed off from you and the child, his cyar'ika and ad'ika. You're the complete opposite of what the creed warned against—you're kind, loving, beautiful, safe.

Despite all the darkness in the galaxy, you were the stars that shone the brightest.

When his people were to hide and protect themselves, that wasn't from people like you. It was from the people that sought to hurt, to wipe out, to hunt down.

Hunt or be hunted: Din himself had chosen the former of the two. But when it came to you, there was no such thing. No hurt, no evil. Just warmth, softness, and hope.

Maker, it hurts. Din's heart feels like it was being torn in two—the act of making the hardest decision he ever could.

He looks down at you once more, and his lip trembles with all the emotions that rise at the sight of you. But kriff, did the helmet kill the experience. Dulled colors. Distant vision.

Nothing like when he's looking at your face with his naked gaze. No, nothing compared to it…

Two ungloved hands meet cylindrical beskar, and with a pneumatic hiss, the Mandalorian's helmet is removed.

Din stills, looking down to see if the noise stirred you, but finds you deeply asleep below him.

He feels the way his heart stutters as if he's a teenager with a crush. Drinking you in with his naked gaze,

He studies your features. Sleeping so soundly, face completely free of worry or strife. Just as it should be.

But it wasn't merely a crush, was it? It was something much deeper and more profound, something he saw in each star in the sky, every blade of grass and ripple of the oceans.

They were three words he could not find the bravery to say yet, in Basic or Mando'a or, hoth, even Huttese, but knew it was something he felt in every atom of his being.

Din's gaze roams over your face once more, trying to ground himself as his mind wanders. He breathes deeply, willing his heart to return to its regular rhythm.

He sighs, letting his head rest on the wall behind him, running a hand through his hair and sighing deeply, eyes closing for a second.

When he opens his eyes again, his vision is level with the little hammock that hangs at the top of the cot. And staring straight back at him is the child, who has awoken and is looking back at Din quietly with his bug eyes. They roam his face as if trying to take all of it in.

"Hey, ad," Din says as softly as he can, in ways he couldn't through the helmet modulator. He smiles as the kid's ears twitch, reacting to the unfiltered voice of his father.

The child has a look of complete awe on his face, little mouth opened in an 'o', tiny teeth sticking out from his beak-like lips. And then that expression of shock changes, and something in the kid's huge, enchanting eyes sparkles, and he's breaking out into the hugest smile Din's seen him give.

Din can't help but chuckle. The animated expressions of the child never ceased to make him smile, and he couldn't help but notice he was doing it a lot more often since you joined them on their adventures.

Never failing to make the child happy. And make Din happy, too. Just by being you.

The kid reaches out for him with his grabby little hands. Eager, yet gentle.

Din's heart stutters in a mixture of endearment and alarm, but he can't deny his ad'ika the physical contact he so craves. It's why Din chose to take the helmet off around him, after all.

So he leans forward tentatively, leaning within touching distance of the child's dinky digits.

At once, two small green hands are resting on Din's stubbled cheeks. A ripple of calm soon turns into a wave, and Din is engulfed by the kid's serene energy.

Though he knew little of the child's powers and how he used them, he knew that they were always there in some form. Like now, he was almost certain of it.

It was something in his bug-like galaxy eyes, reassuring the Mandalorian that the constellation of his life was a pattern he had yet to discover.

That there was so much more to his existence than endless bounty hunting.

The child continues to stare, silently, stoically. Din can see himself reflected in those eyes, both physically and metaphorically. And then, ever so slowly, Din finds his eyes getting watery as his face breaks into a smile.

The child smiles back and places his forehead on Din's as if he somehow knew the significance of what the action meant. A keldabe kiss.

Looking down at you, Din wonders if his heart could ever get fuller. And he decides then, that when the time is right, he'll ask you if a clan of two could become a clan of three.

Notes:

you can find me on tumblr! spacing-in.tumblr.com

Chapter 16: Come So Far yet Just Begun

Summary:

well this chapter is pure filth. it had to happen—don’t say i didn’t warn ya! if you squint you'll see there’s a smidge of plot, and some domestic fluff at the start. i'd advise against reading this while eating, for fear of choking

“Locked and loaded, ready to leap?” Din throws a steely look over his shoulder from his place in the pilot's seat, awaiting your approval. You greet him with a smile, admiring the way the tranquil void of twinkling space reflects off the curved beskar of his helmet.

“Ready as ever,” you reply, and with the pull of a handle you're off.

The sight of the Crest switching hyperspace lanes draws a wave of excitement from you. After a much-needed time resting, both Din and babybug were fully healed of their ailments, meaning you could return to your regular planet-hopping adventures.

After spending so long drifting to nowhere, you were eager to touch down on a new planet while Din went on another hunt. One that he promised you and the child could explore this time.

You head for the food storage, looking forward to another intimate moment together as you eat. To be in Din’s presence while he’s not wearing the helmet. To hear his unmodulated breaths, the dark-chocolate richness of his voice.

When you come back up to the cockpit, the child is sitting up on the dashboard babbling away, and Din is speaking to him in soft tones. You pause, listening to his gentle words, making them out to be Mando'a.

The kid’s ears twitch as he notices you standing in the doorway, with Din's gaze following soon after. You admire them for a second, father and son having their bonding moment with the swirl of hyperspace behind them.

Din's shoulders are hunched and his head held low to meet the eye line of the kid, but even with the effort to make himself small, he's so ridiculously large.

It's a marvel that something so big and bulky, carved out of Mandalorian iron and clad head-to-toe in armor of some kind, could be so gentle and understanding to something so ethereal and soft, all skin and wrinkles and soft cloth sack. The contrast was heartwarming.

“Hungry?” You say at last, walking up to the pilot's seat and placing food for Din and the kid on the dashboard. The child makes an adorable squeak of excitement, picking up the ration pack and trying to tear it apart with his sharp little teeth.

“Hey, how many times have I told you? That’s not food.” Din reasons with him, trying to pull the packet out of the kid’s mouth.

With a gentle touch, you place a hand on the kid’s head to grab his attention.

“Now now, kiddo,” you reason with the child, speaking in low tones “Listen to buir— the food inside is a lot tastier, I promise.”

The child stares at you for a beat, incredulous, but he eventually complies, spitting out the ration pack and handing it back to you with both of his tiny, three-fingered hands.

Din snatches the ration pack before the kid changes his mind, wiping off the trail of baby alien drool in the process. “I don’t know how you do it,” he muses through the modulator, shaking his head slightly.

“Do what?” You wonder as you prepare your and Din’s meals. There’s a comfortable pause, which stops when you hand Din his bowl of food and his helmet locks onto you, gaze leaving you bare.

“Everything. You’re just so good to him.” His words are but a whisper, barely picked up by the helmet, and you can only begin to fathom the emotion behind them.

Your lips part and eyebrows raise slightly, and the look on your face must do something to Din because he's placing his bowl on the dashboard pulling you in, then; wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you closer, resting his helmet on your chest.

"Because I care for him. And you. A lot." You reply with a tenderness in your voice, and it feels like the words reverberate through your heart and right through the beskar. To the man that lies within.

A thought flashes before your mind, then. Wandering thoughts of deep eyes and dark, tousled hair. Daydreams you wished you had it in you to stop, to not lure yourself into the false reality of ever seeing the Mandalorian's face.

He squeezes you tighter, and for a breath or two everything is still.

Until your rumbling stomach ruins the moment, and you feel Din's chest shake with the wisp of a laugh.

"You should eat," he murmurs, and you swear you hear the smile in his voice.

"We should eat." You insist, pushing Din's bowl closer to him and grabbing your own.

You go to sit on the floor, facing the back of his seat, obscured from the sight of him so that he can take his helmet off and eat in peace. Meanwhile, the kid is so engrossed in his food that he's lost to the galaxy.

The pneumatic hiss of Din's helmet lifting is like music to your ears. His unmodulated sigh is a song to soothe your soul. The rustle of his hair as he runs his fingers through it. The way your heart rate picks up as he places the helmet to the side of him, the t-shaped visor positioned as if it were a second pair of eyes, watching you.

You dive your spoon into your bowl, ready to take your first bite of rehydrated stew you whipped up, until Din's unfiltered voice breaks through the white noise of the cockpit, freezing you completely as you give his words your entire attention.

“Back before you joined us, I'd sometimes hit up a cantina for a bite to eat." he begins to say, his buttery-smooth baritone voice melting your heart "The kid was well-behaved enough. He'd sit under my cloak and silently eat his soup as if he understood the risks of me taking him along."

You smile to yourself, oddly proud at how wise and well-behaved the child was. The thought of Din secretly carrying him everywhere beneath his cloak, ducking into cantinas, and ordering soup that he'd pass under the table to a mysterious metal cradle.

"But every time we came to your cantina and he heard your voice, his ears would twitch and he’d try taking a peek. Like introducing himself to you was so much more important than hiding."

You smile to yourself, looking up at the kid as he munches away at his meal, oblivious to the fact that he was the topic of discussion.

"I knew there was something special about you, then. He knew it from the moment I walked in that cantina, and so did I."

Just like that, you're a puddle on the floor. Your heart couldn't get any lighter, smile any wider. You tried to find the words to say how flattered you were, how honored to be traveling the galaxy with the two most beloved people you could ever imagine, but they wouldn't come.

Three small words did come to your mind, then. And the thought of them even surprised you—could it be? Did you really feel that way? The thought of it both feared you and thrilled you.

"Cyar'ika?"

Maker, the way he said that special nickname with his bare voice. The slight hint of desperation about it, a deep longing that gave you hope that he could feel the same.

You reach up to where Din sits and place your hand at the crook of his elbow, where it's just the padded flight suit and no beskar, and you squeeze gently.

"Thank you, Din," you whisper in response, beyond happy that you had the privilege of knowing his real name.

You eat your meals in peaceful silence, basking in another's company. The kid devours his dinner fast, and he finally looks up from his food and finally realizes his dad is helmetless in front of him.

The look on his little face is priceless. Eyes roaming, mouth wide open, ears twitching curiously. Din stops eating his meal, reaching out for the child and patting him on the head affectionately.

"What'cha seeing there, little guy?" you ask the child, garnering his attention. "Is your daddy as handsome as he sounds?"

The kid tears his eyes to look at you, and then his dad, and back again a few more times. When he lets out a little chortle, you snort with laughter.

"What does that mean?" Din grumbles, only making you laugh harder.

"I'll take that as a yes," you reassure between gasps. "I couldn't imagine it any other way,"

Your laughter fades into a sigh, and there's a pause, leaving something in the air that changes.

"Does it bother you?" Din asks, laying down his empty bowl and spoon and picking up his helmet, grasping it in his hands. "That you can't see my face?"

"No. Never." you reply instinctually, but a little piece of your heart strains, almost cracking. You still feel compelled to tell him the other side of your mind—the impulsive thoughts that sweep you away, sometimes.

"Of course, I think about it… But I respect your honor to the creed above all else. What we have right now is everything I need."

You watch as he lifts his helmet, sliding it over his head and masking his face once again. A knot in your stomach that you didn't notice was even there eases, but the dull ache in your heart starts to form again.

"Thank you, mesh'la." Din murmurs, all the stress and creases having been eased out of his throat. You miss his unfiltered voice already, but that doesn't beat the relief you feel for him when he's helmeted.

”Even when I’m wearing the beskar, you make me feel so seen.”

---

The little womp rat is cranky after his meal—Din tucks him into his crib and coaxes him to sleep while you clean up after dinner. He joins you later on, at the very back of the hold while you're finishing up with your latest project of relining the exhaust manifold pipe from under the floor panels.

"You managed to get him to sleep?" you ask as Din approaches, stopping just short of you and resting a hand on the side of the ship.

"Eventually." He shrugs in that delicious low baritone.

"So... we're alone?" You ask, angling your head to look up at him from your kneeled position. Din shifts as your eyes lock with the visor, shoulders rolling back and squaring, and something sparks within you, a thrilling shiver traveling down your spine.

"Mmhm." He draws out the hum slowly, surely.

"And we’re still a way away from our destination," You murmur, continuing your train of thought.

"Affirmative," Din replies, using that dangerously low voice that you swear he knows gets to you, and you take the opportunity to slide your way up the wall, standing up. Leaning towards him like a moth to flame, except you know exactly what you're getting into when you lead on the man made of beskar.

You can't deny the way your body sings for him, and the way you've been longing for his touch ever since he brought you to the brink of pleasure those days ago.

Cautiously, you step forward, drawing your fingers under Din’s gun belt and stepping closer to him as he stands there, rigid as the armor he wears.

"Maybe I can take a look at that leg of yours? Give you a once-over to check you’re fit to hunt?" You suggest, not-so-smoothly trying to get the Mandalorian out of his clothes. Apart from the day that you cauterized his wound up, you hadn't seen much of Din's skin at all.

"If that's what you want, cyar'ika," Din says smugly in reply, making a heat rise to your cheeks and a fire curl in your belly.

You tilt your chin up to meet his gaze, staring back at the distorted view of yourself in that endless black visor. Shamelessly letting the goosebumps erupt on your body as both of you wait to see who makes the first move.

Din breaks the stillness by reaching down to remove his beskar thigh plates, laying them carefully on nearby storage crates. Somehow looking just as bulky without them. You watch hungrily, trying to keep your roaming eyes subtle and failing miserably.

"Some help, maybe?” Din’s low voice draws your eyes back up to his helmet, and then down to his chest, where he’s trying to unbuckle his chest plate.

“Of course,” you answer breathlessly, stepping closer and feeling intoxicated by the subtle smoky scent that seems to emanate from him when the armor is disturbed. Your hands reach up to his chest plate, unstrapping the buckles while Din works on removing his gun belt.

You feel your heart picking up with each layer removed; his chest plate, vambraces, and padded gambeson are all shed and carefully placed with the rest of his armor, and with each layer peeled back you find yourself drawn deeper into the pull of the Mandalorian.

And then there are no more layers to pull back—only a thick black flight suit with a zipper running down the middle. Your hand hovers over the zip, and it dawns on you. Kriff, only one tug of a tiny slip of metal and Din’s bare torso would be revealed to you.

Your thumb and forefinger clasp the zipper, but your hand stays motionless. Instead, you tear your eyes away from his chest, looking up at Din as he towers over you from your proximity.

At this angle you can see the stubbled column of his throat, reminding you of the time he rescued you back in Tatooine.

You'd come so far since then, but in some ways, you had only just begun.

Your eyes dart back and forth from his bare neck to his visor, feeling like a porg caught in the starship lights. Knowing that you shouldn't be admiring a part of him Din might have sworn to the creed to never show, but feeling too entranced to look away. A part of you feared that the more you saw of his body, the more you wanted to see.

"No need to be shy, mesh'la. It's not like I haven't seen every little inch of you." Din murmurs, acknowledging your gaze, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

Oh, he's enjoying this; making you squirm. It's like a game you're both playing, to see who can tease the other the most. You try to take him down, and he in turn tries to do the same to you. Both acknowledging the alluring effect you had on each other.

"Mir'sheb." You roll your eyes, removing your fingers from his zipper to playfully nudge him on the shoulder.

"What did you just call me?" Din’s tone changes immediately. Dropping dangerously low while still staying tenderly smooth. Suddenly you're feeling at his mercy.

"... Mir'sheb?" You repeat sheepishly, instantly regretting your decision to call the Mandalorian a smartass in his own language. Damn holonet, only good for learning the rudest Mando'a words.

"Yeah… You did, didn't you?" he replies, sounding almost amused. Staring at you with that steely gaze. You have a sinking suspicion that you’d pay for that comment later. The thought of that only thrills you deeper, sending heat spinning and spanning through your insides.

“If you don’t want me to insult you then you should teach me some more.” you tease, testing the waters.

“Really?” Din says, nonplussed, “You’d like that?”

“It’s your language,” you murmur, batting your lashes up at him “Of course I would.”

You sense the hesitation in his body language. The slow squaring of his shoulders, the rise of his chest as he fills his lungs.

“Mando’a is a… private… language. It’s not meant to be shared with auriitese—outsiders of the Mandalorian creed,” he explains, and it’s like you physically feel your heart sink to your stomach.

“But it’s also a language that’s dying out. I know some words and phrases, enough to get by. Sharing it with you would help keep it alive.” like magic, your heart soars to the skies again.

The private language of his creed, Mando’a. The fact that he’s willing to share it with you makes it even more special.

“Besides, you’re more than auriitese to me and the kid. I don’t call you cyar’ika for nothing,” he adds, palm cupping your face and brushing a thumb over your cheek “Now, where were we?”

You bite your lip and reach for the zip again, hearing the sounds of his gloves creaking as he clenches his fists. Why did he still have them on? His bare hands should be roaming your body.

Maker, why did he still have his flight suit on? Fuelled by lust, you tug the zipper down, he slides his arms out of the sleeves, and at last Din's torso is on display.

It's hard not to react at the sight of him; your core fluttering as your eyes roam hungrily over his golden-toned skin. Stars, he's so fucking broad and built, the slopes and plains of his body reeling you in and shooting your head into the nebulae. As you look closer, you notice the tiny slivers of scars littered across his chest, the tens of silvery wounds healed over time, accumulated from all the years of fighting alone.

Your eyes roam for a little while longer, before landing on a larger, pinker scar that looks too neat to have healed naturally. The wound was clearly cauterized, and your brows knit together in worry as you wonder what injury he was subjected to in order to burn it shut. It must have been before you became… what you were to each other, surely?

He must have been studying your face the entire time because when your eyes focus on the scar Din notices, adjusting his body accordingly. His arm raises, coming to rest against the side of the ship. You're standing so close that his arm is above your head.

"Happened back on Nevarro," he explains, his obliques tensing with each word, and you imagine him hunched over in the lava fields, zapping away at his own skin to seal the injury.

With the way Din has turned his body to the side, allowing you to get a closer look, you realize you're enveloped between him and the wall.

"Wish I was there to heal it for you," you sigh, taking in the raised skin with your roaming eyes,

The way Din's breathing quickens doesn't go unnoticed by you. The gulps of air he takes are somehow deep yet swift, leaving his body strained, almost trembling. You raise your hand, ready to feel the wound you wish you could have sealed for him, and you see before your very eyes the way his muscles tense.

Oh. Oh. He's awaiting your touch.

And so you give it. Fingers reaching out and brushing up against his ribcage, sliding up to meet the healing skin. You run your thumb across the scar, wishing your touch could heal.

"Not my worst." Din discloses, trying to reassure you, but it only makes you sad "Wish you were there to help me with this one," He adds, and he takes your hand in his as he leads your fingers downwards, brushing up against the skin of his hipbone where a huge, old scar lies.

The pads of your fingers draw lines over the once keloid scar, now lying flat. The way Din sucks in a breath at the touch is rousing, making his chest puff up and tingles travel across your digits. You stare with wide eyes at the positioning of your hand, knowing that if you slid your fingers just a few inches to the left you'd end up brushing the curled trail of hair that led down.

“So, what's the prognosis, doctor?” Din asks through labored breaths, but you know they're not breaths of pain or exertion. You skim your fingers across his entire torso, tracing each scar like a constellation in the skies.

His entire body is warm to the touch, and his skin looks so inviting. In the heat of the moment you lean forward, bringing your lips to the Nevarro scar, giving it a little kitten lick before pressing a kiss into the skin.

The vibrations of a groan reverberate through his broad chest, only fuelling your fire even more, and you press another kiss to his skin as you let your hand wander to that mouthwatering trail of hair, brushing down his skin and cupping his cock through his pants, humming in pleasure and surprise as you find him rock hard.

"You'll survive." you purr, a small, teasing smile appearing on your face as you look up at him with hooded lids.

"Survive, hm? So you’re giving me the all-clear?" His voice is raspy, chest heaving with each breath. It thrills you to no end, drawing out Din's longing like this. Just as he does to you.

"That's right," you whisper, and then in the ultimate daring move, you remove your hands from his burning body, ready to take a step back and see how he reacts.

Until suddenly you're being hoisted in the air and thrown upside down, as Din hauls you over his shoulder and marches with you to the other end of the hold like you weigh nothing.

"Dank farrik! Put me down!" You exclaim, trying to squirm out of the Mandalorian's steel-like grip to no avail.

"Dank Farrik? Mir'sheb? You think you can run your mouth and tease me like this without any consequences?" Din repeats your words, and oh fuck, his voice stirs something deep within "No—dirty thing like you needs cleaning up," he grits, and the hand that's gripping you slides up to clutch tauntingly on the inside of your thigh, unbearably close to your throbbing core.

The act draws out a half-moan, half-sigh from deep within. Kriff, your underwear was soaked through.

You push your hands into the bare skin of Din's back, lifting your head enough to realize he was carrying you to the fresher. And then he's putting you down, placing a warm, calloused palm on your waist to steady you as the world is flipped the right side up.

“Lucky for you, I was just about to shower."

You're so close that you hear his next breath from beneath the helmet, unmodulated, and you can't bear it anymore. You need to touch him, feel him, kiss him.

Din's hand pulls away from your waist to shut off the lights, and the fresher is shrouded in darkness. The breath hitches in your throat, until the pneumatic hiss of his helmet meets your ears, a melody you'd grown to love, your heart singing at the sound of it.

And then you're standing before each other, in the pitch darkness of the fresher, with nothing stopping you anymore from taking each other’s bodies. It’s almost too much, after all the yearning for each other. Neither of you even knows where to begin.

Your hands reach out for him longingly, and when your fingertips brush his chest Din stiffens, breath sticking in his throat.

"Everything ok?" you whisper into the darkness, laying your palms on Din's chest and taking a tiny step forward, closing the distance between you.

“Stars, mesh'la, I just want you so bad…” he’s panting as if the air is hard to come by, like your touch is drawing the oxygen out of him “Every time you touch me, it's like I forget everything. All I can see is you. Feel. Want...” he buries his face into your hair, and you soften at the sensation of his hot breaths in your scalp.

“Then have me. I'm yours.” you hum, and you lean in to press a kiss on the hollow of his neck, right above his heart.

The next moment is a blur—Din's hands are all over you, running up and down your waist and tugging your clothes off one by one. You're sliding his flight suit down in return, shedding layer by layer until you're both completely bare.

"You're a kriffing dream," his voice is tight, so strained, and then he’s walking backward and taking you with him.

The fresher sensor sets off, and the jets begin blasting steaming hot water down on both of you.

You gasp at the sensation of the water hitting your skin, reaching out for Din and clutching his wide shoulders for stability, and your gasp is muffled as his mouth arches down and meets yours in a devastating, brutal, kiss.

Your tongues slide together, moans breathed into his mouth as your parted lips meet again and again and again, each time getting hungrier for each other's taste, feel, touch. It's like coming home and experiencing something brand new all at the same time, the way stars spark behind your eyes and your body thrums with elation.

With the glide of his calloused palms on your naked body comes the reality that you're physically closer to the Mandalorian than you ever have been, relishing in the pure bliss of his hands sliding across your skin.

"Fuck, cyar'ika— your body, so kriffing perfect," Din groans in your ear, and then he's taking your breasts into his hands, swiping his thumbs across your nipples.

You arch your back into his touch, throwing your head back in a moan, and Din takes the opportunity to grab the soap, lathering it between his hands. When his palms meet your breasts again they're gloriously soapy, the lack of friction giving a whole other wave of pleasure that shoots straight to your core, hot and electric and sending you haywire.

And feeling his hands roam over you in the darkness—both hands, and his mouth on yours, is a type of heaven you didn't realize how badly you longed for. You never wanted him to waste a hand wrapping around your eyes again.

"You like that, sweet thing? You like my hands all over you?" he utters, and fuck, you can't even gather the words to reply, letting out a little mewl as Din's thumb and forefingers swirl across your nipples, teasing the taut little buds into overly sensitive firmness.

Losing yourself to the sensation, you press yourself into Din, longing to feel more of his skin on yours, begging him to touch you between each brutal kiss he steals from your lips.

He indulges in your wishes, palms sliding to the underside of your bare ass and lifting you into his arms with ease. With your thighs around his hips, you tense up beneath Din's hold as his chest rubs against your sensitive, soapy breasts.

"Stars, Din!" you cry out, and your hands reach for the back of his neck, winding into his wet, curled hair. The sound of his name being cried out between your pleasure does something to him, his lustful touches becoming even hungrier, yet punctuated with tender care.

You lose yourself to each other in the darkness. Letting the steaming water run down your bodies. No thoughts of the space or time either of you were in. None of it mattered, only this pleasure; his body.

Fuelled by your senses, thrilled by the darkness that surrounded you. Led only by his touch, the taste of him on your tongue, the gasps that emanate from you paired with his grunts.

Din draws out a whimper from you as his teeth graze across your collarbones and chest, soothing the skin with plush open-mouthed kisses.

And when his lips land on your breasts, tongue tracing your nipple before he latches onto them, he ignites a wildfire of want tearing through your body, leaving you feeling like he'd bring you to an orgasm if he only laid a hand on your throbbing cunt.

The noises that Din tears out of your chest are obscene, making your shoulders shake and thighs clamp around him.

You start grinding onto him wildly, completely lost to the feral lust that's taken over you. When your bare pussy meets his fingers you gasp, bucking up into his stomach, your core seeking friction.

"Maker, so fucking wet," Din groans into your neck, and his fingers trail across your slit, gathering your want on his fingers. The delicate touch makes your cunt clench, and you stay totally still, frozen beneath Din's tortuously tentative touch. One more move and you were going to orgasm—it was almost embarrassing.

No, you wouldn’t let that happen, not before you treated Din first. You unwrap your legs from around his body, sliding them down him until you’re standing and your hands are free to roam him as they please.

Your hands reach for his cock at once, wrapping around the huge, thick length of him. The Mandalorian unravels before you, head leaning back and slamming into the fresher wall as you drag your thumb over his swollen, weeping tip.

"I—I can barely wrap my hand around you," you murmur, squeezing your grip around him to prove a point. You hum in pleasure as his hands shoot up, grabbing your breasts and groping them roughly.

"F-uck—dreamt about this for so long—having you all to myself in this fresher," Din grunts, the soft yet gruffness of his voice contrasting his warm, calloused palms, and the whole situation makes you blush from head to toe. "Holding your soft, sweet body in my hands—got me through all those cold nights away from the ship, away from you," he grits out, giving little pieces of himself to you as he does.

Din surrenders to your touch for a spell—pressing your body up against his, trapping his erection between you. Letting you slide your warm, wet stomach over him, leaving his voice hoarse and body rigid with pent-up lust.

Then he's shutting off the water, crouching down to kiss your breasts as if to disarm you, and surprising you by throwing your naked, wet body over his shoulder once more.

"Hey!" you cry out, feeling yourself being carried out into the barely-lit hold "I can walk, you know," you giggle, tracing along one of the scars on his back "not that I'm complaining or anything," you add, wriggling under his touch as the hand that's holding you snakes up and squeezes your ass.

"Hm, but it's more fun this way," Din smirks, and he's hauling you off his shoulder to lay you down delicately on the cot "Carrying you around like you're my little stowaway." He adds, voice treacle-smooth, deep and low as a canyon.

And you tremble, not entirely able to convince yourself that it's the cold air of the hold that makes you react like this. He’s standing at the foot of the bunk, and you can make out the faint outline of him, huge and broad and domineering.

The longer you stay in the almost-darkness of the hold, the clearer the outline of his features become—the way his wet hair hangs down across his face, the sloped angle of his jaw, the curve of his nose, all appearing as your eyes adjust to the darkness.

"Remember back on Seolona, your first day of training?" he asks, voice tight, and you hum in reply. How could you forget?

"When I pinned you down, it... kriff, it awakened something in me," he admits gruffly, kneeling at the edge of the cot, opening your legs and pulling you off the edge, closer to him.

"The way you looked up at me with those pretty eyes of yours, tits heaving, fuck—" he's grasping them then in his large hands as he says it, drawing the moans out of your body.

"—Knew it was over for me back then, that I couldn't fight my feelings for you," Din's mouth is moving down, worshiping your breasts, massaging your thighs.

"I— Maker, I wanted you too, so badly," you're gasping, body jerking as his tongue drags a long line from sternum to throat "wanted you to take me then and there—" he continues to torture your body, biting down on your pulse point and sucking.

The action draws the longing words out of you "I can't wait anymore, wanna feel you inside of me, please, Din— fuck me!"

Din curses weakly, taking you in his arms and joining you in the tight space of the cot. Closing the outer door, letting the pitch blackness encompass you.

The heat radiates off his damp body, enveloping you in warmth as you feel his toned arms rest on either side of your head. His breaths are shallow, washing over your face as his lips hover inches from yours, and then they still.

Your eyes roam across the darkness, trying to study the features of a face that wasn't there.

He can't quite believe he has you beneath him. Completely naked, wide open body and soul, just as he was. The wall of darkness between you left this moment to only be explored by your senses, not by sight, which made it all the more precious, and heightened.

Din could touch you with both hands, just as he's wanted to for so, so long. It was almost too much.

Oh, how Din longed to see your naked body lying before him, to watch the breaths as they rose and fell from your chest, awaiting the moment he'd line up and slide into you and bottom out. Kriff, just the thought of it made his cock throb.

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, feeling like he's got the entire galaxy in his arms. Wishing he could give you more than he is right now. At that moment, as he lies there with you, he feels like he can. In the silence and safety of this space. With you by his side, you gave him strength.

It struck him, time and time again, just how seen Din felt when he was around you.

Even through the beskar, or in the pitch blackness of his cot. And the thought of being seen by anyone terrified him, hoth, even letting the kid see his face for the first time sent an anxious shiver through his body.

But not with you. With you it felt warm, it felt light. When the Mandalorian was with you, being himself felt right. It made him feel whole. He was…

Your mouth reaches up to meet his, breaking Din from his musings. Your plush lips drew him back to reality, kisses grounding him.

And he kisses you back, this time deep and slow like he's trying to say a thousand things. And it dawns on him then how achingly hard he is for you, and feeling the goosepimpled skin on your body and your taut nipples, he knows you feel the same.

His hand slides between your thighs, breath catching in his throat as he feels your pooling wetness. Your whole body quakes at his ghostly touches, your slick spreading out onto your thighs.

Stars, and he'd barely touched you…

Fuelled with lust, Din wraps his fist around his cock, smearing your wetness over his head and bucking at the touch.

He lines the tip up to your entrance, relishing in the soft little whimpers that leave your chest.

At that moment, as he's hovering over you and ready to enter, he plants one last bruising kiss on your neck and says the next words into your ear.

“You said you wanted to learn more Mando’a? I have a phrase for you," he utters, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Perhaps you know it already. If you don’t, I’ll tell you what it means someday. But for now…” he leans down, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, breath washing over your face.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,”

And then he's sinking into you, burying himself deep into your cunt in one slow, measured move.

Cursing in Mando'a, the words wash over your damp skin, but you barely hear it over the moan that tears through your body. The words are all foreign to you, but Maker, do they sound incredible.

Pure, utter, unbridled bliss ripples through your body, as your walls clench around him, stretching euphorically to the sheer size of him.

Your cunt feels like an epicenter, sending waves of pleasure shooting through your limbs.

Din stills once he's fully seated in you, and the both of you are gasping for air. Your eyes race across the darkness, searching for a face that can't be seen.

You let out a long, drawn-out mewl, writhing beneath him, tortured by the pause.

Din leans down, his lips meeting yours once more, in a kiss so ardent it sends you across the stars.

He slides out of you, gliding back into you with such force, his thick, achingly hard cock slamming in and out as your cunt stretches to accommodate.

"Din!" you cry, and then he's fucking into you, each messy, needy thrust after needy thrust, making his name spill out your mouth in a way you can't control.

"Oh, fu-uck, Din! Din!"

His hands are hot all over your body, grabbing vice-like handfuls of your curves and pulling you up, closer to him.

Clutching your thighs, wrapping them around his torso—hitting you in a place so deep that it makes your toes curl and takes the wind right out of your lungs.

The feeling of both his hands on you is unreal, a blissed-out sensation of near overstimulation.

The man, he… he fucks like a machine; holds you in a grip to rival beskar.

"So kriffing wet— So warm— wanna fuck your perfect cunt all night long," Din's growling into your neck, peppering his words with nips and licks that ignite lovebites of heat that burn across your already feverish skin.

And then he's shifting positions, leaning into you in a way that the coarse hair at the base of his cock is brushing up against your sensitive clit.

Pleasure begins to coil in your core, taking you by surprise as it builds up, racing to keep up with Din's punctuated, purposeful thrusts.

It's too much, he's all too much, like a match to the fuel that ignites your orgasm, leading you to the moment you crest and blossom into pure ecstasy.

"Y'got so tight, cyar'ika— fuck, are you—?" Din's voice is like gravel as he plows into you, whispering in disbelief as your body goes rigid.

Your orgasm hits you with Din's brutal thrust into the deepest part of your cunt, pressing against your cervix with his deep-seated thrusts.

The darkness of the cot brightens as your vision whites out, and your gasps turn into cries, long, high-pitched moans of nothing else but his name — "Din" — and you're cumming harder than you ever have before.

When you come to, Din's pressing slow, loving kisses to your collarbones, the top of his hair tickling your neck and chin.

"Fuck— what did I do to deserve this— deserve you?" he gasps between kisses, sounding like a man undone.

You reach down weakly, pulling your nails through his scalp, causing him to buck into you and draw out an aftershock of pleasure.

"Cyare— feels so kriffing incredible when you cum around my cock," he whispers, the vibrations of his words imprinting on your skin. You relish in the new nickname, too blissed out to ask what it means.

You whimper, pussy fluttering at his words, and the action must do something to him because you feel the way his back trembles beneath your palms.

"Need— fuck, need more out of you, sweet thing," Din utters, and he's pulling you up while he leans back, sliding you onto his lap and seating himself impossibly deep inside of you, sending a pulse of aching pleasure that arches your spine.

His hands are so warm and large on your back, and when you arch into them he draws you closer, wrapping you tighter into his embrace, his hands gripping you like he's drowning and you're air.

You're surrounded by him, enveloped; the smell of his soap, the taste of his tongue, the sound of his little grunts, consumed by your lips on his.

The way his shoulder muscles ripple beneath your hands, as you clutch his broad frame and take his pounding thrusts.

He only pulls away from your kisses to utter a brutal request in your ear.

"Two more orgasms— be good for me," and then he's fucking into you again, starting slow and climbing swiftly back to his previous pace, bouncing you up and down in his lap.

Shockwaves of pleasure shoot through you at the intensity of everything—did he just tell you to be good for him? Maker, he did. And you fucking liked it.

You're losing control of your senses, the moans his thrusts tear out of your body scaling louder and louder. The obscene, slick, smacking sound of your cunt being pumped into over and over.

Din fucks you with merciless need, hissing your name and biting out swears in Basic and Mando'a and Maker knows what else.

Before you know it you're quivering around him, toes curling and body flooding with warmth as your second orgasm waits in the wings.

When Din takes a handful of the soft flesh of your ass, hauling you in closer and fucking you even deeper, you're blinded again by the unadulterated bliss of an orgasm.

"Fuck! Are you— again, already—?" He gasps raggedly into your ear, and his soft, unhinged voice contradicts the way he's fucking you strong and steady and deep.

You're mewling out his name as the doubly-intense release short-circuits your body, pleasure exploding all over. And Din's there talking you through the orgasm, praising you and worshiping you as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

This time he doesn't give you a moment to recover, resuming his previous pace instantly. Slamming in and out of you, his breath raspy and words delirious, nonsensical, a mixture of praise and disbelief and desperation for you.

"S-So fucking tight when you cum on my cock— wet, so wet," he rasps, his teeth sinking into your neck, and you let out a silent cry, the squelching sound of your hot release filling the tight space of the cot.

He continues to fuck into you relentlessly, drawing out your pleasure and making you dizzy with his unrelenting rhythm.

Din’s deft fingers reach for your clit, rubbing in tight little circles like he needs to get the final orgasm out of you, craving the sensation of you going rigid beneath his body.

When your thighs clamp around him, your cunt reaching a vice-like grip, Din knows what's coming.

"Din, fuck, I'm close—I'm gonna—" you gasp, and his mouth presses down to your ear to utter words that send you over the edge.

"Yeah? Good."

And then you're whiting out to the pleasure of his cock all over again.

The way his name leaves your lungs with a broken shout kicks up the way he slaps into you so that he's giving you surging, debilitating thrusts. Sending you over the edge, beyond the point of ecstasy.

It's like he's wringing every last bit of your orgasm out of you, intent on leaving you a whimpering, dripping mess.

Suddenly he's lifting you up again, flattening you against the bed and crushing his body to yours, raising your legs so they rest on his shoulders, giving the both of you a new, impossibly-deep angle for him to hammer into you.

“Fuck, I’m — ngh, s'close,” he slurs, and you start to feel impossibly full as his cock hardens with impending release.

"Stay inside me, Din, inside—" you beg, and his iron-like grip tightens desperately on your sensitive flesh "— Need you inside.”

And then he's surprising you by somehow fucking you faster and harder than he had before, unearthing something primal and raw in himself that absolutely destroys you, his cock impaling you in such a way that air is hard to come by.

"G-gonna cum, fuck, cyar'ika—" he grits, slamming his hips into you one more time, before he's unraveling, babbling to you in Mando'a with his face buried in your tits "My— kriff, ner’kar'ta—"

The mattress shifts up wildly by the sheer force he pounds into you, burying himself eye-rollingly deep as a scream of pleasure is torn out of your body, bliss blurring the lines of this moment and the next.

"Never wanna leave this bed, never wanna leave you— need you every day, every hour," Din's gritting out tightly, breathlessly, and then he's releasing his load into you relentlessly.

His thick ropes of hot cum spurt deep into your cunt and he fills you up to the brim, cock pulsing as he stutters helplessly into you a final few times, his body rigid with the intensity of his orgasm.

Your senses are completely blocked out by the endless ecstasy that courses through your veins, but through the white noise, you hear Din gritting out those devastating unknown words.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyare—darasuum, kar'tayl darasuum," he repeats, punctuating the words by cursing your name.

At last he stills, gasping for air as he slowly eases out of you, collapsing by your side onto his back and pulling you in close immediately, pressing long, slow kisses into your hair.

You can feel his seed dribbling out of you, and it draws a soft moan out of your aching body, barely able to move, feeling the tender formations of fresh bruises on the soft spots of your flesh. You were well and truly spent.

Once your ragged breaths relax, the cot is silent for the first time—and as your senses come back to you, so do the precious new Mando’a words he gave to you so willingly.

“Ni kar't— something… darasuum? What does it mean?” you ask, eager to know.

You feel the way Din’s arms tense around you, the way he lets out a shaky breath as if realizing the weight of the galaxy—and then he's wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you tighter, channeling his nervous energy into giving you more and more care and affection.

“Later, cyare, I promise I'll explain later,” Din murmurs, voice wavering, “Right now, we don’t have to think about anything. Just lay here.”

What was it about your question that got him so nervous? Or was something else on his mind? With all the leaps and strides you’d made in reading Din, and his improvements in sharing his feelings, moments like this still felt jarring.

You push the thoughts out of your mind. For now, you want to be right here and forget about the rest of the galaxy. In his arms. Din's arms.

… But it seems the galaxy has other plans for you.

The whole ship jostles all of a sudden as it disembarks from hyperspace, and Din lifts his head from the pillow in confusion. Then, from somewhere at the other end of the hold, the slow beeping of Din's vambrace sounds out.

"Shabuir— cyar'ika, close your eyes. And grab onto something fast." he urges, scrambling out of the bunk once your hands are across your face. He dives into the fresher, where he grabs armfuls of clothing and dresses at the speed of sound.

You hear his boots hitting the first rung of the metal ladder up to the cockpit, and then the whole galaxy is turned upside down as the ship whirls and spirals wildly in a corkscrew spin.

You scream, pressing your feet into one wall of the cot and back into the other, trying not to hurl at the sudden change in G-force. What in the Maker was happening?

Your befuddlement is remedied as you hear Din's exasperated voice calling out from upstairs, and the sound of the child's villainous giggles as the cockpit doors slide open.

"That's enough for today, you little womp rat!" he orders, and at last the Crest is still again. You catch your breath, head between your knees as you let out a small, disturbed chuckle.

Huh, okay. So that's what happens when you leave the kid alone in the cockpit.

Notes:

HE SAID IT

THIS IS NOT A DRILL, DIN SAID IT

the question is... when will he tell reader what it means?

ner’kar'ta=my heart (meant as a term of affection, I assure you Din doesn't have heart issues!)

spacing-in.tumblr.com <3

Chapter 17: Run From Me

Summary:

Din takes the Reader on a little retreat to complete the final lesson of combat training.

Notes:

I have been SO excited to share this update with you guys. I've had this chapter planned for about a year now, and when I started to write it out, it developed a life of it's own and one chapter became 3, maybe 4!!! I wanted to make sure they were all written before uploading the first part of this saga, so expect part 2 coming soooooon

A few weeks, six planets, and four bounties later, and the Razor Crest is gliding out of hyperspace, ready to descend on the magma-orange and ashen-gray planet that fills the ship's viewport.

Nevarro.

The circumstances compared to the last time you were here couldn’t be more different.

You first came to Nevarro feeling utterly crushed, certain that your feelings for Din weren’t reciprocated. And when you left, well, you left with the earth-shattering realization that your worries were further from the truth than they could ever have been.

From that day on, your feelings for each other had all but grown, except this time, it was with the tummy-tingling knowledge that you both felt the same.

"Aalar?" Din murmurs softly to you from the pilot's seat, and you chew your lip, trying to recall the phrase.

"Aalar… family?" you question, but the shakiness in your voice gives away your doubt.

"No, that's aliit," he corrects gently, and you smile, remembering how he'd taught you that word. Standing in the hull, clad in soft, comfortable clothing, with the child perched on his shoulder. Family.

"Aalar…" you look down to your lap, remembering the last time he'd brought up the word… whispered into your ear, as his bare hands skirted across your naked body.

Oh.

"Feel," You say triumphantly, a tinge of pink rising to your cheeks as you utter it.

Din chuckles softly, nodding in approval at your successful translation, and turns his focus back on landing the Crest.

Ever since you'd shown interest in learning more Mando'a Din had graciously agreed, teaching you all kinds of useful phrases and quizzing you on their meaning.

But he still hadn't told you what those four little Mando'a words had meant, the ones he'd let slip while he was buried inside you, and you'd spent so much energy caught up in learning new phrases, of wrapping your tongue around the pronunciations as you practiced to the kid privately, that you hadn't deeply thought to consider the meaning of them.

The Crest lands, billowing up an almighty cloud of ash, and as it dissipates across the shipyard of Nevarro City you see two familiar figures awaiting your presence.

"Mando!" Greef's voice booms across the dusty shipyard, his open arms and billowing cape the picture of welcomeness. Besides him stands Carasynthia Dune, her broad-shouldered armor and polished blasters on her hips sending a clear sign that she runs the place.

"If it isn't my favorite bounty hunter, his little green bogwing, and his…" he hesitates, a tight smile on his face as he waits for you or Din to finish his sentence.

Oh, kriff—you hadn't had this talk yet, about what you are, and you're not even sure if there are any words to put that together—you just were.

Mouth dry, you side-eye Din for help, but the bounty hunter is statue-still. After spending so much time alone together, it was almost a surprise to be reminded of just how separate the Mandalorian was from Din Djarin.

He was a distant, aloof wall of metal when it came to interacting with everyone except you.

You glance down at the child perched on your hip as if he could help, but he simply looks up at you with his glassy bug eyes, mouth set in a befuddled frown.

Miraculously, Din breaks his steely demeanor by bringing a hand to the small of your back, the action subtle yet obvious enough to clue them in to your situation.

"His good friend!" Greef recovers at last, and you breathe a sigh of relief "I'll have the droids fetch the bounties from the ship so we can get to catching up," Greef leans down to murmur to the child as if it's their little secret, and then he's off, turning on his heel and expecting you to follow.

You take the first step and Din follows right beside you, forever your sentinel, until the hand on your back is torn away when a previously quiet Cara wedges herself between the two of you, slinging an arm over both your shoulders.

"So," she grins, looking between the unamused helmet and your terrible poker face "When's the wedding?"

"Dune…" Din grits lowly as you suppress an embarrassed smile that spreads across heating cheeks. Cara holds her hands up apologetically, but the smirk on her face tells you she's seen all she needs to know.

"Okay, still making plans I see," She teases, and you look everywhere else but at her as your face prickles from your neck to your cheeks. Cara's eyes are on you for a moment, your discomfort at the topic obvious, and she is quiet for a short while before opening her mouth again.

"You know the real reason Karga's so eager to talk?"

Din angles his helmet towards her cautiously, giving her the benefit of the doubt for just one second.

"Because he's got a honeymoon suite he's been prepping ever since you left. He's over the moons to finally show it—"

The exasperated sigh that rattles through the helmet's modulators is enough to cut Cara's sentence short, her face practically split open from the cartoonishly evil grin spread across it.

Once you're seated in a booth in the new local watering hole, a much nicer establishment than the previous rundown business, Karga's right down to business.

"I hope you three are planning on staying on Nevarro for a spell, 'cause I've got just the place—"

"No. We're on a tight schedule," Din says matter-of-factly, deep voice emitting flatly from the modulator. You glance at him with a raised eyebrow—you don't have anywhere to be urgently, at least to your knowledge.

Why would he lie? Din was the most honest person you knew.

Greef opens his mouth to protest, until Din's helmet tilts up to look down at him and he snaps it shut, eating his own words with a tight smile and sideways glance at you.

Cara strides over with three spotchkas, an ardees, and a bowl of soup for the little one perched in your lap.

"Drinks all 'round," she announces, taking the ardees for herself and placing two spotchkas between you and Greef, offering the third to Din that he refuses with a curt movement of his hand, which she also takes for herself without hesitation.

"So! I've been mulling over your holo and I have a couple of questions before I agree," Cara says between sips of her drinks, and you look between her and Din blankly. Agree to what?

"So you've considered it, at least?" Din prods, apparently in on the conversation. Din sent a holo over to Cara without you knowing? What was it about?

"Considered? Yeah. Agreed? Not so fast. I'm gonna need more information than—"

Din cuts over Cara, and you get the distinct feeling that he doesn't want her to finish her sentence "—Yeah, I get it, Dune. Ask away,"

"Alright. First question: does it use the bathroom by itself?"

Greef lets out a snort of laughter, while the kid gurgles, disgruntled. You bite your lip to suppress a bemused smile, taking his tiny clenched fists in your hand and stroking them to calm him.

Under the helmet, Din exhales.

"Yes, he can manage that independently," Din says firmly, and it's like you can hear his fatherly instinct kicking in.

"I don't have to wipe any little green tushies?" Cara's eyes narrow in suspicion and you look down at your drink in disbelief, wondering what the hoth they put in this stuff for you to be hearing such bizarre conversations a few sips in.

"No. Any non-bathroom related questions?" Din grumbles, and Cara shakes her head.

"Uh… No actually. I'm good." She chugs the rest of her ardees, already moving onto the luminous blue spotchka before her.

Din's helmet turns to his other cohort, "Karga?"

"You know me, I adore the little green fella!" He exclaims, patting the kid's head gingerly. The child looks at him with a bemused look on his face before returning to his soup.

"What’s going on? Why are we discussing caring for the kid?" You ask, feeling like you were one step behind on this entire conversation.

"Seriously, Mando? Isn’t communication the most important part of a relationship?" Cara teases, holding back a chuckle as Din's gloves creak in frustration.

Finishing off her second drink, her eyes meet with Karga and she jerks her head in the direction of the door, gesturing that they leave.

"We'll leave you two lovebirds to it," Karga nods, offering you a warm smile before the two of them stand and leave you and Din to discuss things in peace.

"I had to be sure you'd agree first!" he turns to call back to them in a delayed reply, voice gritty as it leaves the modulator. His shoulders relax a little when you place a hand on his vambrace, gently vying for his attention.

"Rejorhaa'ir ni," you murmur in Mando’a, your pronunciation a little shaky but the words hopefully holding more weight than Basic. Tell me.

"The child is staying on Nevarro with Dune and Karga for a little while,” Din says matter-of-factly, looking down to wipe away the food around the child's mouth with the edge of his cape.

You furrow your brow, bringing a hand to stroke the child’s oversized ears as they twitch, listening to his buir’s words.

“And why’s that?”

Din pauses, as if calculating what to say next—or how to say it. He bows his head low so that it’s in your eye line, a warm leather palm landing reassuringly on your knee, and the cantina melts away as he murmurs the next words just for you to hear.

"Because we" He waves his finger back and forth, pointing at the two of you "Are going off-planet to complete the final part of your training."

---

"Can I look yet?" the sounds of the Razor Crest engines slowing implore you to ask, hands eagerly reaching the blindfold that blocks your vision.

"Not yet," Din says tersely, focused on maneuvering the ship through the atmosphere of the mystery planet you were landing on. His gloved hands reach up to pull your hands back down, and you squirm in his lap impatiently.

He'd taken you in his arms moments before exiting hyperspace, wrapping the thick dark cloth around your eyes and sitting you down on his cool beskar-plated thighs, ordering you quietly to stay put. You might have been annoyed at the way he'd said it if it weren't for the fact that his demanding tone and steel-like grip made you melt into a puddle of affection.

"Where are we?" you inquire, turning your head to speak into the ear of the helmet, hoping the intimate act worms out some more information from the closed Mandalorian.

"Kalora," he utters at last, a hand coming up to brush your hair. Beneath the helmet he catches the delicate almost-floral scent that is distinctly you "It's a dense forested planet in the Western Reaches."

Long ago he'd chased a lead for a quarry to this planet, imagining it to be another backwater skugghole like most bounties retreated to. What he found instead was a peaceful uninhabited land, tucked away from the lawlessness of the Outer Rim.

A planet that was perfect for the final step of your training.

Din lines the ship up with a strip of grassland beside a white-sand beach, flat and even enough to land the Crest on without issue, and then he removes his hands from the controls, taking yours and putting them in place.

"Would you do us the honors?"

At first, you're confused, until he gives your hand a little nudge to pull the joysticks down and you choke on air.

"You want me to land the Crest blindfolded?" you splutter, incredulous.

"It's good practice," he shrugs as if it were something as simple as aiming a blaster at a target.

"Din Djarin, I'm starting to believe you enjoy having me put your life in danger,"

"Just try it. It'll improve your feel of the Crest, I promise," his warm voice paired with his proximity settle the buzzing nerves in your chest. It would be nice to practice your maneuverability of the Crest in adverse visibility conditions, and well, having no sight whatsoever was the perfect way of testing that.

"Besides, I've got you." Din's hands wrap around yours, the leather so warm and soft it's like a second skin. You melt into the sensation, scrunching your face up as you feel the landing out, slowly inching the durasteel beast down while you listen out for the sounds of the engine jets in relation to the ground, balancing out the front-heavy vessel little by little.

The ship touches down on a soft landing with a groan, and your shoulders ease as you begin the landing protocols like muscle memory. With the flick of the final switch the engine whirrs to silence, and you're left with nothing but your own labored breaths filling the air.

"I did it," you murmur in disbelief.

"Of course you did," Din replies with a squeeze to your thigh, and then he's leaning forward to line up the helmet with your ear as he utters low and slow.

"And, for the record, I do enjoy putting my life in your hands. Watching you steer my ship, it… does something to me," his words fade to a shaky sigh.

The helmet disengages with a hiss as Din eases it above his mouth, allowing him just enough room to press his lips to the juncture of your neck, so hot they sear and soothe your skin all at once. You turn with a jolt, eyes scrunched shut even beneath the blindfold, and in the darkness before your eyes, your mouths find each other as if by instinct.

You lean into the kiss, his mouth warm and lips plush, sliding together again and again, each peck getting needier than the last. When you ease your mouth open to sigh, his tongue meets yours in hot wet want, turning your bones to jelly and skin to a magnet that wants nothing more than to press into the beskar that decks his body.

When you turn around in his lap, bringing your thighs to rest on either side of his legs, your arms wrapping around his neck, his body stiffens as if he's on the precipice of losing his sanity, before breaking away from the kiss and gasping for air.

"Kriff—gotta stop or I won't be able to let you leave this ship," Din grits it out like it's a bad thing, but your core tightens at the prospect.

"That doesn't sound so bad to me," you utter sultrily, thighs tightening around him.

"We have a planet to explore, cyar'ika. Your training." he reminds you, his voice low and weak with want.

You're half expecting him to give into both your needs entirely. Until, as if to stop that very thing from happening, he's undoing the blindfold, hands brushing the nape of your neck as the scrap of fabric falls between your bodies.

You're met with the unyielding stare of the t-shaped visor, and you gaze at it, watching your own reflection, until he gives you a reassuring nod, encouraging you to turn around.

So, you do.

Coming from a planet of gray dreary skies, and ashen backdrops to match, the bursts of color that greet you are almost fantastical.

Before you is a verdant green forest, sprawling as far as the eye can see, reaching the peaks of mountains and dips of valleys. A shockingly blue sea, seemingly crystal-clear as it blends with the sparsely-clouded cerulean skies.

"This can't be real," you whisper, and you're scrambling off Din's lap and down to the hold to exit the Crest in the blink of a parsec.

Stepping off the ship, there are three things that hit you at once—the ambient sound of nature so alive and untouched, the balmy climate, not too hot, nor humid, but just right…

And the realization that this is, in fact, very real.

You gaze up at Din as he makes his way to you, body more relaxed than it ever has been stepping off his safe haven, his home, into the unpredictable environment of a planet.

"It's beautiful," you murmur, eyes tearing off the beskar to soak in the sights again. A flock of brightly-colored birds passes above the ship, their sweet melodic song ringing in the air as they fly by.

"It's ours," he steps forward, an arm wrapping around your waist as the helmet presses into the top of your head "For as long as we want,"

You sigh dreamily, the feeling of having no urgency being so unfamiliar to you. There was always somewhere you had to be next, whether it be a fuel stop, food stock, or the next quarry.

But not here, not now.

Watching the world go by, you see a frog emerge from the swaying grass and with a jolt you're reminded of the gaping hole of babbling energy that was the child, your babybug, always running off and getting into things he shouldn't, filling your arms, your mind, and your heart. It felt different without him—wrong.

"He'd love this place," you say softly, face pressing into Din's chest plate as if you could imprint the words onto the metal.

Leaving the kid behind on Nevarro was no easy feat for you, but once you saw him settled into the school he thrived in, surrounded by his peers and in an environment where he could learn, you felt better about leaving him behind for this one adventure.

Still, it didn't stop you from crying as you said goodbye. Pressing your face into his little head as the tears pooled and fell.

When you finally parted ways, you were struck by the way he reached out his little arms, reaching for you and clutching at the air as if he could stop you from leaving through sheer will.

Just like he did to Din when you first joined them, so unused to being apart from his buir back then. You wondered then if Din found it just as hard to say goodbye to the little terror, too.

"How do you manage?" the words leave your mouth of their own accord, choked with a despair you couldn't hide. Desperately wanting to know the recipe to the Mandalorian's stolid attitude—the secret of his stoicism that kept him enduring the weeks of solitude, apart from everything, everyone, he held so dear.

You don't have to elaborate for Din to know what you mean. He just does, the contours of your feelings so familiar to him, your trains of thoughts so similar.

"I…" unusually, Din hesitates, and you wonder if it's the first time he's ever started a sentence without knowing where it will end. "I don't. It doesn't get easier. You just learn to cope with it."

And then, before you can dwell on it any longer, Din is stepping away from you and extends his hand to your hold. You take it with a trembling grip and let him lead you out into the wild, to the valley nestled between forested mountains giving way to grassy plains.

---

The red sun is hanging low in the violet sky by the time Din reveals to you the full extent of this training session.

He'd led you through the forest to a rocky outcrop perched above the trees, the sight of the Crest in the grassy valley below, and taken the time to teach you basic survival steps.

Like what to think of when first traversing through unknown territories, calling on your navigational skills, and forecasting weather in order to plan appropriately, among other things.

Leaning back on a log with his arms resting along the top, he admires the sight of you before him. Watching you prod the campfire with a stick to encourage the flames to grow, the sunset behind you haloing you with light, leaving you glowing.

He was well aware that he hadn't found the chance to tell you what those four words meant yet, the ones he’d uttered headily in the midst of passion, and the longer he went without telling you the harder it got. It seemed there was always a better time than now, and hours turned into days, and now weeks, of withholding the meaning of the phrase he so longed to share.

The fire pops and it comes to life, flames rising from the kindling, and Din vows that he’ll tell you what it means when this is all over. After all, your time on this planet wouldn't last long. Your training would take a day, tops. He could wait until then.

“It’s about time I explained what’s in store for your next lesson,” Din drawls, relishing the way you look up at him expectantly, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Surviving this galaxy isn’t always about engaging in combat. Sometimes, you have to learn to evade it completely,”

He removes his arms from where they rest on the log, leaning forward as he utters the next words.'

“Mandalorians are taught that we must be both hunter and prey. To know how to be one, we must survive being the other,”

“You’re going to teach me how to hunt someone down?” you muse, voice sprinkled with a lighter tone of curiosity.

Beneath the helmet Din lets out a puff of air from his nose—an affectionate reaction to your endearing eagerness.

He tilts his helmet to one side, voice ringing deep yet clear through the modulator.

"Hunt? No… I’m going to teach you how to be hunted, cyar’ika.”

He leans back onto the log again, alight with anticipation in the way you blink for a few seconds, still processing the words, until it clicks, his gaze focusing on the way your eyes widen, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

“You’re telling me I have to—to outrun y—” you’re a stuttering mess, and Maker if it isn’t adorable. With a deep breath in, you try again.

“You’re going to let me get lost in this,” you gesture around at the dense wilderness “And hunt me down like I’m a quarry?”

Din nods once, taking note of the way your eyes scan measuredly over the beskar, as if sizing the situation up. He inhales slowly, letting his already broad chest widen, and watches as your lips part and breath hitches in your throat.

Stars, you’re nervous—maybe too nervous—and for a moment Din wonders if he’s taken it too far.

With a roll of his shoulders, Din props an elbow onto the log behind him and holds an open palm out to you, longing to ease your intimidation.

“It doesn’t have to be so intense. I can go easy on you, we can talk it through. Explain step-by-step what you should do to evade me,”

You shake your head frantically at his suggestion, and suddenly Din is confused.

“I don’t want that,” There’s something in your voice that makes him do a double-take, taking note of the way you look at him with smoldering eyes and parted lips.

“What do you want, then?” he questions, the words a modulated drawl.

“I want you to hunt me down,” you’re not stuttering anymore, your words as sure as the sunset “Like I'm a… like I'm one of your bounties.”

The words give Din the headrush of all headrushes. He practically feels dizzy with the adrenaline that shoots through him, setting every inch of his body on high alert, most notably the blood that runs south.

By the Maker… Not only were you agreeing to this, but you like the prospect as much as he does. The thought of mixing the intimate connection he had with you and the sheer rush of hunting, chasing you through this forest, knowing you’d do whatever you could to get away… made his blood run like lava.

“Then from this moment on,” Din speaks lowly, the tone of the conversation changed completely “You’re free to leave and put as much space between us as possible.”

If you’re phased by his words you don’t seem to show it, instead listening intently to what he has to say, hanging on to each and every word that comes out of the helmet.

It gives him an even greater rush, and the words Din had rehearsed in his head a hundred times over come out smooth as silk, a stark contrast from the way his heart stutters at this newfound reality.

“I’ll give you a head start, and then I’m coming after you and using every method possible to track your location.”

To that, you lick your lips and nod.

"How much of a head start?" you wonder, voice airy, almost mischievous.

Din lets his eyes trail over you for a second, taking note of your form in this new circumstance, though he knows every inch of it by now. His helmet then turns to the side, surveying the leagues of untamed forest as far as the eye could see.

"Half a day," he decides, concluding it to be long enough to keep him on his toes, but not so long as to let you slip through his fingers and disappear for more than a day.

“Just be sure to take the kit I’ve packed for you before you go.” he adds, indicating to the ship behind you with the nod of his helmet.

“Half a day?” you don’t miss a beat, voice as fiery as the campfire as it flickers in your eyes “I’ll get nowhere. You’re the best hunter this side of the galaxy. You’ll find me in an instant.”

Din exhales, shaking his head ever so subtly. Sometimes he wonders if you’re even aware of the hold you have on him.

He raises his hand, beckoning you over with two fingers. You take a gulp of air before complying, scooching over so you’re sitting right in front of him, looking up at the visor through your lashes.

“You have a weakness on me that no one else does” he takes you by the chin, cupping oh so lightly with thumb and forefinger in a bid to get his words through to you “You know me, cyar’ika. Know how I think; how I feel. Use that to your advantage.”

A flash of emotions crosses your face at once, and Din’s not sure if he can decipher them all—an initial sense of trepidation in your furrowed brows, that soon melts away to a sense of almost surprise, ending with wandering eyes and a faint smile that makes him wonder what conclusion you’ve drawn.

With a lifetime spent behind the beskar, Din had gotten pretty good at reading faces—but to him, you were sometimes still an utter mystery.

He takes your hand in his, placing a comlink in your palm.

“Reach out to me whenever you need to. I won’t use the comlink to track your whereabouts unless it's an emergency, but I will check in with you when the sun sets… if you manage to evade me that long,”

“Not if, when,” you bite back determinedly, and Din smiles to himself. You really were enjoying this.

“So, how long do I have to evade you before I win?” You ask, and he shifts on the ground, leaning back to counteract the way you consumed his senses.

“This isn’t a game, mesh’la… But if you want to put it that way, how long do you think you can evade me?”

Din watches closely as you look out into the wilderness, eyes narrowed, deep in thought.

"Before I decide, let's rule one thing out: the jetpack." you announce, folding your arms across your chest "It's not like everyone in the galaxy's walking around with a rocket strapped to their back, so I'd say it's only fair."

"Sure, no jetpack," Din agrees. Not like he could use it in the dense forest, anyway "But I'll keep it with me in case of emergencies."

You go back to mulling over his question, and come to a conclusion after a short while, your face triumphant as you announce your decision.

“Five days."

Din's jaw clenches—five days of chasing you? Not a chance. Not only would he not let that happen, but he’s not sure if he could survive the all-consuming suspense of hunting you down for five whole days.

He gazes at you, taking in the utter determination crossing your face. You were… you were serious about this, weren’t you?

“Okay, avoid me for five whole days and you ‘win’,” Din agrees, putting air quotations on the last word.

“And when I win? What’s my prize?”

Kriff, you were relentless. He lets his helmet rest back on the log with a ‘tink’ before answering.

“I’ll let you decide that one,”

You take a moment to yourself before smiling devilishly at his suggestion, clearly having thought of something. Din groans, closing his eyes and hoping you’d offer him more mercy than you’d Naboo, almost forgetting to remind himself that there’s no way in Hoth you’d be able to evade him for that long.

“One more question,'' Your voice is saccharine sweet and closer than it was before, and when Din opens his eyes, he finds you hovering over him, legs framing his hips. His cock twitches at the precarious position, and it takes everything he has in him to not grind up into your center.

“What happens when you find me?”

The breath gets stuck in Din’s throat—you were being so fucking bold. He brings a hand to your waist, taking time to recover by stroking down to your hip and up again before answering.

“That depends. Do you want me to be gentle, or show you what it’s really like to be caught by a bounty hunter?”

He watches as you swallow, mouth opening before you’ve even formed the words, letting the tension hang thick in the air before you muster up the courage to reply.

You lean in as you say it, breath fogging up the visor and making Din’s senses go wild with the overdose of you.

“Give me your best, Mando.”

---

When Din awakens, the sun is rising on the horizon, the campfire is nothing but embers, and his arms are empty with the absence of you.

Try as he might to fight it, he’d fallen asleep last night, not long after you’d slipped into slumber in his arms, his cape covering your body as the temperature dropped and the galaxy filled the sky.

He scans his surroundings, taking note of the Crest as she stands proudly on the grassy strip you’d landed her on. His focus then falls on the strip of beach nearby, the silhouette of your figure sitting beside the waves.

Standing up and shaking off the sleep from his head, he makes his way to the shore.

“I thought you’d left already,” Din says gruffly as he approaches, but you don’t turn around to look at him when you speak.

“Without saying goodbye? Never.*

Caged beneath layers of beskar and leather, Din Djarin’s heart stutters like a fathier learning to walk.

‘I’ve never seen a body of water like this before,” your voice is light and airy, but he can tell you’re deep in thought.

“You mean the sea?” he offers, stepping forward to sink down onto the sand next to you, and you nod slowly.

“The sea,” you repeat, as if reminding yourself of the word “There’s just so much of it,”

Din looks out at the endless stretch of water, his mind struggling to recall the last time he’d done such a thing—taking a pause from hunting to truly admire his surroundings. It’s not something he would have even considered before you came along.

“I feel like it should scare me, but it doesn’t.” You continue to open up, and Din looks out at the rippling water, your voice washing over him. “It reminds me of space. I stare into it and feel calm.”

He has no words to match yours. Just sheer wonder at how you somehow found beauty in everything, even him.

“And it’s always gonna be there, the sea. No matter what bantha-crap galactic war is being fought, whoever’s ruling the galaxy, all the seas on all the planets will keep rolling their waves to the shore.”

Din sighs, admiring you as you admire the waves, oblivious, his heart overflowing like the swell of a high tide.

When you leave to prepare yourself for the hunt, Din stays and sits a little while longer, mulling over your words like a mantra. It’s the most hopeful thing he’s heard in a long time.

By the time he heads back to the ship, you’re all ready to go, packing the last of your things into your essentials kit.

Your eyes light up at the sight of him, and you walk over, pressing a kiss to the cheek of the beskar helmet.

Din sighs shakily, knowing that if he removes it he’ll get lost in you. He instead walks over to the weapons cabinet, taking out the blaster that had since become yours.

“Kalora is uninhabited and the wildlife isn't hostile, but just in case you need it,” he hands it to you gently “And if at any point you feel unsafe, you reach out to me straight away. Understood?”

You nod, but it’s not enough for the staunchly protective side of him to hear.

“I wanna hear you say it,”

“If I ever feel unsafe, I promise to call on the Mandalorian that’s hunting me to save my ass,” you reply snarkily, a contrastingly sweet smile on your face, and Din finds himself rolling his eyes hard, biting back a grin as he does it.

The two of you stay silent for a moment, and he watches as you inspect the blaster in your hands, slipping it into the holster attached to your belt and nodding just once.

Watching you geared up and ready to head out into the wilderness made this moment feel all the more real. This game you agreed to play with him had left the confines of his fantasies and entered the realm of reality.

Letting go of control was something both scary and thrilling to Din, of not knowing what your next move might be, the anticipation of being surprised and the thrill of trying to think one step ahead of you, who he knew so deeply.

Mixed with it was an uglier side of emotions, the shadow of possessiveness that urged him to not let you go, to keep you safe by his side and make sure no harm came your way.

He felt like a man divided, trying to tame the two beasts within him and left wondering which one would win. And Maker, things had yet to even begin…

Din leans down so he’s eye-level with you, relishing in the way your eyes roam over the beskar like he was a ticking time bomb and you were searching for the button to defuse.

“Remember the rules: evade me for five full days and you win. Half-day head start, and then I’m coming for you—and when I do find you, I won’t be gentle in my methods of catching you,”

You shiver visibly at his words, and he tilts his helmet to one side, voice husky and crackling through the modulator as he utters his twisted farewell.

“Now run from me, atin’ika.”

---

Day I

And so you do.

You run for your fucking life, not daring to look back and see if he’s watching you sprint away from him like a baby Tooka being chased by a Rancor, mind racing a parsec a minute as you go over the things Din taught you beneath the stars last night.

Lesson number one: you can run, but rarely can you hide.

That means you gotta keep moving, which until you almost pass out from exhaustion, was exactly what you were gonna do.

Your heart is lurching through your chest as you run like your life depends on it, baffled as to why your reaction to this training session was so utterly visceral.

Logically you knew this was meant to be a training session, but the bubbling tension between the two of you had created a perfect cocktail of emotions to make this whole situation feel so much more consequential.

Your mind spins with the image of him. Not Din, but the nameless, faceless Mandalorian, as he bent down to meet your eyes, his enigmatic black visor burning into your skin as you looked everywhere but the space where his eyes would be.

—by the maker he’s so fucking broad in all that armor and he’s gonna be chasing you through this forest and you can barely breathe when you’re around him—

So you don’t think, not really. You run and scramble, jump and crawl and push through bushes, and hope that at some point you’ll feel like you’re far enough away from the man that’s going to be hunting you to think properly about how you’ll outrun him for five days.

If this is what it felt like to be one of his kriffing bounties, then Maker be damned, you felt sorry for each and every one of them.

A couple of hours later and you’re completely spent, leaning against a tree to catch your breath as your next lesson on how to outrun a bounty hunter comes to mind.

Lesson number two: leave no trace.

That means footprints, breaking foliage, leaving identifiable objects like food or belongings after yourself.

You look back at the direction you’d been running in, and it’s like you can see the clear path of disturbance you’ve left in your wake.

Dank farrik, you were gonna have to think smarter if you wanted to avoid the Mandalorian for more than today. Closing your eyes, you begin to breathe deeply, willing your racing heart to ease as you listen to your surroundings for anything out of the ordinary that you could use to your advantage.

It’s so faint you’re not surprised you didn’t hear it at first, the bubble of a stream trickling a ways away from where you’re standing. You follow the sound with tentative steps, and once you arrive you remove your boots and roll up your pant legs, stepping into the cool water and following it downstream to wherever it may lead.

Thus begins your journey of trying to be untraceable as you traverse the vast and unknown wilds. You wade through shallow waters, walk on stone or other hard surfaces that won’t leave an imprinted footprint, and climb trees to avoid softer ground.

When you do have to walk on the forest floor, you make sure your footsteps are nonsensical—walking back on yourself multiple times or treading a path of prints that lead in one direction, only to stop abruptly as you start to climb through the trees or step through a floor thick with roots.

The way you meander through the woods is so senseless that it makes you giggle. You imagine Mando attempting to trace your steps, sighing exasperatedly as he realizes what you’ve done, teasing him hours after you'd planted the red herrings.

The humor of the situation is soon lost on you, though, as you recall just how much he’ll be in his element hunting you, making it hard to feel like you’ve got a chance before he’s even started the chase.

It’s just after noon when the Mandalorian’s voice comes rumbling through the comlink, distracting you from your careful steps as you hug a steep hillside.

“Ready or not,” he warns you, voice dark, and your whole body breaks out in goose pimples at the words. Here he comes.

You hum into the comlink receiver in lieu of a reply, feeling the heat rise from your neck and creep to your cheeks as the line clicks back to silence. For the past couple of hours it had felt like one big game, but now you knew that he was after you, it was suddenly all starting to feel very real.

You slow your steps to a halt, immensely aware that you’ve been walking in the same direction for too long. Scanning your surroundings, you don’t find any immediate way to change your current strategy—unless…

It takes craning your neck to look up at the rockface before you, so steep it could almost be a cliff if it weren’t for the grooves and hitches that were big enough for a person to stand on.

Which gives you a sudden idea.

Your hand reaches out for the nearest crevice, giving yourself enough leverage to lift your body weight up onto the closest ledge. Once up there, you can see the next ledge in arm’s reach—and your eyes light up at the brilliant way you’re going to slow down the Mandalorian from capturing you by sundown.

You didn't have to just run away from him, no. You could use the environment to your advantage, and take your escape vertically.

---

Hours later and you're watching the sun dip below the treeline, able to see for miles and miles from your vantage point, yet shaded enough by trees that you won’t silhouette the darkening skyline.

Your limbs ache with a satisfying heaviness, arms weak from the constant pull of lifting your own body weight against the force of gravity, but with it came a dizzying pride of pulling off a climb you just know that your pursuer would struggle with in all his heavy armor.

The Mandalorian’s voice clicks on the comlink receiver, gritty as the darkening sky.

“So you made it all day,”

Stars, he's so fucking nonchalant about it—as if he wasn’t tracing you through the dense wilderness with nothing more than environmental clues to lead the way.

“Day one of five,” you reply, trying to sound cocky but the waver in your voice is uncontrollable.

There's a pause, and you hear the sound of his cape flickering in the breeze as he trudges through the undergrowth like an AT-ST clearing the forest.

“I’ve gotta say, after you stopped storming through the forest like a blurrg in a blaster shop you did well to make yourself less traceable,” Mando notes, his words teetering on the line of playful and taunting.

“Oh really?” You ask, almost surprised. Are you stumping him already?

“Yeah. Now I almost have to think twice whilst tracking you,” he utters, and your face burns as you realize he’s most definitely toying with you.

"Guess I'd better get moving, then," you reply defiantly, stretching your arms above your head despite the way they sear with exhausted pain.

“No. You've been on your feet all day—you should get some rest," for a moment the stoic Mandalorian melts away, and in its place is Din, voice gentle and words full of care.

"Goodnight, cyare… See you in the morning,” he signs off, comlink clicking to silence, and your stomach drops, breath hitching in your throat because oh Maker did you not leave any mystery to your location?

If you'd gotten a half-day head start and he claims to be able to catch up to you come dawn, then there must be no mystery about the path you’ve taken.

He’s practically walking a straight line to you, an impending, unstoppable end to this short-lived escapade.

“Is this your idea of playing games with me?” you murmur into the comlink but are met with staticky silence. Maybe he really is fucking with you, but you don’t fancy taking that risk.

You lift yourself up from the makeshift camp you’d made, packing your things away and keep on moving.

Night slowly blankets the land as you continue to move through the wilderness. The verdant green forest is bathed in a blueish hue, emitted from the twin moons that circle the starry skies above.

Two moons meant double the moonlight, letting you see more than you'd expected to in this uncharted territory. It meant that the forest was not an uncertain abyss, but instead a dimly-lit sprawl to keep ranging.

The sounds of night rise up all around you, a symphony of exotic bugs humming a low drone, the occasional bird or mammal letting out a curious cry into the night.

With the drop in temperature comes the moist smell of the earth beneath you, grounding you as the urge to sleep creeps up. As you brush past leaves damp with dew, you feel as if you're one with it all, just another entity passing through this tranquil place, untainted by the galaxy's strife. Like dreaming, but you're still awake, and alive more than ever.

You're still pondering on how you’ll lose your hunter until you come across the mouth of a cave, shallow enough that the moonlight peeks through cracks and holes in the top of the natural structure.

You lean your head inside, eyes adjusting to the black hole-like darkness, seemingly devoid of all light. This cave was deep, almost endless, in the dark. And the dark, the unknown, was something that raised the hairs on the back of your neck in an inexplicable way, to travel into places where the familiarity of the sun and moons rarely touched.

Standing there, your gut instinct tells you this could be a risk of getting lost, but that worry is overran by the wall of beskar and muscle storming your way that you needed to avoid for four more days.

Besides, evading Mando was all about thinking of the things he would not do, right?

You climb to the top of the cave structure, following it above ground until you find a crack big enough for you to squeeze through, certainly too small for an armored Mandalorian.

Lowering yourself down, you land on the cave floor with a resonating thud, and suddenly the noise of the outside world is lost to the silence and the drip, drip, drip of the dank cavern.

But the dripping was good— that meant water, which meant covering your tracks. Squinting in the darkness, you see three paths laid before you, all there for you to take, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you realize just how much possibility laid before you.

You will be careful, you vow, always certain to follow the shallow paths that let the moonlight pass through the cracks in the ceiling... But Mando didn't have to know that. No, he could lose hours in here, the winding paths wasting his time as he hits dead end after dead end, meeting walls too narrow for him to pass and no trackable footsteps to guide the way.

Before you take that first step you collect yourself. You wonder what the child is doing right now—you had no idea of the time on Nevarro, so he could be sound asleep, or playing with the rest of the schoolkids, or slurping up dinner in the cantina. Either way, your heart swells at the thought of him.

You let those feelings fill you up, giving you the energy you know you'll need for the journey ahead.

So you go bravely into the darkness, with nothing more than instinct and columns of moonlight to guide you.

---

Day II

The sky bursts into a palette of pastel orange and blues, stars fading into the light, and despite your lack of sleep you're still moving through the dense wilderness, gingerly stepping from rock to roots to try not to leave any prints.

The cave was a couple of hours behind you now, having spent most of the moonlight hours tip-toeing through the winding system, nearly getting lost a couple of times until you called upon Din’s useful navigation lessons and found your way out.

Come twilight you’d emerged from the dank, dripping caverns, breaking out into the freshness of day as the forest around you slowly started to awaken.

But you’re tired, so tired, and with each step you feel yourself slipping into a state akin to a droid on autopilot, programmed to march ahead until shutdown.

It’s the Mandalorian’s voice that breaks you from your monotonous actions, his gravelly voice coming through the comlink in rhythmic, labored breaths.

“Scaling those cliffs to try to slow me down? Smart.”

The sound of his voice after hours of silence, alongside his praise-filled words, sends a ripple of electricity up your spine, but you know better than to confirm the path you've taken.

“Err… I—um… have no idea what you’re talking about,” you reply too hastily, the tense tone in your voice made apparent.

There's a calculated pause before the Mandalorian speaks again, a heavy hesitation that raises the hair on your arms.

“Moving already? Not like you to be up early,” he replies, more of a note to himself than a question.

“What can I say? All this fresh air makes me so energiz…” you’re barely able to get the words out before a yawn takes over, and as you stifle it the Mandalorian takes the chance to confirm his suspicions.

“You haven’t slept.” It’s a statement, not a question, delivered in that deadpan tone that’s rendered monotonous by the helmet. It makes you wonder what his true expression sounds like, whether he is exasperated, concerned, or perhaps impressed by your drive to avoid him.

“If I sleep you’re going to catch up with me,” you rebut, and as you say it you stumble on a bush and nearly trip onto the forest floor.

Stars, if you keep going any further you’ll injure yourself.

You stand there for a while, catching your breath and awaiting Mando's sarcastic reply, but when you’re met with nothing but radio silence you feel compelled to press further.

“Because you are hot on my tail, right?”

Silence again. You wish he could see you right now because maybe the scowl on your face would convince him to talk. Oh, who're you kidding? Mando doesn’t break for anyone.

You stand there, the crankiness brought on by your lack of sleep making you determined not to back down, and as you close your eyes, almost dozing off leaning against the broad, moss-covered tree you've pressed yourself to, your attention is called by Mando finally breaking his silence.

“Go to sleep, atin’ika. I’ll wake you in six hours,” he tells you, voice smooth and steady, and the proposal feels like a warm blanket inviting you to bundle in its hold.

You force your eyes back open, blinking back the urge to drift off as you mentally calculate what effect six hours of rest would have on your chances of outrunning him.

If he's finished climbing that cliff you scaled late yesterday afternoon, then he was a few hours away at most. But that paired with the time it might take him to navigate the cave system puts your drowsy mind at ease to consider that slipping into sleep is not a terrible idea.

Thoroughly exhausted, you slide down the length of the mossy tree where you stand, pressing your palms to the ground where the same softness spans the forest floor. So lush, so green, and so, so soft…

Reaching for your comlink, you set an alert to wake you just before his call, giving you enough time to plan your strategy for the day.

You rest your head on a rock pillowed by moss, breathing in the earthy smell that reminds you faintly of Din as he returns from a hunt in the wild. The thought alone is enough to comfort you into a deep sleep.

Notes:

okokok i hope you're all freaking out like i am LMAO, the mando hunter-prey trope is one i LOOOVE and it felt really fitting for this fic to make way for deeper conversations and as a way to dive into din's psyche. i cant wait to share the next part ahhhhh

(For those of you wondering, Kalora is a planet I made up, though I borrowed the name from wookieepedia)

spacing-in.tumblr.com <3

Chapter 18: In Pursuit

Summary:

Din's play hunt for you on the planet of Kalora continues, and the both of you are starting to take things perhaps a little too seriously...

Notes:

happy belated mando season 3 day!!! have a chapter of this fic to celebrateeeee <3

Day II

The sun is arched high in the sky by the time Din’s voice drones through the comlink, muffled as it lays on the mossy rocks beside you.

"Vaar'tur, cyar'ika,"

Warmth spreads inside your chest at the gentle good morning greeting. You take a pause in your current task to pick up the comm and bring it to your mouth.

"I'm surprised you're not standing over me and saying that," you note, glancing around the forest as if to double-check he wasn't right here.

"I told you I'd let you sleep and I meant it," the seriousness of his words makes you smile knowingly to yourself, reminding you he's a man of his word.

You place the comm back down, busying your hands with your previous task, and await to see if the Mandalorian has any more words for you.

"But know that I won't give you the same liberties I allowed yesterday. You‘ve run from me long enough."

The words make your stomach lurch with both fear and thrill.

You swallow thickly, racking your brains to find something equally as fiery to hit him back with. If there was one thing you'd gotten to know over the past day, it was that Mando was the type of hunter that liked playing with his quarry.

And he liked it even before when they played back.

"Oh, really?" you hum, winding the last of the bandage around your boot before you tie it into a knot at the laces "That's good, 'cause I was only just getting started."

Your words are met with a weighted sigh, rattled through beskar and distorted by the modulator, and you still, sitting quietly to listen to every tiny sound that emanates from the comlink.

You strain your ears, hearing out for any echo, water dripping, or footsteps reverberating off rocky walls, giving you the sign that he was still in the cave you meandered through last night.

But with the way you hear his voice crystal-clear, you conclude that he's outside and the caves are behind him.

Bantha crap.

"You sure are cocky for someone that's leaving a near-direct path to their location," Mando drawls almost lazily, voice devastatingly casual, and your heart kick-starts into a faster beat, senses heightening as if by instinct.

"I'll be seeing you, then."

And with that, he leaves you with the sound of your own thumping chest, the comlink clicking to silence.

It takes you a minute to catch your breath, hand reaching up for your necklace in an effort to calm yourself. Fuuuck, he was good at this whole intimidation thing—all dark voice and serious words and waking you up with a good morning in Mando'a. It was enough emotional back-and-forth to give you whiplash.

And sure, his words had some weight—but not for long.

Looking down at your boots, a small smile emerges on your lips at the thought of your scheme falling into action. You'd done your best to avoid soft ground so as not to leave any footprints, but that wasn't enough for the most prolific bounty hunter of the Outer Rim, who could track anyone with so much as the faintest indent in the ground.

However, that wouldn't be an issue anymore, because you'd bound your boots in the thick bandage from your pack, preventing you from making an impression on the ground, practically rendering you untraceable.

You felt powerful. No traceable footprints, and, if you were careful, you could traverse the forest without causing any damage to nature.

For a little over three more days, you could continue to trudge through the wilds of Kalora, leaving Mando grasping at air as he chased you through the places he could only hope you had been.

---

The forest blurs together as the Mandalorian tracks you through it.

It's just like any other quarry, he tells himself, as if it will make it any easier to not lose his mind knowing that you'd successfully managed to evade him for a day and a half already.

He would be lying if it didn't surprise him how good you were at this—a blend of your dedication and willingness to learn mixing with your tenacity and fiery spirit that left him longing for more.

Beneath the layers of leather and beskar steel, Din can feel the baked-in heat emanating from his tense body, sending a bead of sweat rolling down his spine. Usually, it would be something he could disconnect from, zoning out of his body as he took on the role of hunter, the only thing he could feel being the steadiness of his index finger as it hovered over the trigger of his blaster.

But not now, not with this hunt. How could he not think about how you affected him when you were the one he was pursuing?

All he could think about was you, all soft and curves and gentle voice and doe-eyes, with a touch that made him feverish and a smile that made his heart stutter. From the whispers and laughs you shared in the night, to the moans and whimpers as you came undone beneath him.

Suddenly Din is very aware of the way his helmet presses against his forehead; the bulk of his pauldrons weighing on his shoulders. The urge to stop and tear it all off is uncontrollable, and so he gives in a little to the need, collapsing onto a nearby bed of moss and yanking the beskar off his head.

With shaky hands, Din positions the helmet between his knees, staring it right into the visor. Studying so intently the angular metal that you gaze into every day—the only face you have for him. Yet it was a face that you had (somehow, Din thinks to himself) grown to adore.

Images of the kid come to his mind, of the pure joy spread across his little face each time he took the helmet off around him. An experience Din wishes he could give to you.

When it comes to putting the helmet back on, his stomach fills with ice.

With the helmet equipped once more, Din takes a closer look at his surroundings. Something about this place, the way the light streams in through the canopy of trees, makes him feel close to you somehow. The warmth of it. Tranquility. An odd sense of familiarity, mixed with the excitement of something new…

He turns his head to track the footprints he’d been following and notices that there are no prints leading away from this place. Only footprints leading him here.

His head tilts, curiously trying to make out how he managed to lose track of your path until the realization hits him, the blood rushing to his ears almost deafeningly.

Oh, so it was going to be like that.

This hunt was about to get very interesting.

---

It's late evening when Mando's voice comes through the comm, his smoky voice quietly emitting from the speaker attached by a clip to your breast pocket.

“You remember what Mirdala means?”

“Mm… no,” your mind is blank as you maneuver your way through a dense collection of flora.

"It means clever. You clever thing,"

The phrase alone makes the hair raise on the back of your neck—you don't have to guess what he's talking about. The tone of his voice says it all.

"Guess I'll have to track you in other ways, now," he elaborates, and the lack of emotion in his voice makes your mouth dry. He truly was in the mind of a bounty hunter.

You pause your steps, looking back at the seemingly untraceable path you'd been making since wrapping your boots in a bandage to mask your steps.

"What kind of other ways?" you dare to ask.

"Now if I told you it would ruin the fun, wouldn't it?"

Maker. Yes, yes it would.

You continue onward, making yourself as scarce as can be, not even stopping for so much as a snack break as the world around you blurs into the same shade of leafy green.

All the while you're planning your next move, adrenaline making your body feel like it's humming as Mando's comments about tracking you in other ways get to you more than you care to admit.

He'd made disturbingly fast progress on you, but now you weren't leaving a mark wherever you walked, it was as if you could feel the distance between you growing.

It would be no fun to lose him entirely in the wilderness. No, you wanted to hold onto this feeling—the way your entire body smoldered, one spark away from flames erupting in your belly and igniting your need for him.

You set up camp for the night, watching the twin moons waltz high across the sky and wondering how to keep Mando on his toes for three more days.

---

Day III

It was the next day, and the thought of Din being anywhere and everywhere had become all-consuming.

Studying your surroundings, your attention draws to a rocky outcrop jutting out from the sea of green, jutting out from the trees, and giving you a panoramic view of the nearby surroundings.

Up until now, you'd avoided open higher ground, for fear of your Mandalorian being around any corner and seeing you standing above the nature that hid you.

That feeling had all but melted away now, though—a mixture of boldness and longing driving you to clamber up the tawny crags and survey your surroundings for an interesting part of the landscape to use to your advantage.

With dusty knees and muddy hands, you brush yourself off and look out at the seemingly endless wilderness. Seeing the vastness of nature in the big picture like this puts it all into perspective. Of just how small you were, and how much space you had crossed.

And then it catches your eye—you're amazed at how you didn't notice it before, hidden by the dense green. It's been running parallel to where you were walking yesterday afternoon, so steep and jarring that it looks like a higher power cut a slice out of the earth and let the wild fill in the gaps.

A ravine. A giant, gaping hole in the land, that drops down so far that the trees and undergrowth at the bottom look miniature and unreal.

"Hellooooo!" you call out to the empty space, and your breath hitches in your throat as your own voice amplifies and calls back to you, hello ‘ello echo, a hundred times over, vaster than the cave by far.

A chill trickles down your spine, hoping Mando didn't hear your call, but after a moment of utterly still silence, you’re able to shake off the feeling of him being right around the corner.

Clinging onto a nearby tree, you lean and look down at the precarious drop. You haven't seen anything so steep in your life, head dizzy from your eyes' inability to perceive such a distance. Sucking in a sharp breath, you haul yourself away from the edge of the rocks, clinging extra hard to the tree to ground yourself and narrowing your eyes.

The Mandalorian taught you to use the environment to your advantage; keep your pursuer guessing, and even trick them in some ways. The question was, how could you use this terrain to your benefit?

You bring your hand to your necklace, letting your thoughts consume you. Giving him a reason to head down into the ravine would buy you a lot of time, especially since using the jetpack was off-limits. A red herring, of sorts… Something that was unmistakably yours.

Your hand goes for your bag, and as you rummage around your eyes light up as they find just the thing; a deep red kerchief that had come into your possession during one of your many pit stops across the Outer Rim.

A few weeks into joining Din and babybug on the Crest—or the Mandalorian and the child, as they were to you back then, you were at your wits end with a rather peculiar problem.

The kid had been tugging at your hair relentlessly that day, and despite tying it back and trying to distract him with something, anything else, he seemed dead-set on trying to practically pull your locks out of your scalp, both with grubby three-fingered hands and baby alien magic.

Mando must have noticed your frustration, as silently observant as he was back then because when he returned from a refueling station that day, he had in his hand a small package, wrapped with wax paper and tied up with rough-hewn string.

"Thought you might like this," he uttered as he handed it to you, the interaction almost stifling with how almost intimate it almost was "The kid's not used to being around people with hair," he added, and you distinctly remember holding back a giggle at his accidentally humorous remark.

Untying the package, a neatly-folded plain red kerchief was revealed. You're certain you blushed almost as deep as the color of the fabric, wondering whether he'd paid extra to have it gift-wrapped.

"It's perfect. Thank you," you'd murmured up at him, eyes locking with the enigmatic black visor. The two of you had stood there for a brief moment, as if waiting to see what one another would do next, before resuming your regular positions of dancing around your feelings for each other in the tight space of the Razor Crest.

From that moment on, whenever the kid got too rambunctious, you would grab the kerchief and tie it up to protect your hair, soon finding yourself reaching for it in other scenarios—when you were cleaning the ship or working on maintenance, as you traveled to a windy planet and needed your hair out of your eyes, or, hoth, if you were having a bad hair day and felt like covering it.

It was perfect then as it was perfect now—something that Mando knew you cared about, would stand out against the lush environment, and something that made sense to lose.

With one last wistful look, you lean over the ravine with your red kerchief pinched between thumb and forefinger, and you release your hold on it, letting it drift down elegantly to the bottom.

It lands somewhere in the undergrowth, almost looking like a luscious flower amongst the backdrop, but you know to the Mandalorian's trained eye and the aid of his helmet, he'd be able to spot your lost item from a mile away.

A meld of nerves and excitement leaves your body thrumming, and you turn the opposite way of the ravine to continue wandering an untraceable path through the nature of Kalora.

---

It seems the deeper you wind through the forest, time passing by in a blur as you retreat further from the wall of beskar chasing you, the more wound up your entire body becomes.

A thin sheen of sweat lays atop your skin, exasperating the mild humidity in the air, leaving you feeling as if you're buzzing with an energy you know all too well.

You feel it starting like a lump in your throat, spreading all the way down the entirety of your torso. A gripping sensation that makes each breath leave your body in short, sharp bursts—heightening your senses and setting you into a state of arousal, adrenaline pumping hard and fast through your veins.

But not only did you feel like every twig that broke in the forest drew your attention, snapping your head to the source of the sound on the off chance that it's your pursuer, but it's also every step you take, the way your clothes chafe against your body, hair sticking to your face and back of your neck uncomfortably.

You weren't just worked up in the way an animal is while they're being hunted—no, this entire situation left you strung tight in another way entirely.

It's him, it's the chase, the feelings you can't escape. Every notch the sun moves down the sky edges you closer to winning over the Mandalorian while heightening his chances of appearing from fucking nowhere, blindsiding you with the power to pin you to a tree or the ground and knock the wind out of you.

You're not quite sure which situation would be more satisfying—you just know you want Din to be in it.

Stars, you could barely go on in this state. Clothes stuck to your body, the green undergrowth blurring into one as your eyes seek to break apart the tranquil yet monotonous landscape.

Your calls to the Maker are answered when you're trudging through the dry bed of a gully and you hear the faint rush of water somewhere off in the distance. Following the sound, you eventually begin to part leaves as big as your head and discover the source of the noise.

A crystalline lagoon surrounded by glistening rock on all sides, flora and moss spilling over into the bowl and taking over the jagged rock surface. Arching from the very top of the rocks is a cascade of liquid that, even from the distance you stand from it, sprays you softly with a cool, wet mist.

You'd seen this kind of thing before, back on Naboo.

It was a freaking waterfall.

It doesn't take you long to shed your clothes, leaving them in a pile by the shore along with your bag as you glide into the water, stripped bare.

You feel instant relief the moment the cool water envelopes you, creating a ring of ripples that span out the entire length of the lagoon, lost to the burbling waves that come off from the waterfall.

The water soothes your aching muscles, overexerted from days of running almost non-stop, and only now you've stopped to breathe does it dawn on you that you've rested for only a handful of hours since this all began.

Breathing the air out of your lungs, you sink under the water, letting the world go silent for a moment. The rush of the waterfall is muffled to your ears. The sound reminds you of the whirr of hyperspace.

They come to your mind as if by instinct—Din, not the persona that was hunting you, but the man beneath it all, and your little green adopted baby that you'd left behind on a planet so far away it hurt to think about.

How you wished you could share this with them. Babybug splashing in the shallows and playing with the fish, as you tried to stop him from eating one whole.

And Din. Din… He can't swim in all that armor, but what if in your daydreams he could exist without being weighed down by it? You scrunch your eyes harder as if it would help you to imagine the scenario.

Just the three of you in this little oasis in the middle of the wilderness. His face is a black smudge in your mind's eye. A dream, you insist, just a dream….

When you emerge, the rush of the rainforest comes back to you at once. Sounds of the birds cawing. Insects chirping. Waterfall rushing. The sun is angled just so that it breaks out in a ray of light across the lagoon, bathing the entire area in a golden glow.

Thoroughly tuckered out, you lie on your back and begin drifting in the gently rippling waters. Watching the clouds drift by above you, the sky the color of a meliroon. The waterfall spray refreshes as you catch it on your tongue.

You're not sure how long you lie there, taking in the moment, but at some point you decide to swim to shore, eager to make a meal out of the rations Din had packed. You raise your head out of the water once more, shaking your hair out of your face and slowly gliding to the rocks where your belongings lie.

And then you hear it.

The sound that makes your stomach drop and heart-pounding sensation come back to your body all at once.

"Hey… hey. I'm talking to you,"

Din's voice is deadly-low, sounding like he was at the end of his wits.

"You have ten seconds to answer me, or else—“ the comlink cuts abruptly with his curt words, stopping himself in his tracks from saying something he’d regret.

You ogle at your pile of things, confused, until you look up into the sky and realize it was already sunset. Din promised to call at sunset each day. That was now.

"Ten," he starts to count down, all raspy and short of patience and you swear you hear as he turns his regular brisk pace into a run.

"Nine," your body sets into a panic as you scramble to swim across the lagoon in time for his countdown.

“Eight,” You dive underwater, hoping the drag would pull you back less when you were fully submerged.

"Five," is the next word you hear, barely audible over the splashing of your terrible dog-paddle slash almost-drowning stroke as you practically try to push the water out of the way and reach your stuff in time.

"I mean it, cyare. This isn't a part of the hunt. Let me know you're okay," Underneath his cold frustration is a pleading tone that squeezes your chest like a vice. The shore is getting closer by the second, competing with Din's countdown.

"Three," You slide out onto the rocks dripping wet and coughing for air.

"Two," Your belongings are thrown to the side as you try to find where the hoth you put the tiny communication device.

“One…“ his voice is gravel, and your head is spinning. Fingertips brush against something metal and you breathe a sigh of relief.

"Here!" You gasp, white-knuckle grasping the comlink in your wet hands "I'm here, D—Mando. I’m here.”

The silence that ensues is enough to suck the breath back out of your lungs. You listen intently to the weighty sigh that leaves the Mandalorian’s armored chest, tapering out into a rattled groan that shatters a piece of your heart and sends a chill across your bare body.

"What in the dank farrik do you think you're playing at?" He growls, and though his words sound venomous through the helmet’s modulators you know him well enough to pick up the subtle waver that tells you he's perturbed.

“I didn’t hear you call,” you explain solemnly, curling your legs up to rest your head on your knees. “I was swimming.”

“Swimming,” he repeats, the urgency melting away from his tight modulated voice, rendering it deep and smooth.

“Yeah. In a—the sea. In the sea,” you bluff, looking for any chance to throw him off your trail.

You bite your lip, holding still as if any movement, even a breath, could be magically picked up by him. Anticipating his next words with the fine hairs raised on your damp skin.

"In the sea," he repeats your words again, his voice returning back to his normal baritone drawl. The way he drags out the vowels alone sends a shiver across your skin.

"Yeah,"

There's a long silence. You hear the shuffles of leather straining, the scrape of boot soles against the dry ground, and then two thuds as he removes them. He must be exhausted from traipsing around in all the armor. Even if it was his livelihood.

When Mando finally does break the silence his voice is taut, surroundings dead quiet except for the low whistle of the wind.

He's somewhere high up. Did he set up camp overlooking the ravine where you dropped the kerchief? No, he would have mentioned it if he found it, surely.

"I understand you want to explore this planet's nature, but whenever you do, please keep the comlink nearby,"

There it is again, that tone that makes your gut wrench and lips long to press soft kisses against hidden skin.

"Of course,” his name is on the tip of your tongue, but you know out here in the unknown you shouldn’t use it, even if there’s nobody else around “I won't do that to you again."

"Thank you," his voice is hoarse as he says it, and the only thing you want to do at that moment is wind your arms around him and bury your face in his chest plate.

Quiet falls on the two of you again. You lay down and spread out across the rock, toes dipping in the water as you elongate your body. The rock is cool on the bare skin of your back, but the heat from the last of the sun’s rays is enough to keep you warm.

Noise breaks out through the comlink, an impatient rummaging, and contents being tipped out onto the ground. Mando’s looking for something, but he sounds so worked up that you wonder if he’s trying to distract himself from something else.

“Ngh—fuck. Was so close to almost…” His words are uttered through gritted teeth before fading into the air as soon as they are spoken, and Mando expels air as you hear him leaning back on something, the air leaving his lungs as if he hasn't taken a full breath in minutes.

“Almost what?” you dare to ask, body sparking with anticipation as you await his next words.

“You already know the answer to that,” the cryptic sentence alone sends a dreamy sigh cascading out of you, and you nod to yourself as you look up to the clouds and imagine what that scenario would be like.

Him jetpacking to your location, storming it like his life depended on it. Finding you swimming naked in the lagoon, unharmed. Maybe waiting for a little, watching intently as you drifted in the crystalline waters. Silent, stoic. And then you’d spot him, and, well—

It would be game over. Mando would win, and he’d be able to claim his prize, whatever that might be. Shit, you had no idea what he had in mind for you when—if he won. You hoped it was something that involved being pinned between him and the metal walls of the Crest bunk, burning up all the pent-up energy this hunt had given the both of you.

“So. Swimming, huh,” Mando says darkly, and your core flutters as your body senses where this is going just from his tone of voice “Means you’re not wearing much."

“Means I'm not wearing anything” you utter breathily. Feeling tingly and charged all over. All you wanted to do was lie here, letting the golden hour sun hit your body, and listen to the sound of the words he has only for you.

The comlink crackles at the sound of a throaty groan, and then there’s a dull thud of his fist pounding the ground.

Your breath catches in your throat in an almost whine, an unwanted side-effect of your pent-up emotions. And it seems the sound is audible enough to pass through the comlink microphone because, on the other end of the line, Mando is letting out a rattled sigh that is anything but steady.

It's then that a feeling that you hadn't realized was creeping up on you rears its head—the rush of power that comes from holding the Mandalorian’s sanity in your palm, of being able to mold his emotions with your actions alone.

It's something you'd never dream of exploiting, but as you lay on the rocks full to the brim with want and lust, you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to push his buttons and indulge in the aftermath.

“I really am sorry for worrying you,” you utter again, except this time you’re following the words with something more suggestive. “I promise once this is over I won’t be leaving your sight again."

“Damn well you won’t.” he sounds so fucking tense and worked up, it makes you wanna be right there with him, help him unwind with hands and lips and tongue.

"I’ll stay where you can find me easiest," you breathe, your fingers trailing up your torso to trace a circle around your pebbled nipples "In the cot of the Razor Crest, wearing nothing but a blindfold."

The sound that leaves Mando's chest is unlike anything you've heard before—a feral snarl, laced with frustration and lust.

He doesn't reply for far too long, but the silence somehow eggs you on more, and before you know it you're cupping your tits with your free hand and moaning breathily of your own accord.

The sound is enough to make him snap.

“Give me your coordinates,” he says at last, voice ragged. “We're putting an end to this.”

“Asking me for my coords? That's cheating,” you defy, hand stilling.

“You don’t make the rules: I do.” His voice is ice, sharp and cold, a shock to your system in the most thrilling way.

It’s too easy to wind Din up when he was like this. You push further still.

“Well then, if you make the rules, why don’t you tell me what to do?”’

There’s a breath-holding intense pause until he speaks again, and it's like you feel your body heat rising in anticipation of what he’ll say next.

"Lay your hand on your stomach," he says slowly as if to calm you, but the words have the complete opposite effect.

You comply with the orders coming from the detached silky-smooth baritone voice, the mere sentence doing just as much to you as your tentative touch to bare skin.

"Now what?" you purr, heat rising up your neck to your face.

"Trail your fingers up,” He was going to make you go slowly, wasn’t he?

“Up where?” A twisted little part of you is stalling him on purpose, seeing how far you can push before he pushes back.

“To your tits, pretty thing." his breath hitches, as if he's picturing the sight before him "Touch them for me,” the words feel almost confessional, his current desires laid bare.

You let out a breathy sigh as you skim the tips of your fingers across your damp skin, trailing up your ribcage to meet the underside of your breasts.

When you cup them again, you’re half ashamed at the shiver that runs through your body, even more intense than when you'd done it of your own volition.

You can’t help it, a longing sigh leaving your chest that breathes hot air right into the microphone of the comlink. The sound of it makes Din expel a deep groan.

“Tell me how it feels,” the gritted demand is enough to send a wave of heat rushing to your core.

“Good,” you utter, too caught up in the sensation for actual sentences “feels good,”

You run your hand back and forth across both breasts, moaning softly when your fingernails drag across the pebbled flesh of your nipples.

It’s as if every one of your nerve ends is on fire, burning bright with longing.

“More, Mando—need more.”

“Could give you more. A lot more,” he utters, voice so low with the way it scrapes against the speaker of the comlink.

Even through a haze of want you know what he means. He wants you to give up the hunt, to give in and let him win.

And in the cloud of pleasure that's slowly consuming your mind, that prospect doesn't sound all too bad.

But there was something far more satisfying than giving in. It was to defy his every demand, to wind him up with want even more, keep him hanging only to let him implode with need when you successfully evaded him for three whole days.

So you do exactly that: you defy. By sinking your hand down to your core and drawing a finger through your slit, spreading the slick heat across your digits.

There's this moment of in-between where the deal still hangs between you, the chance to call it off…

Until you’re letting an unabashed moan tear through your chest that gives your decision away completely.

“No.“ the word leaves the modulator in a growl, raw fury “Didn’t say you could do that yet.”

“Don’t—ahh, don’t care, big guy,” you say between moans, sliding a finger inside yourself and choking back a gasp as your lower body tenses.

“Stop.” He says it so viciously you’d think it was a curse.

“Can’t tell a—ngh, your bounty what to do,” you bite back, and as if to prove a point you start drawing tight circles around your clit, taken aback at how close you are to orgasming already.

“Not until I have you cuffed,” His darkly snarled words only fuel your fire, quickening your pace, chasing ecstasy.

"Fffuck—keep talking, Din, please—" you beg, letting his real name slip out in the throes of lust, your fingers desperately trying to work at yourself the way his warm, expansive digits did so effortlessly.

"You like touching yourself on the filthy fucking forest floor, don't you?" he hums as if the realization had just dawned on him, and Maker, it just dawned on you too.

There's something about laying here alone, giving into primal instincts, while Din listens to your every breath, simultaneously holding power over you and yet completely powerless to your actions in the situation.

"If you actually managed to catch up to me, I wouldn't have to," you dare to gasp back.

Din's breaths stutter, and you can tell by his choked grunts that he's collapsing into his urges, touching himself as you do the same. You close your eyes, imagining him stroking his cock in stunted, frustrated pumps, punctured by the tight, tense pants that leave your chest.

"You looking for trouble?" His words are a statement, gritted through clenched teeth.

"Trouble?" your fingers pick up the pace, thrilled, and your breaths follow.

"Tormenting me like this, provoking me, trying to—to trick me," his voice is deadly low, such a stark contrast from the way your body thrums "Dropping your kerchief? Telling me you're swimming in the sea? You didn't think I'd see through it?"

Your pace falters, mouth becoming dry. Fuck—he was onto you, wasn't he?

"Because I do, mesh'la. And it only fuels me to catch you sooner,"

Something in you changes, a switch that's flicked by the knowledge that you've successfully managed to let the Mandalorian's secretive guard down, his tender frustration of your attempted deceptions, and suddenly your core is starting to blossom with ripples of pleasure.

"Din, I—," you gasp, the secrecy around his name lost to your mindless exhilaration "Gonna cum, Din, I'm gonna—" The fingers inside of you desperately fighting with your slick heat, the thumb on your clit sending surges of electricity through your limbs.

"Then cum," he orders, and, as if he has total control over your body, you do.

After days of being constantly on the move, and even longer since Din had laid his hands on you, the sheer force of the orgasm blindsides you, shredding every last ounce of tension and concentrating it into the pure bliss of falling apart beneath your fingers, his voice.

Din lets out a choked grunt, rounding into a snarl that embodies all his frustrations from the past days of taunting. The sound of it draws your orgasm even deeper from your center, resounding like a riptide through your body.

You ride your bliss like a wave, letting the aftershocks roll through until it gently fades. The surge in your ears silencing, replaced by the rush of the waterfall and sounds of the twilight birds chirping in the forest.

Body limp and limbs heavy, you ease your hand away from the apex of your thighs, dipping your hand into the water to clean it and running it through your hair to cool yourself.

On the other end of the comlink you hear Din exhale with a rattled puff and the snap of his waistband as he tucks himself back in.

"Shouldn't have let you do that," he admits gruffly "S'only going to distract me more.*

"You didn't—?" your eyes widen, imagining him sitting there in the wilderness, fully armored, his delicious bulge straining against the fabric of his pants.

You hear him shuffle in place, leather creaking, and armor scraping. The silence is a clearer answer than any words.

"But, that's not—" Your stomach tightens into a knot and drops. It's not what you wanted at all—for you to reach climax while he's left longing.

"It's just how it is." His tone is flat and taut, pulled as tight as tense muscles.

"No." you're adamant, almost petulant, sitting up as if the straightness of your back will ring true through your words "It doesn't have to be this way."

It's a pattern you noticed long ago, of Din putting everyone else before himself, leaving him with the scraps; crumbs of comfort, fragments of indulgence.

"I don't want it to end like this. With you forgetting yourself in all of this," you lie back down, letting your body melt into the rock beneath you as your voice softens, “It’s good to let go sometimes. To not always be on high alert,”

The words seem to have an effect on him because the sigh that leaves his lungs is slow, almost relaxed. His guard against the galaxy eased down just a little, enough for you to worm your way into his heart some more.

“Besides, I’m definitely not going anywhere,” You add teasingly.

A soft chuckle emits from the comlink, a sound of defeat and tenderness all the same, and then you’re hearing the zipper of his pants ease down again.

"Mmmh… that’s it,” you breathe, positioning the comlink by your hips and sliding your fingers through the slick of your pussy.

"Hear that?" you say as sensually as you can, pausing as you rub your spend along the insides of your thighs "That's what you do to me,"

You hear the frantic way Din tears the glove off his hand, casting it to one side and releasing a choked exhale of desperate satisfaction once his hand finally wraps around his thick, hard cock.

“Fuck—the things I w-would do if I had you—” Din gasps, the words punctuated by the pumps of his hand along his length.

"Come find me and you can have me however you like," you hum back, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he lets out a worked-up groan that morphs into a breathy, shuddered exhale.

"You're gonna regret saying that," he warns in a deliciously deep tone "G-gonna regret—fuck, ner'kar'ta," he chokes, and then a faint noise leaves the comlink, a sweet, sated sound of Din's pleasure coming to a head.

You squeeze your eyes shut and it's like you can see it, imagining his bliss leaving him in short, sharp bursts, painting his knuckles and trickling down his length with milky white.

It's part thrill part torture, hearing Din reach his climax and not being the one giving it to him, or even being able to witness it. It tests your restraint even harder, edging you closer to saying that one little word and let him fetch your coordinates.

To give up and beg him to come here, spread you open, and bury himself deep 'till the sun rises.

Desperate to satiate yourself, your fingers hover by the apex of your thighs again, clit thrumming with want, but your actions are cut short when Din speaks up at last, his breaths labored and staticy through the helmet modulator.

"Goodnight, cyare. I hope you enjoyed swimming by the waterfall," he says, and the comlink static silences as the Mandalorian signs off for the night.

Your heart lurches—does he truly know where you are, or was he bluffing? Playing bounty hunter mind games to convince you to yield out of sheer doubt?

Your eyes are too heavy and body too blissed-out to head into the forest and scope your surroundings, however, and soon you find yourself slipping into a deep slumber beneath the slowly-emerging stars.

Chapter 19: Untraceable

Summary:

In this update... lots of feels, comlink calls, driving each other mad & opening up.

Notes:

can't thank you guys enough for the love on these past couple of chapters!! it means a lot <3 hope you enjoy this oneeee

Day IV

You're awoken by the sharp rays of the sun pressing onto your eyelids, prying them open in an instant.

With a groggy gasp, you lurch into a seated position, momentarily disoriented by your surroundings until last night's comlink call comes to mind. Starting up into the sky, your heart jolts at the sight of the fully-risen sun.

Stars—how long were you asleep? Nine hours, maybe ten?

You turn to your side and begin rooting through your belongings, pulling on your clothes in a sleep-dazed scramble. The comlink rolls out from the pile, and you clutch it with white-knuckled hands, holding down the button to speak with a shaky finger.

"Why didn't you wake me?" you say in lieu of a hello, words laced with sleep and unashamedly desperate.

The first thing you hear is the sounds the Mandalorian's boots are making, the heavy soles trudging through the undergrowth, breaking and crushing it as he charges through the forest to get to you. Your mind races to think of how long he could have been storming you like this, not caring about being quiet when he knew you were still asleep.

Somehow, incredibly, his steps quieten to almost imperceptible brushes, but judging by the way he breathes in and out with such heaviness, his speed doesn't.

It reminds you of just how skilled Mando is, of his ability to make such intimidating noises when he deems it necessary yet to be quiet when it benefits him most. The armor is truly a part of him, the reflective metal letting him blend seamlessly into his surroundings or be a menace all the same.

"That wasn't a part of our deal," he says at last, the lilt of his deadly-calm baritone voice setting you on edge.

"But, I—" you stammer, the words caught in your throat, not even sure where the sentence is going beyond the bubbling feeling of indignation.

"You what, sweet thing?" You can practically see the head tilt he's doing as he says the words, light bouncing off the darkened visor as if he were winking.

Last night seemed to have had the opposite effect on him, giving him a clearer head than ever.

"... Forget it," you mutter, cheeks beginning to burn, and with your free hand you start pulling on your socks and boots "How long have you been stalking through the forest to get me?"

"You should find shelter soon," Mando says, dodging your question completely, not even giving it the time of day “Storm’s rolling in."

Brows raised, you stare up into the baby-blue sky, struggling to see what he means at first—until you spot it in the distance, thick gray clouds rolling parallel, too far for their torrent to reach you.

"Yeah, I see it," you note, standing up and slinging your pack across your shoulders, clipping the comlink to your breast pocket, and heading back into the forest, ready to forge the path for today.

The Mandalorian slows his pace, coming to a stop as you hear the crunch of a twig snapping beneath his feet.

And then you slap your hand to your mouth, heart jolting at the realization of your mistake.

Without a word he's rushing through brush and undergrowth that slides against his metal, the heavy thud of his boots on rock as he maneuvers his path in a completely different direction.

"Ah, then I'm heading in the right direction." You hear the smile in his voice, the smug cockiness of having successfully one-upped you. Two-upped you, even, if you count oversleeping.

Click goes the comlink, and you're left with nothing but your own thoughts to accompany you.

The mere notion of your beskar-clad Mandalorian coming your way makes your heart drop, the warmth draining from your face and shamefully pooling itself in your core.

Kriffing hell. Not only had you lost almost half a day to sleep, but now you'd made clear the direction that the Mandalorian should take to get to you.

With no gauge of when he woke up and started moving, or if he'd even slept at all, there was no way to calculate exactly how far away he was. He could be a few hours from you, or as little as one.

But what if it was half of that? What if the distance between you was so short that you could count it in minutes? Looking around the forest in a panic, suddenly the meld of green starts to close in on you, leaving you feeling so very exposed standing in this clearing.

Shaking your head to scatter your woes away, you take a deep breath and start to list off your options, just like Din had taught you to do during training. Survey your surroundings, use the environment to your advantage, and always try to think one step ahead of your pursuer.

There's only one thing you could do that Mando would least expect you to, you soon realize.

You turn towards the clouds, staring the tempest right in the eyes, the harbinger of the notorious bounty hunter that headed your way like the rolling storm, and you start your journey towards chaos.

---

Slowly but surely, the forest turns freaky.

The gloomy clouds above dim the forest into that of near-darkness, even darker than the night, despite it being sometime in the evening.

The wind has picked up, and with it, the rustling of leaves, cracking of twigs, that sounded like footsteps. The earthy smell of rain on the way fills your senses, the eerie silence of the usually loud nature making the hair on the back of your neck raise.

And, in addition to this was Mando’s mind games getting to you, the exact games you'd played on him, making you second-guess everything.

Every shadow, rustle of the trees, it was him, come to get you, hot breath and brushed steel. With each hasty step you scan the treeline, seeking the tell-tale iconic armor whilst realizing it would be almost impossible to spot him.

For he reflects his environment, the mirrored metal shielding him, letting him blend into his surroundings, hidden, silent, skulking.

You traipse through the undergrowth, scramble up hillside, and slide down rocks until the skies open beneath you, rain pattering onto the dense canopy.

It comes down the trees in small droplets, and then fatter ones, getting heavier, heavy enough to break through the upper greenery and the rain is landing on your skin, cool, refreshing, setting you into high alert.

Soon the rain becomes too much to fight against, and so you shelter beneath a giant leaf, crouching as you watch the rain collect and run off the curled tip of the leaf. You drink some, it's fresh, hydrating, almost calming your hammering heart for just a moment.

The comlink receiver clicks to life, so faint amongst the rush of the rain you almost don't hear it. Din's silky-smooth voice cuts through the static and to your ears, a grounding beacon in this unknown world.

"Keeping dry?" he asks innocuously, but you know better than to answer that question. To inadvertently reveal more of your whereabouts.

"Are you?" you reply with a question in a bid to be assertive, blood thrumming with adrenaline from the past few hours of retreating.

"No," he replies honestly, and when you strain your ears you hear it, the tinny thrum of rain on beskar. "I have a bounty to catch,"

Your face contorts. There was no way in Hoth you were going to outrun him for much longer if you stood here waiting around. No, you needed to get on his level, match his energy in order to survive.

"Then I guess I have one to run from," you mutter to yourself, ducking out from under the leaf and breaking out into a stride once more.

It's not very long from the first outbreak of rain before the first rumble of thunder can be heard off in the distance. You pause, looking around at your surroundings for any brilliant flashes of white light to accompany it, but the wilderness is too thick to see that far.

"Are you on elevated ground?" Mando's voice emits from the comm again "If you are, find a way down now. And then I need you to—"

"Why?" you question, trying to keep your voice steady as a second wave of thunder rolls nearby.

You'd been witness to storms like this while sitting in the safety of the Razor Crest, watching the downpour with babybug tucked comfortingly in your arms, but never had you been outside during one. You’d be lying if it didn’t spook you a little.

Clenching your fists, your heart twinges at the thought of the child, his big, floppy ears, and wide, galaxy-like eyes gazing up at you lovingly. You want nothing more right now than to press him to your chest and inhale the soft scent of his scalp.

Well, perhaps there's one thing you want just as much. Your face pressed against cool beskar, hugged tightly by muscular arms, hair stroked by worn leather gloves. Din.

"Just… find shelter. Please." There’s something dark in his tone, and between the roaring rain and static of the comlink, you can’t tell if it’s demanding or pleading.

Usually, you would obey him without a doubt, but after all the mind games and the running for days, you’re too wound up to bend to his will. No, you were determined to not get caught, to not fall into one of his traps.

You bring the comlink to your mouth, shaking off the water and crouching down so you could utter the next words to him in a defensive, worn-out snarl.

"If this is your idea of messing with me, then it's not going to—"

"I mean it. This is beyond the hunt." His voice is the most severe that you've ever heard, cutting through your discontent and lodging his words deep in your chest. "Do you know what happens to people caught in thunderstorms?"

He takes your dumbfounded silence for a resounding no.

"The human body's a conduit for lightning, so take a guess." His voice is gravel, and more serious than you’ve ever heard it since you started this thing.

Your eyes widen, freezing you to the spot. The third rumble of thunder rolls across the land, closer than the last two, and your body feels like it's doused in ice water with the realization of the danger this storm presents.

A visceral danger that far outweighs this imaginary, game-like danger of being caught by Mando.

“I’ll find shelter,” you murmur, standing up and starting to scan your surroundings.

“Good,” he says, voice full of warm appreciation, and your body hums lowly at the praise.

You narrow your eyes, looking back at the way you’d been walking as you recall passing a cave not too long ago.

Pulling the leaf from the ground and using it as an umbrella, you retrace your path, not caring less about the muddy prints you leave behind in your wake.

You enter the cave a sopping wet, shivering mess—but you’re not trembling from the cold. No, it's the adrenaline from evading mother nature's wrath and the Mandalorian's hunting at the same time.

The lighting in the cave is dim, but as your eyes adjust you see before you an empty, dry cavern, adorned with deadened hanging vines that spindle down from the rocky ceiling to the packed-earth floor. In the cave roof is a hole allowing a column of light to pass through and with it the drip-drop of rainwater, collecting into a shallow puddle at the center.

Easing yourself down onto the dry ground, you get to work removing the outer layers of your soaked clothing and laying them on a nearby rock to dry.

Next to come off are your boots, starting with unwinding the bandages you’d used to hide your footsteps, now sopping and damaged beyond repair. You curse quietly to yourself, taking note that the wet ground outside would make hiding your footsteps nigh impossible from now on.

All you had to do was make it a little while longer.

You exhale, the silence deafening. You want nothing more than to fill it, the dripping cave doing nothing to comfort you the way the drone of hyperspace does, the quiet whirrs of the Razor Crest melding with the chirps of the child, the shuffling background noise of Din working away in the hull.

Maker, you were starting to feel as hollow as your surroundings. You needed to quiet the silence somehow, to fill it with something familiar—something safe.

"Where'd you learn so much about thunderstorms?" you murmur into the comlink, voice softly echoing around the grotto.

As expected, Din hesitates before replying to you. You’d come to learn that his pauses could mean a multitude of things—either he could be distracted hunting, thinking about his next move, staying silent to hide his location from the enemy.

Or, as you discover this time, he could be trying to think of how to form the words to something deeply personal he wishes to share with you.

”Growing up on my home planet,” Din begins, voice gravely and low, and you hold your breath, curious to know where this story will go. You imagine him sitting in a cave no different from this one, his long limbs splayed out as he sits, arms folded, resting against a rock.

“They’d roll through every rainy season. I couldn’t get enough of them—I’d stand out in the rain ‘till my Pa hauled my ass back inside. Something about the power nature can bring, the way man has no choice but to bow to it, it just…”

“Sounds like he was a good dad,” you say so tenderly, smiling at the image of a young Din being picked up and carried away from imminent danger while he protested.

“He was,” His voice is almost a whisper, raw with emotion. Sounds like a father and son I know, you want to say, but then Din’s speaking up again, entrancing you with his open heart.

“But even in the destruction, a rainstorm nourishes. Our crops were hydrated for weeks, the soil replenished after the dry season," he says, and you can practically see it before your eyes, the image of a small boy standing amongst the soil, toes squished in the dirt, a grin across his face that has yet to be hidden behind steel and leather.

Lightning cracks outside, flashing bright by your cave, and you hold your breath as it illuminates the outside world. It felt so close, so dangerous.

The storm reminds you of him, you muse. Nourishing… and devastating.

"Do you miss your home planet?" you wonder, thinking back to your tender conversation beneath the stars of Seolona, feeling like that was forever ago.

"No," Din's voice sounds wistful and heavy, but not sad "Traveling is all I've known since being taken in as a foundling,"

You pause to think. A life of traveling, the complete opposite of your upbringing, must have been exciting. You wonder if it ever felt unstable—until you realize you have the perfect example of how you were both raising the child, and you smile. With enough security from the people around him, he must have always felt like he had a home.

Din's gentle baritone voice pulls you out of your daydreams, turning the conversation onto you.

"What about you? You miss your home planet?”

Smiling to yourself, you shake your head.

"Stars, no. That planet didn't feel like home ever since the empire raided my family homestead," you utter, unable to stop the way your voice weakens. The heaviness of the topic weighs on the air, and you breathe in thickly to compensate.

"Do you know why the Empire came for your family?" Din inquires.

“No,” your words leave in an exhale. “I heard years later about something to do with eradicating force sensitives, but that was just fear-mongering floating around town,” you shake your head as you say it, fighting against the bitterness that bubbles within.

“There were no force sensitives in my family. We were simple farmers.” You look down at your necklace as you say it—so often you forget it's there, but right now it feels like a heavy weight on your sternum.

“Besides, I’ve come to realize that home doesn’t have to be a place. It can be a person, or people.” you switch back to the previous topic

A realization dawns on you, then—as the very words leave your mouth, you’re suddenly aware that you don’t have the usual feelings brewing in you that came with opening up to the faceless Mandalorian. No longer are there nerves bubbling in your tummy that usually you had in the past when speaking with Din.

There’s still that anticipation, the tingles that leave you a little on edge and longing to hear what he has to say, but no buzzing anxiety.

You think back to those four mysterious Mando’a words he’d said to you in the throes of passion, and of all the things you think they could mean, there's only one translation that really makes sense.

Three words in Basic, one simple declaration, that would change and solidify everything you had, rooting it in reality.

But admitting it to yourself makes it all the more real, the potential of what that could mean—of your feelings for Din not being mere want, lust, need, desire, burning fast and bright like a ship breaking into the atmosphere, but instead the controlled, steady glide of a ship through hyperspace, traveling past the speed of light as all is calm around it.

For those four words to mean what you thought they did, would confirm that you felt that way too. That, in this life, with this man whom you’d never seen the face of, you’d managed to fall into something so deeply.

Something everlasting. Scary. Beautiful. Overwhelming. Safe.

Waiting for a single second more than you had to know the answer felt unbearable—so, as you sat in the dripping cave with your longing emptiness echoing around you, you vow to ask him when you were together again.

“Home can be a person,” Din repeats, and he doesn’t have to outright say it for you to know those four words are on his mind, too.

---

Day V

The hours traipse by, and come the next morning weather passes and you can safely emerge from the cave.

Your initial senses pick up the sweet, alive smell of the wet forest around you. The sun momentarily breaking through the clouds bathes everything in a warm glow, illuminating the dripping leaves and leaving the bark on the trees glistening with moisture, before it disappears behind the clouds again.

The forest is so alive, and so are you.

With bold steps, you turn back on your original path, but this time you head down a slope and discover a wide, lazy river, its banks swelled from the storm.

You follow it for a while, wading by the edges in the knee-deep water until it meets the open ocean. You stand out on the damp sand, surveying your surroundings.

Across the water is a small, densely-forested island, tied to the mainland via a sandbank arching from the beach. The strip of sand shrinks into the beaches of the isle, before appearing again and looping back to the mainland a way off in the distance.

With tentative steps, you walk out to the sandbank and press your foot to it, watching as your print melts away in the wet, clay-like mixture.

It’s like you feel the idea hit you square in the face—gasping as your eyes light up.

This was it, your ticket to evading Mando for a little while longer, possibly throwing him off your trail completely.

Staring up at the overcast skies, you struggle to find the sun behind the mass of gray dread, leaving you to guess that it was the mid to late afternoon.

Meaning that it was a matter of hours before the hunt would be over and you would win. Five days of running, almost come to an end. This was it, the last leg, and from where you were standing, it felt like a surefire way to ensure your success.

Charged with energy, you walk across to the island, watching the wet sand dissipate your footsteps.

Leaving your Mandalorian pursuer grasping for straws to find you yet again.

---

Din leaves the mountainside cavern with a grunt, his limbs stiff from the sleep he’d had the liberty of taking while the storm roared above.

He curses to himself as he catches sight of the dampened forest, the late morning peeking through the parting clouds in the sky, but he’d be lying if the root of his frustrations lay in his extended sleep alone.

No, he was beyond exasperated at this situation, of chasing you for days—someone who had never run from anyone before, much less a bounty hunter—and being totally demolished by you, always thinking one step ahead of him, even if he caught you on it a couple of times.

In many ways, he was mad at himself, for having such a clear lead onto you from the start, but somehow losing you to this forest, outwitted, powerless.

He was finding out more about you in this hunt than he'd ever had. The jarring intimacy of tracking you while you were hours away, analyzing your footprints and the little decisions you made along the way. The places you stopped to pause and admire, scenic overlooks and watering holes where the peaceful animals of this planet gathered.

He'd learned so much from the ghosts of your movements through this dense forest, and he'd unwittingly learned more about himself, too. The tension of not having you close riling him up, testing his patience. The battle between protectiveness and possessiveness warred inside of him.

Not even that night you were in the lagoon had unwound him, his orgasm offering such brief respite to his staunchly tensed body, allowing him a few unbroken hours of sleep before he’d woken up and repeated the insatiable cycle again.

In fact, Din had come to change his mind about his feelings towards hunting you—he doesn’t like it at all, chasing you while feeling sick with want, being outsmarted, and always feeling like you’re arms reach away.

The sexual tension is insane. He's fucking chasing you through the forest and you're good at it, beating him at his own damn job. He just wants you to give up already and tell him where you are, or stay put so he can catch up to you.

Yet that untameable part of him doesn't, because ending this hunt in such an anticlimactic way would never quench his need to hunt you down.

A growl tears from Din’s chest as he slams his fist into a nearby tree, feeling his knuckles cry out for the umpteenth time. He daren’t count how many times he’d let his emotions get ahead of him in this hunt, clouding his better judgment, leaving him panting against a tree, dumbfounded at the hold you had on him.

He looks down at the tree, watching as the bark crumbles onto the wet ground.

And then he sees it, not quite believing his eyes at first.

With the tilt of his helmet he crouches down, hand reaching to the sight controls to switch to footprint mode.

The breath catches in his throat, before releasing in a rattled, cathartic shudder.

There it was, highlighted and glowing unmistakably through the helmet’s HUD.

A footprint. But not just any footprint—your footprint.

He sinks further to the ground, groaning in relief at the sight of it. The first proper lead he’s had for days.

Instincts kick in, the headrush coming to him as a conditioned reaction at the sight of something tangible to hunt.

Body ignited, muscles wound tight. Blood rushing in his ears, mouth salivating. He rises to stand, turning his head slowly to watch the ghost of you make your way towards the river with swollen banks, only to disappear in the rush of water and not emerge.

Din pieces together the picture, comparing it to your previous tricks and realizing you were making your way downstream towards the sea.

He had you, now.

---

“Ugh, great…” you mutter, shaking off the mushy glob of whatever-the-kriff that was sticking out of the wet sand.

You pause, crouching down to clean what you assume is sun-baked seaweed from your foot and looking back at your path.

Walking across the sand bridge took longer than you’d expected, but eventually, you’d made it.

Turning back, you see the wet sandy bank now under a thin layer of water, and your brow furrows. You hadn’t remembered it looking like that when you first set out.

Still, you trek onward, following the shores of the island under the canopy of the trees, heading towards the second strip of sand that would take you back to the mainland.

Except, you don’t find it.

You stare out at the mainland across the way, the fast-moving ocean current between you and your freedom. To your right is the way you came from, and to your left, is the sea.

With no sight of the strip of sand that was previously there when you set out to this isle.

“No, no, no…” you start to panic, heat creeping up your neck and to your cheeks “Think fast—shit, think, think—“

High ground. You had to reach higher ground and see where the sandbank had shifted to.

It doesn’t take long to break through the brush and reach the center of the island, where a cluster of larger trees lie atop a steep, lush cliff. You rest a palm against one of the trees, studying the path up, and you start to climb.

Reaching the upper branches of the trees gives you a view of the entire island, and for a moment your breath is taken away by the beauty of it.

The mainland stretches out in the near distance before you, and you follow it, turning your body around as you take in the water surrounding you from nearly all sides.

There was no sandbank to the other part of the mainland, not anymore. And, somehow, the bridge you had walked across had shifted by a whole lot, moving away from the wide river and further along the mainland coastline.

Maker be damned—the sand banks moved along with the changing water. Of course they did, you frustratedly realize, remembering that Din had mentioned the powerful pulls that large bodies of water had on their surroundings.

The tides had turned, and unless you made your escape from this island, it could mean losing to your hunter.

Before you can even descend the tree and plan a new route, your panic is disrupted by the one sound in the world that is both torment and a blessing.

“It’s over, atin’ika.” The Mandalorian drawls from the comlink speaker, the words spoken so lazily you could almost imagine he was bored.

You yelp, heart kicking up to a hammer as you try to scramble down from the tree. Halfway down you lose your grip, slipping down to a lower branch with a startled whimper.

“Y-you could see me?” you stammer, hiding behind a cluster of leaves as you poke your head up and scan the mainland for any sight of him.

“Step out onto the beach now and I’ll go easy on you.” His words give nothing away, other than a spine-tingling order that you have to fight to obey.

”No way,” you scoff, looking up in the direction of the low sun momentarily breaking out of the thick clouds, and you hop down from the tree “I’m holding out until sunset.”

“Sunset?” His deadly smooth voice is laced with intrigue. Why does he sound so curious? Isn’t this what this whole thing was really about, seeing if you really could outrun him?

“Because then I’ll have won, duh,” you bite back a smile, relishing in reminding him that you have the upper hand. Looking out westwards, you see the sun start to kiss the horizon.

Soon, you think to yourself, and then Mando speaks again.

“No, that’s not—“ his voice is clipped, obscure in its intent. You hold your breath, awaiting his next words.

“I said five whole days, cyar’ika.” he pauses, and the tension shreds away at your patience “That means ‘till midnight.”

Your blood runs cold, mouth turns dry. You mean it wasn’t over? If you wanted to beat him you had to keep going?

He clears his throat, the tone breaking roughly through the comm speaker. He’s impatient beyond belief, teased by you for the past five days, and now you've backed yourself into a corner.

But a creature backed in a corner doesn’t give in, no. They bear their teeth, puff up their chest, and they fight with everything they’ve got.

You bring the comlink to your mouth, taking a slow, measured breath before replying as level-headed as you could muster.

“Then I guess I’ll have to run from you a little longer.”

You hear it ever so faintly, the humorless chuckle that leaves his helmet. The semblance of Din amongst the wall of armor that is the Mandalorian.

“Nowhere to run on an island so small, pretty thing,” he points out, and your pelvic region hums at the nickname laced with such thorny words “You’ll have to hide.”

“B-but you said…” You’re stammering again, mind recalling what he’d said to you by the fireside the first night you came to this planet.

You can run, but rarely can you hide.

“Good luck,” he grits, the sheer definition of tension and pride, and then there’s the ‘click’ as the call ends.

You let out a shuddered gasp, nearly dropping the damn thing as if it had scalded you, and you stare at it on the ground for a while, watching as it leaves an indentation on the mossy ground.

This place was tainted—not only had he most likely seen you up in the trees, but he’d also be able to track the imprint of your boot’s soles in the softer high ground.

You had to get away, as far away as you could, and find a place to hide, somewhere that would be the last place that he’d look, or if you were lucky, a place he would never look.

You’re equal parts terrified and thrilled, body sick with anticipatory shivers, and bubbling red-hot with the thought of what exactly it would be like the moment he caught you.

In the final hours of the chase, this hunt is about to get a whole lot more intense.

---

At last, the sun sets, right as the Mandalorian takes his first step onto the island that stood as a dead-end to your game of cat and mouse.

The final sliver of light slips below the horizon, the last of its light breaking into his visor before fading into dusk.

Din’s skin is baked beneath his suit, skin sticky with heat, limbs shaky from the sheer exertion. But not physical exertion. It was purely mental, of maintaining a level head when he knew you were so close.

The thought of you hiding somewhere on this tiny strip of land, chest heaving as you silently hid from him until midnight. Stars, the thought of soon this torturous chase coming to an end when he finally had you in his arms again…

He presses his palms into the visor and rubs it as if it were his eyes. Stars, get a hold of yourself, Din.

Raising his head, he sets his helmet to close-tracking mode and scans the surrounding area for any signs of you.

Beneath the armor and the cold exterior, his face breaks into a grin. There are so many.

“No use in hiding, cyare. You’ve left traces of yourself all across this little island.” He challenges, surprising himself with how laid-back his voice sounds, the toneless drawl coming naturally to him when he was on a hunt “So do you wanna do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

“Do you talk to all of your bounties like this?” Your voice is saccharine sweet in comparison to his, soft and lilting like the curves of your body.

Din groans darkly, the glove of his left hand creaking as it curls into a fist “You already know the answer to that,” he utters, a near-warning to not test his patience any further.

The helmet hud picks up another of your prints further inland and he starts to make his way to it slowly, silently, as if it were an animal he was tracking down.

“Have you ever known any of the bounties you’re hunting?” he hears you ask, voice quiet, and he narrows his eyes as he thinks of all the places you could be while still being bold enough to speak out loud.

In a cave. Up a tree. Nestled in the bushes.

“What kind of company do you suppose I keep?” Din deflects, partly amused, partly focused. When you maintain the silence, he elaborates “Yes, once… But I’ve never known a bounty like I know you.”

Din pauses, head tilting to the side as he notices the imprint of your knees in the soil, indented near what appears to be a nest. His heart flutters at the sight of your tender nature, the echos of which remind him of how caring you are to him and the child.

“Never known anyone like I know you.” he adds, but it’s far from an afterthought.

“I guess that makes two bounties you’ve known, now.” he can hear the smile in your voice, amused at being placed in the same category as the regular bounties he usually dealt with.

“This isn’t the same—your training…” He goes on to say, eager to differentiate what he did to survive from what you were doing right now, but it’s hard.

Because it wasn’t the same at all—sure, it called on the same instincts, the skills ingrained so deep they were practically a part of him, but no hunt had ever made him feel anywhere close to the way you did.

“My ‘training’. I think this is not just for my training, is it, Din?”

He stops dead in his tracks, your words blindsiding him completely. Breath hitched in his throat, carnal desire getting the better of him as his cock twitches in his pants.

Fuck, the way you say his name so unabashed…

“No.” you continue to torment him, voice as determined as ever “You like this just as much as I do.”

It’s as if the past five days of longing hit him all at once. Din exhales a guttural groan, sinking to his knees in defeat.

Under all the layers he can feel his heart stuttering. Images of the two of you in his—your cot come to mind, of naked limbs intertwined, longing lips pressed to soft skin, leaving him near-delirious with desire.

“Not anymore,” he says hoarsely, voice laced with anguish.

“Then come find me and put an end to this.” you whisper, and before Din can make his reply, the line goes cold.

Notes:

shit's about to get reaaal!!

Chapter 20: Thrill of the Chase

Summary:

Din and Reader's play hunt reaches it's grand finale. After five whole days apart, they're bound to have quite the reunion.

Notes:

is anyone else sorely dissapointed by mando s3? i was fully expecting reluctant mand'alor!din, him struggling to cope with grogu being different due to his training and them having to be apart, and watching din grapple with his identity as a mandalorian and the choice to wear a helmet 24/7. but bobf reset everything, din doubled-down on the culty mandalorian helmet wearing instead of going his own way, then he gave bo katan the darksaber, and now the show doesnt even feel like its about din and grogu's journey anymore??? oh well, fanfic is my canon.

love y'all. hope you enjoy this chap. mando'a translations in end notes <3

You’re not sure how long you’ve been hiding.

From the moment he’d wished you good luck, you’d practically looped around the entire island in search of a hiding spot. Running soon turned to climbing trees, in a desperate bid to leave no trace that would lead the Mandalorian to find your location.

That’s how you found it—the giant hollowed-out tree you were nestled inside.

It wasn’t visible from the ground, but from above you came across a hole that you could ease yourself into, opening out to the hollow innards of the tree trunk.

It was the perfect spot to bide your time.

Well, almost perfect.

An imperceptible amount of minutes (maybe hours?) later and your legs were aching from having stayed in the same position, body damp with sweat as you listened out to the disorienting, faraway sounds of the island.

A stream trickling in the vicinity. Crickets droning their white noise. The occasional rustle of leaves or crack of twigs, which you anticipate as him honing in on your location, try as you might to convince yourself otherwise.

You suppress a cough, mouth dry from the lack of water. Stars, you were parched, having drained your canteen long ago. A moment longer in this stuffy tree trunk and you were going to pass out.

It takes a good couple of minutes to worm your way out of your hiding spot, and once you do, you’re still as a porg in the starship lights, looking out for any sign of him.

The night is darker than ever, the twin moons shrouded in clouds that lingered from the stormy day.

But there is no sign of your Mandalorian bounty hunter.

Coast’s clear, you convince yourself after a while, and you slink away to the nearby stream to quench your thirst. The water touching your lips is divine, running down your chin and cooling your sweat-soaked skin as you silently gulp it up.

You pause, breathing deeply to catch your breath. The water drips from your face back into the stream, and when you look down at your reflection, it ripples and folds on itself, distorted.

Something else catches your eye, then—an anomaly in the corner of your vision that prickles your senses into alertness.

Your head shoots up, eyes scanning the treeline for any sign of your hunter.

Nothing, it’s… nothing, you tell yourself. Turning back to drinking, though this time slower, warier.

Upstream, the water darkens with a shadow, and the mere presence of it sucks the air out of your lungs.

You’re frozen, stuck staring into the burbling brook as if looking up at the source of the shadow would make it more real.

Everything is so, so still.

You almost convince yourself that the shadow is a trick of the light—

Until the shadow moves, taking a step towards you, and it dawns on you that it’s not a shadow at all.

Before you can think, you run.

The island is a blur before you as you sprint full-speed, past the vine-covered trees and through the enormous ferns that kiss the ground, scrambling onto mossy rocks and vaulting over fallen logs.

Strategy is gone to the wind at this point—being actively pursued is all you have on your mind. You’re a deer fleeing the bloodthirsty wolf, your usually perceptive brain melding into one resounding thought.

The most prolific bounty hunter of the Outer Rim is coming your way, and you have to outrun him.

Your heart is all you can really hear and feel, roaring in your ears as it slams against your ribcage. The agonized protest of your tired limbs is all but dulled by the innate need to get away, the adrenaline pumping through your veins turning every muscle rock-solid and searing with lactic acid.

You veer left and swerve right, cutting through rocky pathways and gliding down muddy slopes until you slow your pace to a jog, a wave of exercise-induced nausea washing over you.

Stealing a glance over your shoulder, you see nothing but the empty forest behind you. No beskar and leather, hard and fast, raw fury hunting you down.

Your jog turns to a stumbled stride, using the trees for leverage as you step gingerly from root to root.

It’s only then that you feel the way your peaked nipples chafe against your shirt, uncomfortably overstimulated, and how, between your legs, your underwear is dampened with a pool of slickness.

Fuck, why were you still running? You didn’t want to be apart from Din a second longer. No, you wanted—needed him, and you needed him now.

Above you there’s a break in the clouds, and two silvery columns of moonlight beam down onto the island.

You halt, turning to look up at the glowing orbs and analyzing their position in the sky.

Could it be midnight already…? Midnight means winning. It means not running anymore.

Crack, goes a twig from behind you.

Your whole body flinches, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to soothe yourself, but you don’t react as you had beside the stream.

Instead, you stay rooted to the spot, as if that twisted little part of you wanted to see what would happen if you just… stood there, awaiting the worst.

Nothing, again. The forest is loud with the chorus of nature yet so quiet otherwise, and you bask in it for a moment before taking a step forward to start silently finding your next hiding spot.

There’s an awful sound, a high-pitched screech extending towards you, and the source of the noise latches onto your left ankle, winding around the joint snugly.

Your world is tugged sideways, the dirt ground meeting your body as your feet are swiped from beneath you, and it happens so fast that there’s not even enough time to think, just flail and whine in confusion.

You cry out meekly, hands grasping at the ground as you try to stand, but suddenly the earth is sliding away from you, the shadow behind you that you have yet to see pulling you into its jaws.

Stealing a glance back, you realize your left boot is tangled in a thick, rope-like wire. A white-hot shot of adrenaline zaps down your spine, and you kick off your boot in a bid to break free.

You scramble to stand, lizard brain urging you to keep running until you can’t run anymore until the all-too-familiar voice snaps you out of it.

Grizzled and rugged, deeper than the night, yet even in its coldest of tones it still bears that honey-rich warmth that sings home.

“That’s enough.”

You spin around in an instant, not even thinking of the consequences of laying your eyes on him, and your chest swells and stomach flips and heart sighs at the sight of your steely oasis amidst the verdant green forest.

Din Djarin.

A mass of leather, beskar, and tactical gear. A sleek chest plate spanning a broad chest, rising and falling with labored breaths. Pauldrons squaring already wide shoulders.

His curved helmet is glinting in the waning moonlight. He’s as still as the trees as he gazes at you, visor boring into your very soul. Fists clenched so tight you swear the leather of his gloves would crack—fists of hands that had caressed you so sweetly.

To your surprise, he starts to walk, not towards you but to the side. Taking steady, silent steps around, and you turn your body to face him, wondering what in the stars he’s doing.

It’s not until he takes a full lap around that you realize he’s circling you, honing in on his prey while never getting closer, making you feel so utterly small, legs struggling to keep yourself up with how much they tremble.

“Usually in this situation I offer a choice: to bring you in warm or bring you in cold,” he murmurs, and your world sways with vertigo at the weight of his words, of this pretend situation feeling so real.

“But this isn’t a usual situation, is it, atin’ika?” you’re so transfixed by the enveloping darkness of his voice and lilt of his tone that you realize all too late that he was asking you a question.

“N-no,” you stumble to reply, face prickling under his scrutinizing stare “It’s not.”

He stops dead in his tracks at your words, and a handful of labored breaths pass before he speaks again. The air is unbearably thick, the moonlight prickling on your bare arms as if it were the midday sun. Every nerve on your body is alight, awaiting his next words as if your life depended on it.

“So either you yield and I bring you in softly…” he offers, extending an open palm towards you, the very definition of extending an olive branch “Or you keep running… And what was once easy becomes very, very hard.” His open palm retreats, landing on the steel-gray binders attached to his gun belt, and the action speaks louder than any words.

You swear the blood drains from your body right then and there, pooling around you on the lush forest floor. The decision he’s offering—the way your head spins at the sight of him, the prospect that this situation could go two very different ways.

And the stifling realization that you want them both just as bad.

Tears well in your eyes but the emotion attached to them hasn’t quite come to you yet. He’s so impossibly large and strong, filling your vision and consuming your thoughts entirely.

Just looking at him, feeling the air buzz from the proximity of your bodies, makes everything inside of you change. He’s your Mandalorian and you’re so, so tired of running.

“I yield” you hear yourself whisper weakly, desperately, and take a step forward, drawn to him like a dying star to a black hole.

Din comes towards you in an instant, a wall of beskar moving silently as you follow his lead, letting yourself be taken into his pull. He crowds you against a tree, one arm coming to rest above your head while the other grasps your jaw, enveloping you in him.

“Ner'mesh'la cyare—oh, how I missed you,” he utters, voice strung so tight you fear he’d snap on the spot, and before you can reply he’s shifting his hands to cover your eyes and pull up his helmet to press his mouth to yours.

The kiss is hot and desperate, an entire five days' worth of longing built up and compressed into this pinpointed moment. It’s tongue and heat and spit and a little teeth, plush lips and finding home, your person, right where you left him.

His armor is rock-solid but the man underneath is utterly melted, the hand on your jaw sliding around to the back of your neck, eliciting a moan from you that vibrates through your mouth and into Din’s, setting you both into an even deeper frenzy.

Din’s pressing you harder into the tree, the bark digging into your back while beskar thigh plates cut into you from the front, leaving you squirming with overstimulation.

The sensation of you writhing against his unforgiving armor does something to him—fraying the final strand of self-restraint Din clings onto because suddenly he’s snatching your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“If I don’t take you back to the ship right now, I—“ he growls with his bare voice, sentence cut short when he brutally grinds into you, the bulge in his pants rock-hard.

“Fuuuck, Din,” you whine, heat searing out from between your thighs as you struggle to keep your eyes closed “Y-you what?”

“I’m going to end up fucking you right here on the forest floor,” he chokes out with a snarl, and it takes everything in your power to not open your eyes in shock, whimpering in your desperate touch-starved pleasure.

“Please, I need you, need you now.” you’re begging him, dignity a long-dismissed notion, and your unabashed words stand out so starkly in the tranquil night, the trickling stream and shifting leaves and chirping insects sounding so far away to your needy body.

His worn leather gloves are all over you, skirting up and down your waist, reaching your thighs and trailing back up to your chest, caressing your sweat-sticky skin as if he were making sure it was real, that you weren’t a figment of his fantasies.

You moan into his touch, arching your back and pressing yourself harder into his armored chest.

The helmet hisses softly as he secures it back on, and then his arms wrap around you, lifting your body like you weigh nothing more than the kid. Din takes one, two, three strides away from the trees and back to the clearing where you yielded.

“Hold tight,” he hangs his helmet low and grits out in that deep, modulated baritone, and you open your eyes to look at him in confusion. He gives you a little squeeze before looking up towards the sky and shuffling his feet to a wider stance.

“Wha—“ you go to ask, but you never get to finish your sentence.

Because the ground is abruptly stolen away, the cool twilight wind roars around you both as Din takes you up into the stars with his jetpack.

You let out a string of curses, clutching onto his wide beskar frame for dear life, but once your mind catches up with your body you ease up, feeling so safe in his impenetrable hold, both thrilled and lulled by the roaring sound of the jetpacks melding with the wind.

Daring to look down, the breath hitches in your throat at the birds-eye view of the forest you’d been traversing through all these days. The mountains and valleys, the innumerable amount of trees, lakes, and lagoons, and the ravine you’d walked by were all laid out for you to see as one.

Looking at it gives you a rush, the feeling of freedom that came from running through the undergrowth for almost a week. But with it rose another emotion, too, the sense of losing yourself, of how you’d felt so insignificant amongst the unfamiliar nature.

In some ways, it was like that with every planet you traveled to, the anonymity of wandering unknown streets and being surrounded by vast environments. At first, it thrilled you, but after a while, the novelty had worn off.

One thing was for sure—you always felt at home again on the Razor Crest with Din and babybug.

The ground meets your feet sooner than you expect, and you exhale in relief, letting out the tension from your body as you take a couple of steps back and get accustomed to your surroundings.

To your right is the Razor Crest exactly where you left it, standing proudly in the field with the beach in sight, waves crashing gently to shore. To your left is the tall swaying grass, your pathway back to the wilderness. And standing there in front of you, as solid as the world around, is Din.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to—that look is all you need. His body language, how he angles himself to face you fully, hands twitching with anticipation, shoulders rising and falling with breath, hips swaying subtly as he leans his weight on one armored leg.

The bubbling tension of it all is mixed with his coolheaded effortlessness and bounty hunter swagger, and for a moment you can see both the Mandalorian and Din Djarin standing before you, no longer two separate personas, but two sides of an enigmatic man as one.

You sink into his arms once more, breathing in the warmth and leather and a hint of something spiced. He doesn’t smell like he usually does when returning fresh from a hunt, the underlying tones of blaster smoke and grime not to be found. No, as torturous as this escapade was for both of you, it wasn't dangerous and grimy like the real thing.

Din takes you by the shoulders, thumbs drawing circles at the edges of your collarbones as he takes in the moment. He motions with his helmet towards the ship, clearing his throat softly to speak.

“Gonna unlock the Crest for us,” he utters, and your skin tingles with anticipation.

At those words, a battle ignites inside of you, an emotional mush of home and want and need, all demanding to be fulfilled right now.

His hands brush down your arms, and he tilts his helmet to the side, almost teasingly.

“Stay put, okay?”

You nod, gazing up at him honestly. Of course you’d stay put, why would you ever want to go anywhere?

And then he’s turning away and walking up to the ship, fingers skirting across the panel by the side door to unlock it, and a spark of something thrilling rises up in you.

Stars, that feeling is back again. Of longing to rile Din up, to draw out that bounty hunter side of him, and toy with it, seeing exactly how far you can push him before he snaps.

You think back to what he’d said when he found you: yield and he’d bring you in softly, or fight, and what was once easy turns hard. You’d had a taste of turning yourself in softly, yet still, you hungered for more.

A part of you wanted to know just what it was like to experience the hard way with Din Djarin. Well, if you were being honest—more than just a part.

You take a measured step back, testing to see if he notices. Nothing. And then one step becomes two, three, four.

The Crest door opens with a sigh and Din turns to look at you, head cocking as he notices you’re standing further away.

Emboldened, you take a step back before his very eyes, and your every nerve-ending blossoms with lust as his entire body tenses, chest puffing up as his fists clench.

And then, as if he were expecting this of you, he chuckles. The stoic, silent, humorless Mandalorian laughs, and you realize all along that this was a set-up to see if you’d be so foolish as to push his feverish impatience even further, to rile up and fray his tattered nerves furthermore.

Judging by the way he stands there, imposing as ever, ready to charge and haul you over his shoulder, you definitely failed this test… or passed, depending on how you look at it.

Din takes a step forward, and you suck in a breath, your entire body tightening—oh, shit, run.

This time you don’t get very far at all, barely making it to the tall grass before he’s coming up behind you and sweeping you off your feet, catching your body as it lands on the ground, soft enough to not injure you but hard enough to knock the wind right out your lungs.

You cry out in protest as Din takes a hold of your wrists, pinning them behind your back with one hand while he reaches to his gun belt with the other, boot planted parallel to your face in the earth.

“So you want it rough, hm?” he drawls, words sinfully true, and he readjusts his position so that he’s sinking down to straddle the backs of your thighs, putting just enough weight to pin you to the ground without crushing you beneath his mass. You buck up into him needily, ass making contact with his crotch, and a growled moan tears from his chest as his entire body shudders.

His free hand winds in your hair, gripping a fistful of your locks and lifting your head from the ground to meet his smoky t-visor stare. Even in his roughness he’s gentle, this game teetering on the edge of tantalizing pleasure, of tenderness with a bite.

“I asked you a question. Answer me or I decide for you,” You let out a choked moan, nodding frantically at his previous statement, and he hums deeply at the wordless reply, voice so low it’s almost a purr.

His gloved hand unwinds from your hair, brushing the locks to one side as he trails leather-tipped fingers across your face, skirting your jaw and sending sparks of electric pleasure down your spine.

“So needy,” he marvels, voice like gravel, words practically reverberating through your body and making you buzz with want.

You’d never seen this side to Din before, shamefully taunting, achingly tense, words callous and touch so warm—the perfect mix of the man you knew so deeply and the bounty hunter the galaxy feared to their bones.

“Good thing I’m here to take care of you.” His hand follows the arch of your spine, skimming to the side and cupping your asscheek with a featherlight touch. The apex of your legs is pure molten, slick, and aching with need.

“Please, Din, touch me, take care of me, need it so bad—need you.” you’re babbling, barely able to string together a coherent sentence as your mind races, consumed by the way he was making you feel, giving you so little and making you want so much.

"Stay still."

Din’s hands focus back on your wrists, and there’s a loud metal click as he cuffs you with the binders he’d flaunted earlier. The exact same binders he uses to haul in quarries, the depraved part of your brain muses, and the desperation gets too much.

You wriggle and writhe beneath him, finding just the right angle to push your ass up into his hard crotch again, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the delicious contact.

Din’s swearing in a mix of Basic and Mando’a and Maker knows what else, briefly losing his cool and giving into carnal desires as he grinds into you in a rough thrust.

“You don't wanna know what I do to bounties that disobey me,” the helmet inches down to your ear as he says it, voice so tightly controlled it’s shaking, and then Din’s standing up and pulling you with him by the binders.

He turns you onto your back, crouching down to draw a hand between your legs and haul you over his shoulder. His bicep presses into your clothed heat, hand splayed on the small of your back and gripping your top, and the movement of his arm stimulates your clit ever so slightly as he strides towards the Razor Crest, leaving you desperate for more.

The anticipation is burning you up as he trudges up the hull ramp and lays you down stomach-first on the cot of the Crest, pulling his hand out from between your legs and settling it between the apex of your thighs, giving you just enough pressure while holding back what you really long for.

You swallow thickly, awaiting the moment he'll tear off your clothes and ravage you like he's been promising to during the hunt… but it never comes.

Instead, his palm slides out from between your legs and he unlocks the cuffs, removing them from your bound wrists and setting you free.

“Breathe,” Din coos reassuringly, his fingers kneading into the knots in your shoulders, and it’s not until then that you realize just how labored your breathing was, the short, sharp pants that leave your chest akin to catching your breath after running.

Your eyelids droop as you make a point to slow your breathing, pressing a cheek into the mattress of the cot as you take in the place you've come to call home.

The gentle dim lights, angular metal walls, cool steely air. The faint smell of fresh laundry on the bed sheets mingled with the heady smell of Din and your oen body.

At last, you were home.

You focus on the sensation of his hands as they trail down your back, working away the tightness that four nights of sleeping on the ground had left, and it takes all your focus to keep your breath slow as his hands work lower and lower, reaching the middle of your back where he cups the back of your waist with the span of his large hands.

Once your breathing starts to mellow out Din’s massaging motions slow to a halt, fingers reaching up to tuck the hair behind your ear before he stands up straight, towering over you in your peripheral vision.

"Undress," Din commands, and the heavy soles of his boots echo softly around the hull as he takes a step back.

You heed the order at once, lifting yourself up with your now-free hands and turning over to face Din.

He sits on the edge of a supply crate opposite the cot, facing you head-on with spread legs and hands rested on his beskar thigh plates. Half-hidden by shadow, you see his bulge straining against his pants, and your mouth turns dry.

"I said undress," he repeats, a barb of impatience in his tone that shoots straight to your core.

Oh, right, you’re doing this the hard way. For a moment you were so lost in the softness, that you’d forgotten that you’d asked for it.

You bite your lip, looking over at the ramp he'd carried you up, the soft breeze whispering through the open space.

"But the door—" you stammer, unable to finish the sentence as Din's chest rises and falls with the weight of a heavy breath, helmet tilting to the side ominously.

"No one's here to see, and if they are, they'll know you're mine," it's reassurance as much as it is a threat, and you wonder how words alone can have such an effect on you, sending tingles across your body, hairs raising on the back of your neck.

"I don't want to ask again," he warns, and stars, you love this little game so much, you love dark Din as much as you do soft Din, the situation so viscerally real that it feels like he's actually a hunter playing with his prey.

You obey at last, reaching for your tunic and unbuttoning the top few buttons, revealing your braless cleavage. Din lets out a broken sound at the sight, and when you pull your tunic over your head to reveal your bare breasts to him he caves to his needs, his hand palming at the erection in his pants.

It makes you feel powerful for just a minute—watching him unravel at the sight of your naked body.

“Missed these?” you cup a bare breast in your hands and squeeze, letting your head fall back and a wanton breath leave your lips.

The way he almost breaks at your question is delightful to see, the stoic, contained bounty hunter nearly unraveling.

“I think you missed something else more,” you hum, and you trail a hand down to draw circles over your clothed heat, marveling as Din bucks into his own hand, wrapped around his cock as it hides under layers of clothes.

Biting back a smile, you move onto your lower half. You'd already lost one boot when you were caught, so kicking off the other one isn't much trouble at all. It gives you easy access to stand up and unbutton your pants, turning to the side and sliding them over your ass as you bend over as seductively as you can.

Except you don't get to finish your little strip tease, because as soon as your pants are at your knees Din is storming over and crowding you to submission, laying you down on the cot on your back and grabbing you by the hands. He takes out the binders again, locking them to your wrists and attaching them to the wall.

Every nerve end sets on fire at the act, the wetness pooling in your underwear so overwhelmingly that you feel it sticking to your thighs.

He's hovering over you, looking but not touching, and the moment is frozen in time until he reaches for one of the pouches on his gun belt, taking something in his hands.

You're struck with fear at having been on the edge for so long and not getting what you needed, what he promised you, that, against your best judgment, you peel back the persona of cockiness and let slip your trepidation.

”Is this my punishment? Cuffing me to your cot, not touching me where I need it, leaving me like this and refusing—refusing to fuck me,” you choke out with a whine, and Din’s helmet clangs against the head of the cot at your brashness, but you’re not finished

“Tell me, Din, is this the hard way?”

Din’s whole body shudders with an exhale, hands trailing up your bare sides, skimming tortuously over your breasts before landing on your face. When he speaks, his voice rumbles like thunder, low and resounding to your very core.

“I would never—could never deny myself from you,” he reassures, and then Din slides his hands up further, laying a strip of red fabric across your eyes and tying it in a knot behind your head.

You blink once, twice, trying to adjust to your new dark surroundings. Ears prick with heightened awareness, the nerve ends on your body stand to attention.

Did he just blindfold you with the kerchief you dropped in the ravine?

“I’m savoring you, mesh’la,” Din murmurs at last, a grounding beacon in the neverending darkness as the modulation of his tone disappears, revealing his real voice—raw, bare, and yours wholly.

Your heart overflows at the lulls of Mando’a that then spill out of his mouth, phrases you can barely translate amidst the burning desire that drives his words “Ner'cyar’ika, ori'shya uj'alayi, ni kar’tayl—“

You hear Din’s helmet clang to the ground, and, as if he’d broken free from a prison of his own making, his lips desperately crash against yours at last.

The moans that leave your chest are obscene, vibrating into his mouth in a low hum, body licking with flames as his tongue slides into the hot wet heat of your mouth, coaxing the pleasure out of you.

It feels like sensory deprivation, the lack of sight making all your other senses heighten. Rough hands tug your pants off the rest of the way, and there's a metal thud as Din drops to his knees, positioning himself at the head of the cot, dragging you and pulling your ass to the edge of the mattress, causing your arms to extend and stretch under the strain of the binders.

You part your legs wide, so embarrassingly eager for his touch, and Din exhales with a rattling sigh.

Your whole body clenches as he starts ghosting across your slit with his gloved fingers, collecting the wetness.

"Stars, you look so beautiful with your legs spread. Gonna make you feel so good, atin'ika," His voice is gravel, scraping across your skin as he peppers your thighs with kisses.

You react to his words with a relieved nod, mewling as his thumb swipes across your clit experimentally.

"No more running from me—never again," he murmurs against your skin, and then he's sliding a thick, gloved finger inside of you in one swift motion, before starting to pump in and out tormentingly slowly.

It's like every nerve end condenses into your core at that moment, back arching as sparks short-circuit through your body. One finger, that's all it takes, a single digit sliding inside of you and you could feel yourself breaking down and building up.

Din doesn't pick up the pace, letting your orgasm crescendo slowly, only adding another finger once your cunt starts to clench around him.

He curls his fingers upwards as he strokes in and out, the slick that coats your thighs covering his gloves to the heel of his palm, and when you start to buck your hips, barely able to control your body under his touch, his other hand comes to rest on your lower stomach, pinning you in place.

It’s part of the hunt for him, you realize with a stifled whine, to watch you suffer under his touch, withholding what you so desperately need.

You just know if your hands were free you’d touch him just once and he’d fall apart. And he knows it too, the way he holds you in place. Lips ghosting your skin. Watching you melt while you never see where he’s coming from.

When he finally presses his thumb to your clit and starts to tease it in slow circles, the coil in your belly tightens, a euphoric epicenter of bliss finally awakening and bringing you to the edge of the cliff.

"M'close, Din, so, so close—" you gasp, and there must be something in your voice that does something to him because his demeanor changes completely.

The fingers stuffed in your cunt slip out temporarily, and before you can protest the emptiness is filled by the hot, wet heat of Din's mouth pressing straight onto your center, tongue buried deep inside you.

As if the days of longing were condensed into one, the payoff of the hunt crescendos into a toe-curling, mind-blowing orgasm.

Your world blurs, overrun by the roaring in your ears as your walls spasm and limbs lock up, waves of pure ecstasy rolling over you, obliterating you from the inside out.

When you come down, you realize his name has been on your lips the entire time, cried out hoarsely while you were so blissed out you had no control over your senses.

You feel your release trickling down your thighs, sleek and shiny with wetness only for him. Din is dead-silent, lapping up the juices of your release and planting the last of soft, wet kisses to your pussy and inner thighs before moving away, marveling at his handiwork.

"Ready for me, atin'ika?" he initially sounds cocky in his breathlessness, until you become aware of the way he grips onto you, nails denting your flesh with crescents as he eagerly awaits your response.

Unable to find the breath to speak, you let your spine arch slightly as your legs close around his head, pulling his face back towards you, and Din lets out a pained moan that rounds off into a pent-up snarl.

"I think you're ready for me." he whispers, the ghost of his breath washing cool on your skin and making you shiver.

There's the sound of his belt coming undone and zipper being frustratedly tugged down, and then, so suddenly it takes you off guard, Din hooks his arms beneath your thighs and lifts your ass up off the bed with ease, stretching your torso even further as he presses your core to his lower thighs. His tactical pants scratch at your inner thighs, and roll your hips on the fabric, relishing in the friction.

The binders clink as they're pulled taut, your arms stretched tightly above your head, and you almost try to protest against the precarious position until you feel Din slotting himself against your entrance, cock throbbing against your slick, messy pussy.

Finally, you find your words.

“Yes, just—please, Din, just put it in—“

You struggle against the binders, so desperate to reach down and feel him there, to guide him in and never let him leave, but then he's sliding into you and drawing the air out of your lungs in one swift movement, sending stars sparking in your vision, and for a moment you forget everything and everyone and even yourself, and all you know is Din, this sensation, and the longing you have for one another.

Stars, it's beautiful.

The stretch is divine and searingly deep, and when he starts thrusting into you you're overtaken by waves of sharp, brutal pleasure, quickening in the way they crash into you with each debilitating surge of his hips.

"Five fucking days—made me lose my damn mind, mesh’la," he grits between thrusts, and you reply with a whimper as he draws one of your legs up to rest on one of his pauldrons, pressing sloppy kisses to the inside of your ankle "Can’t cope with it again, being away from you, from this," he confesses breathlessly, and the statement only seems to make him drive into you harder, sloppier.

With your body being effortlessly lifted by Din it feels like you're weightless, the sensation of him everywhere, all over you, swallowing you whole. Driving the top of your scalp into the mattress in ceaseless jolts, your core soaking up every hit it takes from him.

At this angle, his cock catches something deliciously deep inside of you, and it's not long before you start to feel it again, the rising simmer of release. You squirm in the hold he has on your hips, arching your back to draw more of the delightful edge of this position.

"Deeper," you plead, and Din doesn't disappoint, his grip on you moving up to your ribcage as he leans down and folds your legs over your body, his feet planted firmly on the floor while he crowds you with his beskar-clad torso.

And holy shit does he start to go deeper, reaching a place inside of you you weren't even sure existed, filling you up so unbearably that the only way to get away from it was for your body to erupt in a soul-tearing, trembling, cataclysmic orgasm.

You’re pretty sure that one makes you black out, the rush in your ears and darkness before your eyes leaving nothing but the feeling of him inside of you to go upon.

When you come down his lips are on your neck, sucking bruising kisses along your collarbone and all the way up to your jaw. His now ungloved hands swiping deftly over your nipples and squeezing the flesh of your tits. All while his thick cock drives in and out of you, tearing you apart and putting you back together over and over.

This is all a part of the chase too, you think to yourself between shaky gasps and clipped moans. Except this time you're both chasing a sweet shared release, the climax that had been steadily building up with each step you took away from him and him towards you during the hunt.

The afterglow of your second orgasm washes over you, settling in your bones and spreading pleasure across your limbs, and with it comes the overwhelming surge of feelings you have for Din, and the desperation you have to share them.

"What you said last time—ni kar'ta something? Din, I want to—"

Din’s lips meet yours, tongue driving into your mouth fervently, and your sentence is stopped right in its tracks, mind wiped out by the effect of his lips on yours.

You think he does it to stop you, to delay the burning question even longer, until he's pulling away from the kiss and reaching up to free your hands from the binders, rubbing gently at one wrist while the other he brings to his mouth to plant a kiss on the inner joint.

When he leans back down to press his body to yours your arms coil around him as if by instinct, melting at the sensation of rippling muscle beneath roughened layers of duraweave, the coolness of his broad beskar pauldrons digging into your forearms as you’re barely able to wrap your arms around him fully.

Din finally replies to your question, his voice gritted, fragile. You feel the words vibrate in through his chest plate moments before he says them, a warm-up to his weighted answer.

“Y-you wanna—“ he stutters his way through the words, thrusting up into you again uncontrollably “Wanna know what it means?” he asks, resorting to seating himself in you fully and holding you there as he focuses on speaking a steady sentence.

“More th-than—ahh, more than anything,” you choke out, whole body trembling as your lashes flutter against the blindfold and cunt spasms around his cock.

His head sinks into your chest with a half-pained half pleasure-drunk sigh, and you’re not sure if it’s your reply or your body that does it to him. He stays there for a languid breath before he starts to lick and suck a smatter of bruising kisses into your chest, steadily driving in and out of you as he does it.

Even in the middle of the most intense sex of your life, he’s so, so calm, you think in amazement as if he’s always pondering something, forever deep in thought.

You get the surprise of your life when Din suddenly pulls out, lifting your body completely before flipping you over onto your stomach, the weight of his fully-armored body bearing down onto your naked, sweat-sticky skin.

He’s so heavy, the space of the cot so tight, and with nothing but darkness in front of your vision, you start to see stars.

“One more,” Din murmurs into the crook of your neck, hot breath and the feel of his nose tracing against your hairline making your skin ripple with goosebumps “One more and I’ll tell you.”

Before you get the chance to ask what he means, he’s reaching his hand between the bedsheets and your body, fingers finding your clit slick with the arousal that coats your thighs, the bed, and his armor, and he presses on the bundle of nerves in just the right way that it gets you sickeningly worked-up in a matter of seconds.

His blunt head is at your entrance again, sliding so easily into your soaked folds, and the sensation of it all is too much—chest plate pressing cold into the curves of your heated back with each brutal thrust, the pants and grunts of praise that he gasps into the shell of your ear, the sweet thing’s, the you’re so good for me’s, and then, almost in disbelief, you just got so fucking tight, are you—?

Ecstasy ripples from your core and outwards, curling your toes and sending your eyes rolling into the back of your head as your climax hits you.

Your release is pure molten, setting your skin ablaze and turning your body tingly and numb with the sheer intensity of it, and it’s not long after that Din's hips are stuttering for the last time before he presses himself flush against your ass, multiplying the force of your pleasure and sending you both careening into bliss.

A hoarse cry of pleasure leaves your mouth, rounding out into a whimper as your body trembles its way through your orgasm, the feeling all but intensifying as Din’s cock stiffens even more inside of you, his veins and notch of his head molding perfectly to your spasming walls.

“That’s it—ngh, t-tell me how bad you w-wanted this, how much—"

"—S-so fucking bad, I—" You choke on your breath as his tip presses onto your cervix, the biting pleasure unearthing the deepest, innermost feelings you have for him.

"Fantasized about this, about us—ached for it, to know you s-so deeply," the tears are pricking in your eyes as his pace picks up even more, those three words coming to your mind again, on the tip of your tongue, daring to slip out "You saved me, Din, you changed my life—"

It’s thrilling to the core, the way Din’s entire body tenses up and shudders before letting loose completely, his hard beskar shell melting away to offer you the man within, Din Djarin, baring himself to you in the rawest, most vulnerable form, choking out your name while he fills you to the brim.

Your body goes haywire as he cums, hands scrambling to fist the bedsheets for relief until Din’s warm palms are gliding over yours, fingers tangling together as he holds onto you so tight.

It’s that small act that makes a part of your brain snap, like a teeny rubber band of restraint breaking as the emotional floodgates open and you think to yourself—holy fuck, I’m so deeply in love with him.

Wave after wave he guides you through your orgasm, pumping you with his release until at last his movements are still and he slouches on top of you, face pressed into your shoulder blade.

For a second it's just that, the two of you and the slow comedown from the most intense reunion you could have ever expected.

Until you come to your senses and realize that it’s very kriffing hard to breathe when you’ve got a huge, fully-armored Mandalorian on top of you, crushing you with his entire body weight.

“Cnn—mmf, can’t—“ you struggle beneath him, legs kicking out weakly to try and get his dazed attention.

“Stars, I’m so sorry, ner'kar'ta,” he lifts himself off of you immediately, leaning down to press a soft kiss between your shoulder blades. You breathe in deeply and then giggle, a smile playing on your lips as you shuffle beneath him, wishing you had the energy to turn over and take his face in your hands and kiss him, but feeling too blissed-out to even move.

“Mm… Tired?” he hums drowsily, tracing the curve of your ribcage with a calloused hand, and you nod into the pillow. He knows. He could map your body out by memory, describe the meaning behind your every little sigh, draw the angle of each curve and dip.

Sometimes it feels like Din knows you better than you know yourself, having explored each and every inch of you with all the days and nights you’ve spent all over this ship.

There’s a moment of stifling silence, in which you unwittingly hold your breath and wait for the second he’ll speak again and tell you what he promised, to reveal the meaning of the words that you hope mean what you think they do.

Until Din slides out of the cot, stepping away and leaving you laying there, still blindfolded and staring into the darkness.

“Don’t go.” you beg weakly, finally finding the strength to roll onto your back and reach out a hand in the direction you imagine he’s standing.

“I’m right here, cyare. Not going anywhere,” you feel the heat of his body even through his armor and clothes as he leans back into the cot, taking your hand in his as he kisses the knuckles so tenderly.

He only finds it in him to let go and lean back out of the cot at the sight of the smile on your face.

---

Din’s stepping away from you for merely a matter of seconds, to close up the ship and grab a warm washcloth to clean you with, but he uses that time to give himself the most meaningful pep talk he can.

He’s a man chiseled by battle, hardened by it, even—learning to think quickly, to stay on his toes while facing the most daunting situations is like second nature.

Yet nothing could prepare him for what he was going to say when he climbed back into that cot with you, how he would say it, and what doorways that would open in the treasured bond the two of you had.

He presses a button on his vambrace and watches the side door of the ship slide shut before heading into the fresher, his armor feeling heavier than ever as it presses onto every square inch of skin.

After days of almost nonstop hunting, Din’s body was so tightly strung—shoulders a mass of knots and tenseness, back achey and knees sore, jaw spasming from how hard he’d been clenching it.

Yet the reunion you’d just shared, of letting go and making love so desperately, ardently, had all but melted the pain away. His body felt light, head clearer than ever, heart stuttering as the emotions he felt for you raced through him at the speed of light.

In the fresher he takes a clean washcloth from the tiny cabinet, turns on the sink tap, and lets the water rush over his fingers until it runs warm.

It wasn’t fear that coursed through Din’s veins at that moment; not even close, with how safe you made him feel. But it wasn’t excitement, either, a small, temporary rush akin to landing on a planet he’d know you love or surprising you with a gift.

No, it was pure and utter elation that filled him wholly—comparable only to the closest moments you’ve had together, sitting in the dark sharing your innermost dreams and fears, or laying in the soft, swaying grass of one of the many planets you’d traveled, listening intently as you pointed up at the stars and made up stories of how they came to be to the child as he lay nestled between the two of you.

Din shuts off the tap, squeezing the washcloth of excess water and testing the warmth on the inside of his wrist. Just right.

What he felt was elation from finally having you in his hold after five days of torture chasing you through the forests of Kalora. But that wasn’t all.

Din lets himself glance up at his reflection in the mirror, his dark eyes scanning over his features with trepidation before finally making eye contact with himself.

Truly, what Din Djarin felt, was elation at finally being ready to confess his love to you.

---

When Din returns he makes his presence known, a damp hand coming to rest on your ankle before he reaches between your thighs and cleans you gently, thoughtfully.

His hands then reach up, untying the blindfold across your eyes and letting it slip away. Blinking, you realize the hull is shrouded in darkness, with nothing more to see than a few flickering lights scattered about the space.

Din stands at the foot of the cot, starting to undress from the beskar and leather and duraweave and all, and as your eyes adjust to your surroundings you start to make out his silhouette, framed by the barely-there glow of the lights.

You don’t tend to speak much in moments like these; being in each other's presence is enough. Enjoying the contented silence. Basking in him and this feeling. Counting the seconds until he dives into the cot and presses himself onto you again.

You watch him change silently as he methodically removes his armor bit by bit, laying them on the nearby crates in an orderly pile. He turns to the side as he does it, and you get a glimpse of his profile, the shape of his nose, angle of his jaw and chin, mop of curls as they wisp down his forehead.

More, you think greedily as your stomach flips and fists ball up. You want to see more.

When he dives into the cot, Din is bare skin and pure muscle, a different kind of solid from the armor, soft and warm and so damn human.

His arms curl around your frame, pulling you to lay on his chest so your skin presses every inch of each other, legs tangling under the sheets. Your hands come up to his chest, stroking the tufts of hair there. Breathing in the faint scent of leather and woodsmoke, and the ever-so-subtle aroma of the forests of Kalora.

You relax into his arms as he starts to stroke your hair, laying gentle kisses along your forehead, his breath washing warmly into your scalp.

“You were so good,” he muses, mouth sinking down to your neck where he plants a smattering of kisses to your tender throat “Always kept me second guessing. Learned so fast. Know me so well.”

There’s so much more he wants to say, to talk about after almost a week of your intense play hunting, but the rush of discussion can wait.

"Now, as I promised. What those four words mean."

---

Din wondered when it began.

Was it the night he let you go, told you to run from him only to realize he’d be chasing something he loved? No, it was long before that.

Could it have been after Bespin, when you’d tended to his injuries and the child’s sickness? No, his heart had swelled at your gentle acts, but the feelings that simmered were not new.

The two days of bliss you’d spent in Naboo? Before… Confessing his feelings to you on Nevarro? Still, before.

Opening up to you beneath the stars on Seolona. Saving you from the bounty hunter gang on Tatooine. The lines were so blurred, your relationship a series of firsts, of falling so deep.

Din shifts in the cot, holding you tighter in his arms as you let out an endearing sound akin to a purr. Rising in his chest was that feeling that never seemed to leave, and all but intensified in times like these. The primal, consuming protectiveness of you that drove his every action, paired with a more grounded emotion—the pure delight at sharing this time with you, the ship, of raising the child and growing and learning from one another.

Love. It was love.

There was no easy way to pinpoint when it started, so Din decides that it must have begun the moment you laid eyes on each other.

You didn’t know that he was looking—that was something you learned to spot after mere days of living together aboard the Crest. But he watched you in that cantina, often. Relished in the way you looked him in the eyes, saw past the armor.

You didn’t cower away at the sight of him, and he found solace in that, in you, your softness, the complete opposite of the steel and weaponry that defined him. He had no idea then just how powerful his feelings would become for you, once you found yourselves living together in the tiny space of the Razor Crest.

And the child, his eagerness to see who you were, the way your bond with him was near instantaneous. All of it confirmed to him that you were someone incredibly special.

Does it even matter when it began? He feels this way, and all that’s left to tell you. Opening the door for new possibilities in the treasured bond the two of you shared.

He loves you, and that makes him invincible.

Here goes nothing.

---

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum” Din repeats the words you’d heard those weeks ago, and your heart flutters and swells at the sound of it, so many feelings bubbling inside of you.

“Kar’tayl. Two words combined. Taylir: to hold, and kar’ta: heart." He draws a heart shape on your chest as he says it, then lays his palm flat, feeling the thrumming beat under his fingers.

You repeat the first two words of the sentence, taking in the shape of the foreign tongue in your mouth. Though on paper Mando’a was a much harsher language, relying heavily on constants and shortening words, when it was actually spoken you were oftentimes amazed at the delicacy of it.

“Perfect, cyare—good job,” Din rumbles, pulling you up so your eyes are level, and you shy at the way the blush creeps across your face, knowing he can probably see you a lot better than you could see him in the darkness.

“Next part. Darasuum: Eternity, or forever.” his voice drops lower, quieter than before, and as you process the newfound meaning of the word it clicks for you that knowing those two phrases were the key to the entire sentence.

“I hold you in my heart eternally” You translate literally, and are in awe at the beauty of the sentence. Your lashes flutter as tears well in your eyes, hand coming up to cup Din’s face, thumb drawing circles at the patch of skin where the stubble doesn’t grow.

He holds you in his heart eternally. Could it really be…?

"I love you." Din gushes at last, and tears in your eyes fall instantly at the sound of those words coming from him.

"I’ve been falling deeper and deeper in love with you since the day we met, and it’s taken five days of pure torture, of chasing you across this fucking planet, of being so close to you yet so far, to give me the courage to say it," Din confesses, his voice fragile and thick with emotion.

You hold his face in both hands, unwittingly holding your breath as you feel him tremble in your palms. Your mouth is ajar as your mind races and you condense the months of loving and longing and falling and feeling into something that makes sense.

"Maker, Din—I love you, I love you, I love you!" you gush, and you reach up to run your fingers through the wispy curls of his hair, down his neck, caressing him, trying to see his map with the touch of your hands "I’ve been falling in love with you for just as long, before I knew your name or your story, without needing to see your face now or forever. I love you for who you are and I always will.”

Your words have a physical reaction to Din, his entire body breaking out in a shudder as he rolls you on top of him, hugging you so tight he squeezes the air out of your lungs.

It’s a hug that warms you to the bone, the press of his forearms on your back condensing every little feeling you had for one another as if the meld of your bare bodies could transfer the adoration between atoms.

When he finally pulls away you catch a breath, drawing your hands up to his face again to cup it gently, you find his cheeks wet with tears and a smile across his face.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” you whisper into his mouth, waiting until he murmurs it back before you press your lips onto his, kissing him so longingly and lovingly that you swear your heart might implode with emotion.

"You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that,” he breaks apart from the kiss to say, nose tracing across your cheek before he brings his mouth to yours again "You are my universe. The buir of my child. My partner forevermore." he admits between pecks, and tears prick in your eyes again.

Your heart is full of light, elated at his words; this reunion; your shared confessions. The sex was rough and needy but your feelings were so tenderly soft.

Sighing, satiated, you feel your nipples starting to peak as Din's hands roam down, cupping the flesh of your ass and kneading your sensitive cheeks.

When Din grinds his lower body into yours, you can't stop the mewl that leaves your chest as the velvety head of his half-hard cock catches between your folds. Din groans at the sound of your neediness, his grip on your hips turning bruising.

It's the only warning you get before he grabs you by the thighs and pulls you up, bringing your knees either side of his head, your heated center hovering above his face.

"Ahh, Maker, what are you—?" you choke, unable to stop the way your body sings for him, clit thrumming with need again as he starts to kiss and nibble at your thighs.

Din ceases his motions and pushes you down to sit on his chest, and in the shadowy darkness, you can just about make out the silhouette of him gazing at you intently.

"Did you really think I was done?" He asks rhetorically, and you're too startled to speak up, to confess that yes, you thought that he'd given you everything he had, and no, you were not expecting any more.

Your body surges with anticipation, appetite for desire lit again.

When he doesn't get any reply he lets out a puff of air from his lips, raising you up so that your core is fluttering above him again. His arms wrap around the backs of your thighs, muscular biceps and expansive palms enveloping your body in his hold.

"Give me a minute and I'll give you my cock again, cyare." he promises darkly, and he pulls your hips down to let your trembling cunt meet his mouth.

---

Up in hyperspace, the Razor Crest barrels towards Nevarro, and you and Din sit quietly in the cockpit.

You’re sat up on the dashboard stitching together a new outfit for the child while Din sits in the red leather pilot’s seat, studying a nearby sector on his holopad.

It was two standard days since you’d left Kalora and you and Din had been talking nonstop, going over every little detail of the hunt—Din voicing his praise for your skills, you gushing at his ability to track you in the most difficult of environments, and the two of you learning from each other.

This moment, however, was the first time either of you had fallen silent, and in the silence, you recalled a glaring detail of the hunt that had meant so much at the time but faded into meaninglessness once you were finally reunited.

"Wait, who won?" you ask all of a sudden, recalling that you'd placed a bet on whether you'd last five full days in the wilderness or not.

"I think we both did, cyare," You hear the smirk in his modulated voice and look up in reaction, meeting his cocky arms-folded, head-tilted just-so posture.

You smile knowingly. Yeah, you guess you both did.

"So, what did you want to claim as your prize?" you tease, putting aside your sewing project to give him your full attention. You swing your legs back and forth playfully, the soles of your bare feet skirting his thighs.

"Oh, that? Already claimed it," he drawls, and you chew on your lip, initially confused at his cryptic reply until it hits you like a stampeding bantha.

"Stars!” you laugh, reaching out to playfully kick his unarmored chest with your leg. He catches your foot before you can strike him, stroking along your arch with his ungloved hands. You wiggle your toes in defiance but don’t try to break free from his hold.

He gives your foot a gentle tug, encouraging you to hop off the dashboard and sink down into the best seat on the ship—his lap.

"And yours? What do you want from me, atin’ika?" he asks as you wrap your arms around his neck, tilting the helmet to one side, curious.

You get an instant headrush at the question, staying silent as emotion rushes through you. Back when the two of you sat around the campfire and you proposed placing bets on whoever won, you’d brashly thought of what you’d ask of him in the heat of the moment.

But now that prospect was very real and had to be vocalized, it didn’t feel the same at all.

There’s only one thing in the galaxy you wish you could ask Din for, but to ask would be asking him to go against the belief he was raised with, that he dictates his life by. His creed, identity, and protection. The way.

Although it goes against all logic, you want to lay eyes onthe man beneath the beskar.

To put a face to the name, the voice, the hands, and the body you know so well. Despite all you've done to fight against it, respect the creed, and push down the need for that kind of intimacy, it's all but consumed you this past week, and if you were being honest with yourself, even longer than that, a steady burn of want that had blossomed.

"Din, I…" you begin, but the words die out as the Crest exits hyperspace, the white-noise whirrs of lightspeed travel dispersing into silence.

I want to see the face I love, you try to say, but with the endless blanket of stars laid before you, suddenly the words are hard to come by.

But it turns out you don’t have to say aloud what you want. The way your eyes longingly trace across the angles of the beskar helmet says it all.

Din’s hands come to yours, and ever so slowly he draws them up to hold on to either side of his helmet.

The breath hitches in your chest. The apple of his throat bobs on his barely exposed neck.

"Are you sure—?" you choke out, trepidation making your voice waver.

Din’s grip stays true and even tightens as you try to pull your hands away.

"Surer than I've ever been about anything." he replies, and you're shocked to hear his voice filled with such surety, as if it were a decision he came to long ago.

The blur of hyperspace streaks across his helmet, and you try so hard to focus on it, to ground yourself, to commit to memory this last time you’d know Din’s face as this, the angular Mandalorian steel holding more emotion than you could ever vocalize.

Was this it? Would this era of what you were end, only for a new avenue of affection to be just beginning?

A memory flashes in your head, then. Laying on the ramp of the Crest, the first time you’d opened up to him, learning about the Mandalorian creed.

He said Mandalorians remove their helmets for marriage vows.

So you’d take your helmet off for love? You’d asked him, hopeful.

Yeah. He’d replied, and even though the events that succeeded those words almost broke what you had, in that very moment, they opened up a world of possibility.

For love.

Before either of you can move a millimeter more, a message chimes in on the Crest's comms network, blaring out into the cockpit in the form of an emergency transmission.

"—If you're out there, return to Nevarro immediately—Incident occurred T-minus 12 hours ago, awaiting response—"

Din leans across to the far end of the dashboard, slamming the button to reply to the holocall from Cara Dune.

"Razor Crest to Nevarro City, do you read?"

"Dank farrik, Mando, it's about time!” It sounds like Cara is feigning exasperation at first, her regular playful self, but as she continues you can hear the frazzled tone in her voice, and the rushed, jolted structure of her words.

"It's the kid, we don't know how, but it was during the day, even with all the security, and we—"

You wince as Din's grip on you turns to steel, and in an instant, the softness is gone, the Mandalorian persona taking over completely.

"Is the child okay?" he demands to know. Devoid of all emotion except for the fierce protectiveness of his ad'ika. Everything about him is parsecs away from who he was just a second ago.

Maker, he was about to show you his face.

The hairs on the back of your neck raise as you await Cara’s answer, an awful curling sensation twisting your stomach with nerves.

Your gaze locks onto Din, seeing your own reflection staring back at you blankly in the visor, and his hold on you softens, his shoulders dropping slightly as he matches the intensity of your stare.

"He's gone, Mando." Cara says at last, and it's that moment you pinpoint your entire reality crumbling.

"The kid has been taken."

Notes:

Hello and welcome to beneath beskar aftercare! Please enjoy one of the following complimentary items to help you cope after reading this chapter:
🚬 a pack of cigarettes to chainsmoke and question life
🍹 a cold stiff drink (or five) to black out and forget it all
🚿 an ice cold shower to bring you to your senses
💊 a sleeping pill in case you want to take a long ass nap & read it all over again

seriously tho you guys' comments on the last chapter has been giving me LIFE, i hope this was a satisfying ending to this arc <3 and now we approach the end of this story with one chapter left (and a cheeky lil epilogue) that as you can tell will be INTENSE and EMOTIONAL and AHH. i won't get all mushy gushy till this is over, but i do wanna say thank u for the insane amount of love and support <333

 

Ner'mesh'la cyare = my beautiful beloved
Ner'cyar’ika, ori'shya uj'alayi, ni kar’tayl = my sweetheart, sweeter than (lit. translated as 'more than', but in context i aimed for it to mean 'sweeter than' as cyar'ika means sweetheart) uj cake (a mandalorian dessert), i hold you in my heart (the start of the mando'a phrase for i love you). this sentence barely makes sense but we all know din runs his mouth nonsensically in the heat of the moment!
buir = parent
Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = Mando'a for I love you!!! literally "I will know you forever". However, I decided to interpret kar'tayl as two mando'a words combined: kar'ta, meaning heart, and taylir, to hold. So in this fic Din explains the meaning as '"I hold you in my heart eternally" there is a word for that already 'kar'taylir' so idk why that isn't used instead. saying you hold someone in your heart is much more impactful than knowing them, right?

can you tell im a big ol word nerd? hahahah i've had way too much fun with the mando'a in this fic

Chapter 21: Darasuum bal Ratiin

Notes:

well. here it is 😭 it’s been an absolute honor writing for you guys and i want to thank you for joining me on this journey. when i started this fic over 2 yrs ago, sitting up in the loft bed of my old apartment one evening, i never imagined this story would grow to where it is today. my heart is so full!!!

and now, without further ado, i welcome you to the beginning of the end. there will be an epilogue after this, and some rambly author notes sharing insight on my process behind writing this fic, but this is the OFFICIAL final chapter

Darasuum bal Ratiin (Mando'a) translates to: Forever and Always.

---

The Razor Crest touches down in the shipyard of Nevarro City, and as the dust billows around you, so does the drowning feeling of disorientation.

The acrid volcanic air makes your eyes burn, stomach turning to durasteel the second you stumble out of the ship. Din's steady hand at your back anchors you to the now.

As you rush to the school building where Cara and Greef wait, you can't help but replay the words that she spoke, over and over again in your head, trying to make them sink in.

The child. He's gone. Taken.

You feel nothing short of sheer terror rolling over you in waves, clawing at your throat and turning your legs to jelly.

You look up at Din as he walks by your side; his steady presence is the only thing keeping you from falling apart. He's standing rigid and tall with the intensity of a thousand suns, and tears well in your eyes as you get closer to the school building.

"Din, I don't know if I can—" you croak, stopping in your tracks, frozen with fear as fat tears seep down your cheeks.

Din halts, turning to face you, taking your shoulders in his warm grip and holding you there tightly. The broadness of his frame blocks the sight of your destination, but still, your eyes roam everywhere but on his form, fearing the emotions that would rise to the surface if you do.

"Hey, hey, look at me," the resonant tones that emit from the helmet pull you in like a black hole. It's all you can do to gaze up at him, eyes watering and mouth trembling, as you follow the angles of his helmet before eventually, finally, landing at the spot you've always imagined his eyes to be.

When his chest rises and falls with a heavy breath, you know you're looking right at them.

"We'll find him. I promise you" his modulated tone is strong and sure, but understanding so much of the man within means you still hear the waver in his voice "It's not a matter of if, but when," he states firmly, and when you nod tentatively he pulls you into his arms, stroking the back of your head soothingly.

You rest your cheek on his chest plate, feeling the weight of his words settle into your bones. The armor he wears is cold and unyielding on your skin in the Nevarro heat. Though the fear still lingers, the comfort of his embrace is enough to quell it, if only temporarily.

This very public display of affection is so far from the Mandalorian you once knew, and you're not sure when everything all changed, but suddenly it dawns on you that Din Djarin is letting his true self seep out from between the cracks of metal and leather for everyone to see.

"Not if, but when," you repeat his words firmly, and he gives you one last squeeze before steering you by the shoulders and continuing onward.

It's only when he leads you into the school building that you realize how tightly he's holding onto you, as if he's afraid you might slip away. You cling to him just as hard, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into your own as you prepare to face whatever awaits inside.

---

Inside the classroom, the scene of the child's kidnapping, everything seems as it should be.

The teal and cerulean desks are lined up neatly, the learning equipment and decorations untouched, the plasticrete walls free of damage—no blaster holes or blood. There's no sign of a struggle, which makes your stomach roll sickeningly.

Was this planned?

"I've checked the transponder codes of every ship that's come and gone from the spaceport over the past day, but there weren't any that stuck out to me," Cara says heavily, armor clinking as she circles the desks.

"Do you have any other potential leads?" Din's voice is deadly calm in a way that worries you—as it says the complete opposite of what brews within.

"No, and we've been tearing our hair out trying to find a witness," Greef speaks up, and you almost flinch, forgetting he was here too, leaning against the teacher's desk.

"The kidnapping occurred after school hours. The child was in the classroom alone momentarily while the teacher was in the back, gathering some learning materials,"

"What was he doing with the teacher alone?" you speak up, confused as to why the kid would need more help than the other children. You tried hard to teach him things when you were out across the galaxy, having done the same for your younger siblings growing up, and you liked to think you were good at it.

"He was receiving private lessons… in the force," Greef explains, and your eyes widen as you nod once.

You clench your jaw, trying hard not to choke out a sob at the thought of the kid getting the proper help with his abilities. Shame bubbles in your gut as you wonder if your makeshift training sessions, often involving a lot of laughter and not much focused work, were doing the kid any good.

Stars, you couldn't bear to think of his little face right now, ears flapping with excitement as he lifts his tiny beskar ball in the air and down again.

You start to survey your surroundings, trying so hard to stop your mind from caving in on itself.

"Is there anything the kidnappers left? A trace of something: a note, a sign," You probe, and you feel Din's visor on you as you wander the classroom methodically, flicking through the bookshelf and feeling under tables.

"Well… there is one thing," Cara notes, and you and Din turn to face her, standing to attention at once.

Heading for the back corridor, you and Din follow, your Mandalorian coming up behind you and resting a reassuring hand on your shoulder as the three of you stop at the back door. Cara points with the tip of her blaster at the mark seared into the durasteel, accompanied by a neat square of lines, drawn out as if they were a code.

Not able to make out any discernible language from the angular scratches, your eyes focus on the mark instead, and as soon as you lay eyes on it, you feel the pull of memories surfacing.

“I’ve seen this mark before… But where?" you murmur, fingers tracing the outline of the insignia singed into the door.

Your brain races through the possibilities, and you glance up at Din for help. Except he’s not focused on you or the mark, his fingers instead tracing the vertical carvings that accompany the mark on the door.

“This is written in Mando’a... Badly,” he confirms and leans a little closer to translate.

“Mandalorian… You destroyed our base of operations… Stole many of our bounties… So now we steal from you.” Ice-cold fear douses your body whole.

“If you care about your pet, you’ll find us where we last fought. It’s about time we… talked.” Din slowly gets angrier, and by the end of the stilted sentence he is so filled with rage while his tone is deadly calm, it chills you to the bone.

Confusion washes over you for a split second, before you add up the context with that nostalgic feeling within, and suddenly, sickeningly, it all makes sense.

"B-back on my home planet,” you stammer, hand coming to your mouth as you clutch onto the wall to steady yourself. “T-the cantina, they’re—"

“Bounty hunters.” Din finishes your sentence for you, the hand on your shoulder squeezing tightly to match his gritted words.

---

The next thing you know you're walking up the ramp of the ship, with enough supplies in hand to see you through the journey to your home planet.

You and Din had worked wordlessly, preparing yourselves for the journey ahead, stocking up with sustenance, ammo, and medical supplies. You had just carried up the last crate into the Razor Crest hull, placing it on the durasteel floor with a dull thud. You'd already said your goodbyes to Cara and Greef, so nothing was holding you back from leaving.

With the sound of the final supply crate hitting the floor, Din appears from the upper levels, climbing down the ladder and approaching you.

You take strides in his direction, but swerve as he reaches to put his arms around you, instead stepping one foot on the rung of the ladder, ready to climb up to the cockpit.

Din turns his entire body to face you, helmet tilting as he surveys the sight before him. It takes all your might to not squirm under that steely gaze.

"Where do you think you're going?" His tone is equal parts stern as it is curious.

"With you," you say matter-of-factly and start to climb.

"No way, no." His hand is on your boot, stilling your motions "You're staying here on Nevarro where it's safe."

You stare down at him, incredulous. Din's hand doesn't budge, nor do his words. Shifting your foot out of his clutch, you let go of the ladder and jump down, landing on two feet in front of Din.

"Safe?" You scoff, but behind your callous tone, your heart wrenches "Our child was just kidnapped here, Din. This place isn't—"

" —It's safer than staying on the Crest alone." he grits, and your heart drops. The words trigger a memory in you of the last time he said such a thing…

When you were on your way to Tatooine.

You stare into the impenetrable black visor, seeing your own reflection warped before you. In your mind, you're reliving that day the gang came and tried to take the child; the feeling of relief that washed over you as Din came to the rescue.

That moment changed you. It had shaped you and set you on a course that changed your life for the better.

No longer were you helpless, cowering at the first sign of violence. No, now you could hold your own, you could fight and protect, taught by the very best.

With the child's safety on the line, the only thing that made sense was using your abilities to bring him home to you and Din.

"I don’t plan on staying on the ship," you say quietly, and when his shoulders stiffen you realize that Din hadn't even thought of the prospect of you joining him.

"Oh, no," he shakes his head in disbelief, hands reaching up to cup your face like you’re the most precious thing in the galaxy. Your stubborn expression falters as you feel his hands trembling.

"Yes, Din. I'm coming with you," you urge, nodding eagerly, and then you're laying your palms onto his cool beskar chest plate, trying so hard to reach the man within.

"I can't stay on the sidelines when I know I can help," your fingers snake under the top rim of the chest plate, slotting themselves between the cold metal and radiating warmth of his body, and Din shudders.

"This is what my training is for—moments like these," you're adamant, pulling at every string you have to convince him to see your perspective.

"But I couldn't—if anything happened to you,” His voice breaks, raw emotion.

You lean in, resting your head on his pauldron as you speak softly.

"You said something to me once, as we were crouched behind the bar of the cantina the night I left with you. I made a jape about you pulling me into chaos. Do you remember what you said in return?"

"Yeah," Din croaks, clearing his throat, for a moment he's the Mandalorian, "I said… looks like you were going to get dragged into this either way,"

You raise your head to look at him, nodding surely.

"Those words still ring true, Din. The moment I met you I became a part of this.” You cup the cheeks of his helmet, desperate to let your affection shine through.

"You taught me to fight, protect myself, and hold my own. I learned from the best. You call me atin'ika, your little fighter. Let me be one.”

"Okay," he says, soft and low, but you're so caught up in convincing him that his agreement slips past your radar.

"You don't have to fight the world alone anymore. We're in this together," your voice is laced with desperation, and you're standing as tall as you can to get him to take you seriously on this matter. For the Mandalorian to finally do something not as a lone wolf, but side-by-side with a trusted partner.

His hand is on your face again, thumb stroking a gentle circle on your cheek, and you melt into the touch, eyes closing for just a moment to quell the tears that well behind them.

"I said yes," he utters, low and slow, and you blink your eyes open, gazing up at him in wonder.

"Y-you did?"

"I did," he murmurs, and then he reaches for the helmet, easing it up as you close your eyes again to give the privacy for his mouth to slot over yours.

You press against Din's mouth fiercely, sorrowfully, and the kiss is pure and tender, heavy with emotion. He pulls away to speak, and your mouth pulls into a tense line, lips tasting of the salt of your tears combined.

"You have to promise you'll listen to every word I say." It's the first time you've heard his bare voice sound so sorrowful, thick with tears, and laced with fierce protectiveness.

“I say fight, you fight. I say hide, you hide. I tell you to run and not look back, you—“

You nod furiously, not willing to hear the end of that sentence “That won‘t happen, but okay.”

"Anything could happen. Now promise me," he repeats, and you take a deep breath, raising your chin to breathe the words into his mouth. "Haat'mitir, Din.”

---

You feel disassociative, staring at hyperspace swirls in the cockpit, the dreadful feeling of going back eats you up inside.

A wave of mixed emotions wash over you. The place you had spent so long trying to get away from, dreaming of reaching the stars. Meeting your Mandalorian in shining armor, slowly falling for him with the bar of the cantina between you, your dreams finally coming true… And now, returning to the very place that had haunted you for years, the world that was an echo of the life you'd once lived when your family was alive.

You clutch your pendant so tight it digs painfully into the palm of your hand, leaving indentations in your skin. Being back on your home planet will make you feel closer to them, and to losing them, than ever before.

Stars, you need to distract yourself.

There's a loud clang coming from the hull downstairs, and you take it as a cue to check on what Din's doing.

Making your way down the ladder gingerly, you find Din by the weapons bench, meticulously cleaning a blaster you haven't seen him touch in weeks.

"Hey," your voice comes out weak after hours of disuse, and, if you were honest with yourself, quiet crying in the cockpit. It's so weak, in fact, that Din doesn't turn at the sound of it, continuing with his methodical task.

You stand there for a moment, silently admiring the way his ungloved hands run across the forestock of a disassembled rifle, reattaching the barrel and smoothing over the crevices to ensure the fit was snug.

"Din?" you try again, clearing your throat this time to make your voice stronger. Your words echo around the hull, hollow, but they receive no reply.

When he moves to the next weapon you realize he hadn't heard you again. Your chest tightens—was he really so lost to the world?

This was his way of coping… by being alone and fixing things.

It makes you wonder if he's ever had anyone to go through things like this with. His fight against the galaxy has always been one of solitude, ever since he was young and he was taken in as a foundling, trained for battle but not given the love a child needs or deserves.

But now you were here, and you wanted things to be different.

You're desperate to break through to him, taking a step forward and trying one last time to muster a sentence in your shaky Mando'a.

"Jorhaa'ir bah ni, ner'cyare." you call out. Speak to me, my beloved.

Din freezes, almost dropping the weapon in his hands. He turns to face you immediately, his chest rising and falling with a shaky breath, and he takes a step towards you before looking down at his soot-covered hands and maintaining distance.

"Mesh'la… how long were you standing there?" His voice is just as hoarse as yours, sending knives of emotion through your heart. You sigh dreamily, closing the distance between them and grasping his hands in yours, not caring about the smuts.

"Long enough," you say with a small smile, reaching up to kiss the cheek of the helmet. Din softens, pressing his helmet to the top of his head as your body melds into his.

"We land in a couple of hours. Did you want to get ready together?" you murmur.

Din’s body tenses, and he takes a labored deep breath before replying “Yeah. You need weapons, armor…"

With a squeeze of your hand, he steps away, turning to the weapons cabinet where his arsenal lies. Except you stop him, not letting go of his hand and drawing his attention back to your moment.

“Wait, let’s get cleaned up together first,” You say to him as convincingly as you can “You‘ve been down here alone for ages. And besides, we still have time.”

Except he’s too caught up in preparing for what's to come to allow himself the bare necessity of such a thing, his bounty-hunter-conditioned mind locked in on survival mode.

“But I don’t need to—“ he tries to say, but you cut his words short with your actions.

You untangle your fingers from him, smudging a soot-covered finger on the cheek of his visor.

“Now you do. Fresher first, then you can deck me out.”

He stands there, tall and still and pensive, before he shifts his entire body, having come to some kind of internal conclusion, and his head cocks to one side, the gaze of his visor intensifying on you.

“I don't know what I did to deserve you.” His modulated voice is low and gentle, making warmth spread from your heart across your chest. And when he crouches for just a second, reaching down to take you by the thigh and the arm and haul you over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, it’s as equal parts tender as it is playful.

You shower together in darkness, the scalding water raining down as your bodies stand flush in the confines of the cubicle. Hands running over skin, sudsing with soap and massaging into tight muscles, not saying a thing, at least not verbally, letting the words you wish to speak be imparted through loving touches and kisses pressed to bare flesh.

The timer for the fresher shuts off, and suddenly the background noise that drowned out all thoughts is gone, the pitch black pressing against your eyeballs, mind starting to race again.

“Din, I…” you speak up, the words catching in your throat as you wonder how to form them.

I’m scared. What are you thinking? I want to talk about this. We need to talk about this.

The words don’t even have to leave your mouth without Din understanding the unspoken.

“I know, cyare. I know,” he steps out of the fresher as he speaks, guiding you to step onto the cool durasteel floor with his hand in yours.

He exhales heavily, draping a warm, fresh towel over your shoulders before grabbing one for himself. There’s something in the way he moves about the small space, searching for things to busy his hands with, that tells you he’s mustering the courage to speak from the heart.

At last, he stills, and as you squint in the darkness you can just about see his silhouette leaning against the sink, shoulders broad, towel slung at his hips.

“When I first took on the kid, I told myself I wouldn’t get attached. I thought a man like me wasn't able to love,” he admits, voice low.

His words are like a pang in the heart, drawing you to step into the space between his legs. He parts them for you, leading you in with an expansive hand at the small of your back, while your palms find respite on the warm, damp skin of his stomach, feeling the litter of scars and the tickle of hair beneath them.

“Of course, that didn’t go as planned. But raising him as one of my own is the best decision I could have ever made—it changed me, opened the parts of me that I thought would always be closed.”

You smile at his words. It was hard to imagine the kind of man he was before he adopted the child, but you figured he was a lot more The Mandalorian than Din Djarin.

“And then you came along, and dank farrik—catering to the little womp rat’s every need was a walk in the park compared to how you blindsided me,”

His chest rumbles with quiet laughter as he speaks, and a shy smile breaks across your face that he traces with the pad of his thumb.

“It was that bad?” you tease, head tilting slightly to place a kiss on the digit.

“Kriff—yes. I spent so much time thinking about you that your face was practically burned into my eyelids. I was certain you were gonna be the death of me someday.”

Your smile breaks into a grin at his pained words but fades all too suddenly at the thought of them. Death. You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very sick and eager to pull yourself back to the present.

“You okay?” he asks, sensing your trouble immediately.

“Yeah. Just… Nervous. Thinking too much,” you shake your head “You were saying?”

Din hums, hands coming to rest on your hips as he picks up where he left off.

“I… I don’t know what I’m saying, mesh’la. Honestly, I don’t know how to feel these things. Usually, I bury it.”

Your eyes widen in the darkness as Din leans forward, resting his forehead against yours.

“Until the two of you came around, I’d spent most of my life in solitude. Everyone I’d ever dared to care for, I’d lost.”

His grip on your hips tightens. Your hands tense, before reaching up to the nape of his neck, winding your fingers into the wet curls of his hair.

The next words are but a whisper in your ear, hot breath sending your skin erupting in gooseflesh.

“Even now, holding you right here in my arms, it’s hard to not convince myself that I’m made to be alone.”

The breath is thick in your throat. Is that really what he thought of himself? Did he not see just how much he’d changed your life for the better?

Stars, he sounds so broken—and that breaks you.

But you wouldn’t let it stay this way, no. For every little wound that either of you bore, you knew that with love, the other would heal.

“If you were made to be alone, then why did the Maker give you such a big heart?” you speak up, hands reaching for his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart within. “No one’s ever loved me like you have, Din.”

He softens at your words, so subtly that you almost don’t notice it. But he listens.

“Or such good humor and patience for others. I knew so little of the galaxy when we first started, but because of you I’ve learned more than I ever dreamed of.”

"It was all you. Your curiosity, your drive, your—“You stop his words with a well-placed finger to the mouth, hushing him at once.

“Hey, it’s my time to give compliments. Can you go five seconds without being so sweet?” you tease, removing your finger slowly.

He chuckles at that, a low, rumbling sound that almost surprises him with how easily it comes out, and it gets you smiling, too.

“As I was saying…” you murmur, and your hands are reaching up to trace his face, to feel the lingering smile that sits there.

Your hands find the creases of his eyes and it’s like finding home, pondering on how this is the face he pulls every time he laughs or smiles under that helmet. A face that you know not physically, but spiritually, through the connection you shared.

“If you were made to be alone, why did the Maker give you such kind eyes, dark and warm, eyes that crinkle every time you laugh and smile?” your voice gets gradually quieter as you speak, and come to the end of your sentence your it's but a whisper, breathed into the pitch-blackness that punctuated every helmetless moment like this.

“You haven’t seen my eyes.” he drawls, adding one all-important word “yet.”

“No.” you utter, and all of a sudden the room is thick with steam and tension and unspoken words “But I want to,” you add.

His hand is grabbing yours in an instant, guiding it to the wall where the light switch sits. Fingers brushing across the button, knowing that with one click you could turn those lights on and change everything.

“We can do it now.” his words burn with such fervor, they border on desperation. You’ve both been waiting so long. And just a couple of days ago, you were seconds to that moment finally coming. With all the uncertainty on the horizon, you had no idea how long it would be until the chance arose again.

Your eyes roam around in the darkness, looking for an expression on a face you couldn’t see. Your stomach was in knots, your heart fluttering rapidly.

“No, Din. Not now, not like this.” you shake your head, pulling your hand away.

“Please, cyare. I want to. Before we rescue the kid. In case anything goes wrong; in case…”

His words are left unsaid, but you feel them all the same. In case the worst happens.

Suddenly his desperation makes more sense. He can only think of all the ways this could go wrong, of how the child or you could get hurt, or worse.

You pull Din close, squeezing the life out of him with the strongest hug you can muster.

“That won’t happen. I won’t let anything happen. We’re a team, okay?”

Din sighs shakily, but the exhale brings no release. Instead his whole body tenses, muscle rippling beneath your touch, reminding you that he’s built to fight, to protect.

“I will see your face one day.” you reassure him “Just not now. Only when the three of us are together again. When, not if.”

Your words hit a place deep in Din’s heart, and this time as he exhales he’s letting all that tension go, melting into your arms, cradling your head in his hands, stroking your damp hair.

“Okay.” he says finally, his voice so full of sorrow it sounds far away “Let’s prepare.”

And so you dress for whatever awaits on your home planet, cladding each other in armor and weaponry, layer by layer.

It’s methodical and tender and slow, despite the fact that you’re hyperspace-speed careening towards chaos.

Din’s touch is so tender as he winds the bandage around your arms, preparing them for the vambraces you’d picked up on a space station in the Kessel sector.

Your hands are just as gentle, as you stand on a box in the hold, adjusting the straps on his armor so they fit him perfectly.

Up in the cockpit, the dashboard chimes with the imminent warning of leaving hyperspace. By the time you’re up the ladder and staring out the transparisteel, the silvery blue tendrils have dispersed, leaving before you nothing but the vast vacuum of space, and a grayish brown orb floating in the void.

There, before your eyes, is the home planet you’d spent so long trying to leave.

---

Din’s feet are as heavy as his heart as he steps down the ramp of the Razor Crest, gaze trained on you and watching the way you look around in wonder at the planet you’d left in the dust all that time ago.

Only to end up right back where we started.

Seeing you don armor, some Cara’s, some acquired, and others being his old pieces reshaped to fit you better, makes Din’s head rush with a myriad of emotions: awe and pride, dread and protectiveness, sitting atop his chest, a weight to rival his beskar.

You’d parked the ship in a valley just outside of the large town that barely passed for a Galactic City, the brown-gray grass hills shielding the ship from sight, while providing the perfect vantage point to survey the city and pinpoint your destination.

For all the times he’d visited this planet, gone to you in that quaint cantina, and gazed at you from across the bar, Din had almost memorized the city street by street.

Reaching the summit of the hill and looking over the entire city brings a wave of memories over him, tugging at his already frayed nerves.

Tilting his helmet your way, Din takes note of your reaction—how you roll your shoulders in a bid to de-tense, your eyes widening and then blinking rapidly as if to shoo away tears. His hand reaches for yours, holding the palm and stroking along your knuckles with a gloved thumb. It doesn’t go unnoticed, the way your hands tremble.

“It’s not too late. You can still stay here, be my eyes from above,” he says lowly, modulated voice like treacle—smooth, rich, dark.

You let out a puff of air, letting the silence linger for just a second too long before running your tongue across your lips and opening your mouth to reply.

“Somewhere in this city, a group of murderous bounty hunters are holding our kid hostage. They’ll be expecting you, for sure—awaiting the moment you confront them, guns blazing. But what they won’t be expecting, what they’d never anticipate in a million years, is the cantina tender he picked up along the way, ready to kick their ass."

Din breaks out into a laugh, your funny, fiery words so unexpected in this crazy moment. He’s feeling half mad at the prospect of taking you with him on this stunt, but he knows he couldn’t have it any other way, not really, not when it was your child just as much as his that was kidnapped.

With a determined nod, you crouch down, laying flat on your stomach and propping yourself up onto your elbows. Meanwhile, Din unclips his trusty amben rifle from his back and tucks it under his arm, laying on his stomach next to you and positioning the weapon so he can peer down the sights and get a better scope of the city.

“That looks ugly,” you note, pointing towards the dark rolling clouds that barrel towards the city.

“Rain’s good. Remember why?” He asks you, testing you on your training now, even in the heat of the real thing.

Your brow furrows for a moment and Din’s heart swells at the endearing expression. You give his words some thought before the answer comes to mind.

“Yeah—two reasons. One, the wet ground washes away your prints if you’re tracking someone. That’s not so relevant for us now, of course.” you pick at a tuft of grass as you speak, and Din nods, gaze trained on the incoming rain clouds reflected in your eyes.

“And two, more importantly: rain covers noise.”

Beneath the helmet, Din smiles. When his eyes crease, he thinks of what you said to him in the fresher.

“That’s it. Whether you’re in buildings or outside, the sound of rain will benefit us here. We’ll be able to stay covert for longer and have a higher chance of getting in and out without raising an alarm.”

You nod once, and Din takes note of the way your chest rises and falls sharply, the reminder of what the two of you are doing really setting in.

Din presses his visor to the rifle sights, moving the weapon slowly as he pans across the familiar alleys and walkways.

“And you’re right—they won’t be expecting you,” he says in reply to your earlier comment, tilting the rifle to the north of the city where he recalls the cantina once stood.

“We can use that to our advantage. Flank them from both sides, let me cause the commotion while you sneak in, and—ah. There it is.”

Turning the dials on the side of the weapon, Din gets a clearer picture of the grounds. In its place is a ramshackle building, an amalgamation of rusted corroded iron and the remnants of the crumbling cantina walls.

It’s bigger than the compact drinking hole that used to stand there, a sprawling warehouse of sorts, and Din flexes the fingers of his blaster hand as he runs through his still-brewing plan.

“Let me see.” You insist, your tone tight with trepidation and eagerness. Din leans onto his side, giving you space to squeeze in beside him and press your eye to the sights.

Your body presses into his, and Din’s arm loops around your waist immediately, fingers adjusting the dials on the other side of the rifle until you nod approvingly.

He feels the way your entire body slumps at the sight of it. It’s a long time before either of you speak again.

“Maker, you really did a number on the place.” you say at last, voice airy as if your thoughts were someplace else.

“One of them tried to remove my helmet, remember?” He murmurs into your ear, voice gravelly with the weight of the words.

You turn to face him, eyes trailing from top to bottom of the helmet’s visor before looking back out at the settlement.

“I hope you don’t do that when I try,” you quip.

Din lets out a puff of air in amusement, patting your backside with the palm of his hand.

“Let’s go.”

---

By the time you reach the outskirts of the city, it’s not only raining. It’s pouring.

Most of Din’s duraweave suit is soaked, tiny bullets of rain pattering onto the beskar and rolling off in fat droplets. It all makes for a soothing tinny sound that’s not only pleasant to the ears but so utterly Din, the man of metal with a barrier between himself and the rest of the world.

You, on the other hand, have managed to stay relatively dry—thanks to the billowing cloak of your Mandalorian, which he’s lifted from one side of his body to hold high above your head, protecting you from the worst of mother nature’s tempest.

The warmth comes off his body in waves.

“It never rains like this,” you divulge, eyes wide as you glance up at the open sky again “It’s usually more of a steady drizzle. Just enough to keep plants alive—people, too.”

Looking back down, you curse as your foot lands straight in a puddle, soaking your boots through. “The last time the skies opened up this much, I was a kid playing in my parent’s scrapyard…”

Your sentence trails off into silence, and you bite your tongue, face growing hot as you’re suddenly aware of just how much you’d been speaking.

“Sorry,” you blurt, looking up at the wet, mirror-metal armor “For talking too much. Trying to distract myself.”

“No, cyar'ika, I like it,” Din slows his steps to a halt as you come across a crossroads, and he looks both ways before choosing the left path. “You have a nice voice. Soothing. Need that right now.”

You hook a finger into his gun belt, pulling him back to where you stand and cocking your head at the path to the right.

“You should take this way—more people will see you on the way to the cantina, then.” You tell him, nodding encouragingly.

Din hesitates at first, helmet cocking to one side almost skeptically, before his chest puffs up with pride and he lets out a hum of approval.

“I ever tell you that you’re damn smart?”

You can’t help but blush at the compliment, shrugging it off as casually as you could.

“You may have mentioned it once or twice.”

There’s a lull in conversation, as both of you realize this is where you part ways.

Din removes the cloak from his shoulders, wrapping the long, rough-hewn fabric around you before taking you by the arms and crouching down to look you in the eyes.

“You know the drill. Reach the back entrance, comm me and I’ll make the distraction, head inside, and scout the rooms. Comm me again once you’ve got the kid, and I’ll meet you at the back of the building,”

It’s pragmatic Din that’s speaking to you now, the always-prepared Mandalorian, machine-like in his execution—your safety net on life.

Until he softens, thumbs rubbing circles over the cloak, and he's your Din again, soft whispers in the dark, loving kisses pressed to bare skin.

“Be careful, atin'ika. Don’t do anything I would do.”

Despite his attempt to joke, Din's words waver with the weight of emotion, the deep baritone of his voice cutting through the sharp white noise of the rain and comforting you.

You swallow thickly, vision glazing over, and it might be the cold rain or there really are tears in your eyes, but all you know is they run down your cheeks all the same.

This feels like a goodbye and it scares you.

“I wish I could kiss you.” You confess, words leaving your mouth in a rush.

Din stiffens, his armor looking so majestic against the blue-gray skies, as if he’s a part of the storm himself.

“Once this is over you won't have to ask," he says cryptically, and your mind is too caught up with what's ahead to understand the deeper meaning.

"Why?" you ask.

He holds your gaze for a second, sighing deeply, before he takes you into his hold. The next words he murmurs vibrate through his chest and into yours, burying themselves deep inside of you.

"Because I’ll never wear my helmet around you again.”

Your heart feels chaotic—full and empty all at once, the happiness of the moment glazed over with misery of the situation.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Din," you choke out, arms wrapping around him for just a second to squeeze him tight.

"Darasuum bal ratiin," he exhales through the helmet, and you close your eyes to picture the man within. Forever and always.

It feels far far too soon to part ways but you do, Din leaving for the center of the city, so powerful and imposing… and it hurts to see the back of him. Your heart wrenches at the thought of what’s to come.

You dip down a side street and start making your way discreetly to where the cantina you worked at for years once stood.

What you were doing was risky as hoth, beyond dangerous, where so many things could go wrong…

But the child needed rescuing, and as his Buir you vowed to be the one to save him.

---

Finding the back entrance to the ramshackle building is easier than expected.

The blast that destroyed the cantina hadn’t reached as far as the back walls, so some of it still was standing. You crouch behind it as you press the commlink to your mouth and murmur as softly as you could, hoping he can hear you over the rain.

"Now."

You strain your ears for any sound, and distinctly you hear a voice shout from the front of the building, and then the blaster fire kicking up so loud that rivals the thundering storm. Your world sways with overwhelm but you clutch onto the crumbling cantina wall, breathing deep to brace yourself.

The back door to the warehouse crashes open and you hear heavy footsteps rushing away, paired with crazed voices. You dare to look and see the door unmanned as the ones guarding it had left as backup to the front of the building, where Dinwas wreaking havoc.

This was your chance. You skulk across the dusty path and slip into the back door as it closes shut, the interior becoming shrouded in darkness.

You hold your breath and look around, blinking rapidly to let your eyes adjust. Before you is an empty corridor of concrete and corrugated iron walls, doors haphazardly placed along the narrow passage.

Your ears strain in a bid to pick out any unusual sounds, but you can barely hear a thing over the thundering rain that hits the sheet metal, and the blaster fire outside that shoots wildly, each matching the way your heart hammers in your chest.

You think back to your training with Din, the techniques he drilled into you to help calm down in the midst of chaos.

Out there, you hit a wall and it's over. He told you that on the swaying grass fields of Seolona, and now his lessons were being put to the test.

You take deep, steady breaths, fingers clutching the treasured pendant around your neck as you attempt to trigger your vagus nerve. It works, mind reconnecting with the body as your nervous system stills.

All is calm.

The rain outside is but a noise, and the strife to come will pass as everything does.

Dropping your hand from your sternum, you reach for Din's cloak, tugging it tighter around your shoulders, the weight of it feeling like a shield, as if he was right here beside you.

He would lay this cloak on you when you would fall asleep in the cockpit, you muse. And you'd curl up under it, breathing in the aroma of woodsmoke, blaster fire, the dust of a faraway planet. Only able to wonder about the kind of escapades the bounty-hunting profession took him on.

Except now you were living it, and with no time to waste you draw your blaster, finger running over the Mudhorn pauldron as you start sneaking your way through the building.

Din had taught you all there was to know about how to evade being hunted—being the best bounty hunter on this Maker-forsaken side of the galaxy meant that you learned from the best. But he didn't just teach you this so you'd know how to evade enemies, stay in the shadows and protect yourself by avoiding combat altogether.

No, he taught you how to be hunted so that, in turn, you would learn what it takes to be a hunter.

You take it slow and steady, listening to any and every sound. It was not your goal to go in guns blazing—that was Din's tactic, keeping the main group of bounty hunters busy while you focused on finding the child. Still, you were prepared to face any enemy that might come your way, and you knew what you had to do if the moment to fight would come.

Your footsteps are lighter than air as you file through the barren rooms, coming across crates of spice, haphazard sleeping quarters, filthy food stations, and, worst of all, a room with nothing but a chair in the middle, a box of tools covered in dried blood at the foot of it.

The ramshackle building is built like a maze; just when you think you've seen it all another corridor appears, corrugated metal feeling like it's closing in on you as you circle round and round, the rain hammering onto the sheet metal dulling your senses with overstimulation.

Your sanity is dangling on a thread, hope almost lost as you turn a corner you swear you've passed thrice before until you finally stumble across something different—a fraction of solid wall that matches the cantina ruins outside, and a heavy durasteel door not like the others in this place. Next to the solid door is a keypad with faded, dusty buttons.

Could it be…? The door to the storeroom of the old cantina. There was only one way to find out. You bite your lip and run your fingers along the Mudhorn symbol, trying desperately to remember the key that you'd had to ask your fellow bartenders for over and over again for months until you finally remembered the four-digit code once you connected it to a year in Pre-BBY history…

Memories of an ancient conflict come to mind, fuzzy in your heart-hammering haze of adrenaline. Could it have been the wars of the Old Republic, fought over 5 millennia ago? No, it was more recent than that…

This involved Mandalorians—the conflict was not directly caused by them, but instead triggered as a domino effect, leading to…

Yes, that's it! You punch in the four-digit code and muffle your cry of relief as the door slides open.

1032 BBY. The year the Old Republic Fell and the Modern Galactic Republic was formed.

You peek around the open doorway, scanning the room for any signs of life, and once you see none you head in blaster-first with your ears ringing to the sound of the storm. Behind you, the durasteel door slides shut, and with it the sounds of rain are muffled; this part of the building has miraculously retained all structural integrity from ceiling to floor.

It's so dark, so dark, but you walk forward with confidence at having stepped through this place so many times before, feeling your way through another doorway, blinking hard as your eyes adjust to the dim light.

You stop in a second doorway, standing to one side to let a tiny sliver of light through…

And by the Maker, there he is.

Curled up in a tiny, fragile bundle on a rusted table, clasping his little hands together and looking back at you with eyes that hold the whole galaxy inside of them, his huge ears drooped low and his nose scrunched up in a mix of confusion and fear.

The child. Babybug. Your kid. The little loveable womp rat.

You're frozen in place like you can't believe the sight before your eyes. He's seemingly unscathed, except for his face stained with tears and dried snot, and his whole body trembling as his teeny wrists are clasped together with binders, yet even with the most dire situation he's in he manages to pull his face into a fractured, teary smile just for you.

The child lets out a pained cry, voice croaky, and your whole universe quakes at the sound of him. He's here, he's unhurt. You found him.

"Shh, you're safe now," the tears prick in your eyes, and you stumble to your knees as you reach out to the child, ready to scoop him into your arms and comfort him, hightail out of here and leave this wretched place in the dust.

Except you don't even make contact with him before a hand comes to your hair, yanking you back as the icy cold barrel of a blaster is trained on your temple.

"Up. Drop the weapon. One wrong move and I cover him in your brains,"

You engage the safety of your blaster immediately, letting it scatter to the floor and raising your hands in compliance.

You can't see the person, but their voice is scratchy and nasally in such a way that tells you it's a female Balosar—a humanoid species of similar proportions to humans. For a split second, you're grateful at having worked the cantina for all those years, learning the species of the galaxy by the mere call of their drink orders.

The kid lets out a terrible sob, struggling against his binders in a desperate bid to use his powers to stop her, but it's no use. You try so hard to make eye contact in a bid to soothe him, but the kid is flailing around so disturbed, and after a few seconds the blaster jams into your temple again, setting your back ramrod straight.

"I said GET UP!" the Balosar leans down to hiss in your ear, and begrudgingly you comply, standing up. The child chokes out his last cry before going silent, and he buries his face into his scarf to conceal his vision, ears drooping lower than a fathier's.

You rise slowly, hands in the air to pacify your aggressor as much as possible, but the effect is subtle if, at all effective, the woman jabbing the blaster into the small of your back while her attention focuses elsewhere.

"I don't know what the fuck you're doing trying to take Mando's creepy little pet from us, but when I drag you to the boss you're sure as Hoth gonna regret it." Her words are filled with spite, but you're too busy focusing on the sound of drawers opening and things being thrown about onto the floor to let the words get to you.

Outside the walls of the old cantina and corrugated iron shell are the dull pews of blaster fire still letting loose, and it gives you hope—as it means that Din is still putting up a fight.

She's probably gathering binders to cuff me, too. You curse the Maker, mind racing. If you were taken by them then everything would go wrong. The whole plan, gone.

"He's not creepy," you utter softly, almost to yourself, and she stomps her foot, rummaging through a drawer as she leans away, blaster wavering.

"Speak up!" Her patience is impossibly thin, but beneath the rageful exterior, you hear a hint of stress. She has no idea how many of her people are still alive outside—or not—And you know you could use that weakness to your advantage.

"He's not creepy," you say low again, and she has to lean into you, letting out a snarl of rage as you test her withering patience. You feel her breath on the back of your neck, and you know she's right where you want her to be. Now's your chance.

You lurch to the side, grabbing the blaster and jerking it backward, flinching as it flies out of her hand and blasts a smoking hole into the wall. The Balosar goes for your throat but you're too quick, blocking her hands and landing a punch squarely on her mouth, splitting her lip open and sending a spatter of blood flying in the air.

That only seems to make her angrier, red-hot rage flashing in her eyes and her antennae raising as she showers you in a flurry of jabs that you fight against like your life depends on it. All it takes is for one hook to get through, though, and her left fist collides with your jaw in one almighty, blindsiding, ear-ringingly hard punch.

You stumble away, crashing into a nearby shelf and gripping onto it to prevent yourself from falling, the room spinning as the Balosar leers at you triumphantly, wiping the blood from her mouth. She glances to the side, spotting your blaster on the ground, and goes to her hands and knees as she scrambles towards it.

It was the corridor in Peli's house all over again, with the alien that hunted you and the kid down coming towards you while you curled up in a ball helplessly, waiting to be rescued—

No. That's not how it would go—you wouldn't let it. The room sways into focus and your jaw protests in pain, but you find the inner strength to stand up tall again and drive your leg forward in an almighty kick.

You aim your boot squarely at her liver and watch as it makes brutal contact. The Balosar lets out a cry of agony and collapses to the ground, writhing in pain at the single shot. Using all your body weight you dive on top of her and pin her arms to her back with one hand, preventing her from escaping.

Just like Din taught you.

"He's my child, and I'll do anything to protect him." you lean down and whisper in her ear, voice so deadly calm you barely recognize it. The Balosar turns her head to stare daggers up at you as you snatch the binder keys from her belt, her bloodshot eyes narrowed with spite, antennae twitching wildly as she struggles beneath you to no avail.

"Dank farrik, get off me—Help, HEEELP!"

"Your friends can't help you," you say matter-of-factly, reaching for the binders and sealing them to her wrists. Good thing she did you a favor, digging around this mess of a place to find them. "Because my Mandalorian is out there slaughtering them in droves,"

You watch as your words take a moment to sink in—the look of vehemence on her face melting away into something else entirely. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops ajar, her body turning rigid beneath you before starting to tremble.

"So you're with him?" She squeaks, voice even quieter than yours. You suck in air to puff up your chest, jaw crying out as you clench it and nod once.

The Balosar turns limp, the fight drained out of her, and spits a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

"Fuck you. Just kill me and be done with it."

The kid lets out a pained noise from behind you, and your chest wrenches as you try to maintain composure, wishing he didn't have to see any of this… But knowing that he'd seen much worse.

"I'm not going to kill you," you utter between gritted teeth, standing up and pulling the woman up by the binders, leading her to a stunted doorway that didn't quite meet the ceiling or floor, instead positioned in the middle of the wall.

You slam the button to the side of the doorway and the steely metal doors glide open, the waft of old trash assaulting your senses. Seems like they still use this thing, you think to yourself. Perfect.

The Balosar tries to fight against her binders, babbling out bribes and apologies and threats rolled into one, but your mind is so laser-focused on your next words that you hardly hear her, delivering them with a voice so ice-cold that you give yourself chills.

"But if you or your wannabe bounty-hunting troupe even think of coming after us again, you'll sorely regret it."

With a kick to the back of the knees, you send the bounty hunter tumbling into the trash chute, her cries muffled as she hits the softened landing of the mountain of refuse and food scraps and Maker knows what else the bounty hunters had thrown down there.

Closing the door to the chute to muffle her protests, you know that this wasn't a death sentence—she could make her way into the sewage system and reach the surface, but it gave you time to get out.

You rush up to the child, removing his binders gently, and take him into your arms.

"Shh, babybug, hush now. You're safe, it's over," Your words are a desperate mash of soothing for the child but also for yourself, uncertain if he even understands the jumbled Basic you're using, but too desperate to pacify his pain to form a proper sentence.

The child is near-hysterical, practically drowning in his own tears, his wails grating against your eardrums with the proximity and hurting your soul even more.

"It's okay, you're alright. Buir is here." You cling to him tighter, trying your damnedest to transfer all your love for him with the hug. Breathing in his delicate scent, relishing in the way the peach fuzz on his head tickles your face, wetting his clothes with your tears of joy, relief, and emotional release.

His sniffles soon subside into hiccups, and then he is calm once more, letting you know he's had enough of your smothering with an indignant squawk and a kick to your chest.

Giggling thickly through a tear-stuffy nose, you prop the child onto the spot on your hip where he fits so perfectly, face breaking into a smile at the sensation of his little hands gripping onto your clothes for dear life. The feeling alone makes your heart feel almost whole again.

Listening out intently, you notice that the blaster fire has died down outside.

Had Din really got them all…? Or had they gotten him, instead?

Stomach churning at the conundrum, you stick to your plan and exit the old cantina storeroom, the sounds of the rain roaring back to your senses as you leave the closed-off building. You step out into the corrugated metal hallways where you glance down both ways.

To leave you must turn left, but you don't want to just yet, not before you speak to the child, first.

Pulling Din's cloak tighter around your shoulders, you dab away at the snot and tears that coat the child's blotchy face. His bottom lip trembles and he tries to fight against your gentle touch, but once it's over he breathes a sigh of relief, resting his head on your side.

"It's almost over, babybug. Just gotta get out and meet up with your Dad. That sound good?"

The kid sniffles once more, looking up at you with big, wide eyes of unease, but he doesn't disagree.

Bringing the comlink to your lips, you hoist the child closer to you and grit out your agreed-upon signal into the receiver.

"I have him," Three words, that was all you needed, and Din would know what you meant. In a matter of moments, he'd use his jetpack to arch over to the back of the building where you'd meet him, scooping you and the kid up and shooting the three of you into the stormy skies and back to the Razor Crest.

At last, you reach the back door that you'd entered from, relieved to have not met any bounty hunters along the way, and you push open the door and stand in the archway hesitantly, on the lookout for any sight or sound of Din approaching.

The rain is torrential, the harsh droplets cascading off the roof in sheets and pouring onto the once-parched ground, creating small streams and puddles worthy of the title of a pond. The storm cleanses the city of all its dust and grime while reminding its residents that nature is not a force to be reckoned with.

The air feels charged and oppressively muggy, and no matter how much you wind Din's cloak around the two of you, trying to steady your breathing and ignore the throb in your jaw, it chills you to the bone.

Beyond the white noise of the rain, everything is quiet—eerily so, too quiet for your nerves to be at ease. You stare at the bruise-colored clouds that are looming above and think of all the times you stood in this exact spot, savoring the peace of the night on your brief breaks from working the cantina counter.

Things were different beyond belief now. The cantina was destroyed the day you left with Din, and you stood here having just fought for your life and rescued the precious little force-sensitive bundle in your arms. Now, you await your Mandalorian in shining armor to pick you both up and carry you off to safety. How unreal it all seemed…

Without warning, your vision is blinded by the jagged fork of a lightning bolt, illuminating the dreary buildings and creating a mesmerizing pattern in the sky. The child lets out a startled gasp in your arms, his ears pulling back in fear at the sight.

"It's okay, babybug," you speak in a lulling tone, stroking his enormous ears as you say it "Now we count how many seconds until we hear the thunder, which tells us how close the storm is."

You count fifteen whole seconds before the resounding rumble of thunder follows, the sensation of it feeling like it reverberates through your chest. It was close, and chances are it would only get closer.

Feeling antsy, you reach out to Din again.

"I have him," You hiss into the comlink, holding your breath as you await a response.

Silence. Looking down at the child, you start to feel the panic bubble in your gut and rise up to your throat.

"He should be here now, kid. But he's not, and I don't know where to find him."

"Patu." the child exclaims, pointing back down the corridor with a tiny green digit.

Ice-cold dread washes over you.

"He's in there, isn't he? You can sense him." The question is more rhetorical than you intend.

The child nods uneasily, his little beaky mouth forming into a frown, and your stomach drops. This wasn't a part of the plan—which could only mean that something had gone wrong…

You had no choice but to go back into the nest of vipers, because nothing could ever get you to walk away from Din Djarin, not even if all the stars in the night sky were extinguished.

"Quiet as a mouse droid, okay?" you murmur to the child as you dip back inside the ramshackle warehouse. "Help me out; show me which way you sense him."

The kid complies, tiny finger pointing out to the right. You follow his guidance, blaster cocked and aimed, making sure it's the first thing you lead with as you step down the winding, rusted corridors.

The sounds of the storm are all but amplified in the echoey building, the lightning cracks and thunder rumbles getting increasingly closer with each step you take.

After a dizzying amount of twists and turns, you find yourself standing before two large doors, cracked ajar and offering the tiniest sliver of sight into the room.

"He's in there?" You ask the child, barely able to hear your own voice over the thrash of rain and crack of thunder, and he nods frantically, his wide floppy ears twitching uneasily.

You hold your breath, daring to peek through the ajar door and being met with the sight of a spacious, high-ceiling room with dirt floors and minimal amounts of light, forcing its way in through cracks in the corrugated metal roof.

The wind whistles shrilly through the gaps, sending the occasional spray of rain onto the dry, dusty floor. Disturbed by the noise, the child clasps his little hands over his ears, nose scrunching up in distaste.

Your eyes first scan the perimeter of the room, looking out for any signs of life, before falling to the middle of the large space and squinting in the darkness.

A bolt of lightning illuminates the room, a thunder clap chasing after in a handful of seconds, and as it does, your whole world shatters in the blink of an eye.

The child is right. There, on his knees and bound at the wrists in the middle of the room, is Din Djarin.

He's crouched on the floor submissively, beskar armor scuffed and dull from a tireless fight, head hung so low you can't see it, and your heart cracks into a million tiny pieces as you inch the door open and step through, voice broken as you call out to him hoarsely. From the crook of your arm, the child lets out a discomforted cry.

The rain cascades; lightning illuminates the room once more. You take another step into the room and flinch as a mighty boom of thunder sounds in succession.

"Mando?"

Din's head pricks up in reply, and instead of a sleek beskar helmet, you see a mop of dark hair that makes your stomach churn, a wave of terror-filled revulsion washing over you.

They removed his helmet.

You're running over to Din in a blur, collapsing onto the ground and laying a hand on the back of his chest plate, tears welling in your eyes at the way he breathes in sharply at the touch.

The child starts to squirm in your arms, trying desperately to break free from your hold, but your attention is far too focused on the disaster that lies before you to worry about the noise that might draw unwanted attention.

They removed his helmet—humiliated him, breaking his lifelong code, rendering him an outcast from his creed, his people.

"I'm here, I have him, quickly now—we need to get out!" you shout over the storm, grasping at Din's wrists as you begin to unwind the rope that binds them, thanking the Maker they hadn't used binders on him, too.

With the rope unwound you stand up again, squeezing your eyes shut as you pull on his shoulder, desperate for him to turn around and lead the three of you to safety.

"I won't look, we can pretend this never happened, please—"

"Cyare, no!"

Din's voice cries out to you, more broken than you've ever heard it, but it doesn't come from in front of you but from behind you, instead.

Baffled, you spin around and come face-to-face with a sight that sends your head reeling with confusion.

Before your very eyes, in the of the door you just entered, is Din Djarin himself, clad in his full shining beskar armor. He's led out by no less than six bounty hunters, their blasters trained at his helmet, hands clutching at his arms.

But if Din is right in front of you, then how is he also kneeling on the floor?

That's a question you don't get the chance to answer yourself, as before you know it a rough hand snatches your blaster from you and throws it across the room, giving you a harsh shove so you're tumbling to your knees. You clutch onto the child to protect him from the fall, but the rough ground bites your knees with contact.

Wind howls through the gaps in the ceiling. An arc of rain sprays down on you, making you tremble.

Din's doppelganger skulks forward into your view, and your eyes travel up from an exact copy of Din's boots to his thigh plates, gun belt, even down to his worn orange-tipped gloves. Yet, the more you stare at them, the more they seem to fade away into dark, ragged combat gear not at all similar to Din's getup.

As you stare in disbelief, the chameleon's entire body shifts and contorts from an exact copy of Din Djarin into a roughened, reptilian in a completely different outfit. Looking up, you see his hair disappear while his face doesn't change—harsh features stretched over pale yellow skin; large inhuman eyes with slitted pupils glowering at you.

You choke on your own breath, barely able to comprehend what you'd just seen. Even the child is dead-silent, staring up at the figure in fright. You pull Din's cloak over his vision, pressing him closer to your chest protectively.

The reptilian chuckles slowly as he stands before you, crouching down and grasping you by the jaw. You try to recoil away but his grip is far too fierce, scaly skin scraping against your face and sending shots of electric agony down the side of your bruised jaw.

A faint memory resurfaces—you'd seen this man's face before, heard the hushed conversations in the back tables of the old cantina. He's a Clawdite, a species capable of shapeshifting into any humanoid they please.

Posing as Din, it was all a trick, a trap to lure you here, to get you right where he wanted.

"Isn't this a pleasant coincidence?" The Clawdite sneers, revealing his hideous pointed yellow teeth "The old cantina schutta, come to rescue the Mandalorian." his words are mocking, and you swear you hear Din growl in response to them.

With terror-filled rage, you spit in the Clawdite’s face. Nobody calls you schutta.

The alien freezes at your attack but somehow manages to stay composed, his features staying stony as he wipes your saliva off and onto his pants.

For a moment the air is completely still, the sound of the brutal storm diminishing to the rush in your ears as everyone in the room collectively holds their breath, awaiting whatever comes next.

Cackling gruffly, the bounty hunter stands and turns to Din, arms open wide as if he were speaking to an old friend.

"Mando, you sly dog, I didn't know you liked 'em feisty!'" He turns back to you, crouching down again, making your skin crawl with just how close he was. You clench your jaw and square your shoulders, trying with all your might to not cower away, to show any sign of weakness.

Instead, you do as Din taught you, and stare the threat right in the eye. A bolt of lightning cracks overhead, illuminating the man in a bluish hue. A rumble of thunder follows it in a matter of seconds.

How could you ever mistake this man for Din? You think to yourself as your bitter gaze trails across his body. He’s practically half the size of him, scrawny and weak in the places Din was broad and strong.

You could take him down. You swear, with all the rage that courses through your veins, you'd have enough time to tackle him to the ground and startle his lackeys, so that Din could break free and get the upper hand.

The Clawdite cocks an eyebrow at you, glancing down at his own form and smirking as he mistakes your sizing-up eyes for something else completely.

"It's a shame we got off on the wrong foot. I'm sure we would have gotten along quite well," he purrs, and you sneer, disgusted.

Again, the Clawdite offers no reaction in response to yours, and it makes you wonder if other people's reactions affect him at all.

"But no, old Mando here just had to blow up our headquarters and steal our bounties, time and time again."

Rising to stand, the Clawdite begins strolling around the room.

"Taking his property was meant to teach him a lesson, remind him who really runs the bounty hunting biz."

The child wriggles in your arms, letting out a small, high-pitched squeak.

"Isn't that right, Mando?" The Clawdite glances over his shoulder to gauge the reply, but his eyes are still firmly trained on you.

Din practically growls in reply, his arms flexing in resistance at the people that restrain him, barrels of their blasters clacking on his helmet as he does.

"But now you break into my base, injure my people, steal that… thing for yourself, and spit in my face—quite literally!" The bounty hunter snorts at you, face breaking into a razor-sharp grin for just a second before dropping to a glare. "My patience can run only so thin. Hand over the asset and I'll consider sparing you."

You glower at him defiantly, pulling the child closer.

"Don't lie to yourself. Mando doesn't steal your bounties—you're just shit at hunting them." you snap back, blood running hot with fury, teeth bared as you continue talking "And the kid is not property. He's a child, and he's ours to protect."

You've barely finished your sentence when the Clawdite snaps, his anger bubbling to the surface as he jerks forward to bring his face mere inches to yours and unleashes a torrent of words, bitingly sharp in both tone and substance.

"It would be wise to keep that snarky mouth of yours shut unless you want your tongue ripped out and hung around your neck."

Your surroundings seem to blur as you disconnect from the world entirely, an innate reaction to the very real danger you were in. You can hear Din shouting at the man to leave you alone, lunging forward with a burst of adrenaline-fueled strength and almost breaking free, until he's kicked in the back of the knees and sent crashing to the ground.

The Clawdite's face remains cold, devoid of all emotion as he reaches for the delicate rope around your neck and tugs it harshly, breaking it off clean and tearing a gasp from your chest in the process.

You watch as he takes your necklace in his hands, studying the milky blue stone wrapped around crude wire, and everything is hazy as your mind feels like it's ripped apart from your body.

The room flickers ominously as electrifying webs of lightning streak across the skies, and you count in your head as three seconds go by until thunder resounds throughout the building. It's getting closer…

"Let me guess, a gift from your Mandalorian lover?" he utters mockingly. You protest weakly, the words leaving you as a choked sob, but it's too late, as the bounty hunter drops your treasured keepsake onto the floor, crushing the delicate stone under his boot, and kicks the remnants away to scatter across the dust.

You turn your head to stare at it in the dirt, the treasured pendant that had been a part of you since your Mother knelt down and tied it around your neck, making you promise to never take it off. You feel as if you're stripped bare, like you'd lost the top layer of your skin across your entire body, spiritually raw from the loss of the comforting weight on your sternum.

The Clawdite says something else to you, then, but you don't hear it—in fact, you don't hear a thing.

It's like a surge of emotions come to you at once, memories and feelings and sights and sounds and tastes: the roaring of the rain and creaking of the building, the blood-tinged spit in your mouth and trembling of the child in your arms, Din's grunts of exertion as he tries his best to break free from the bounty hunters that have him caged.

The Clawdite continues to speak, and somehow you start to feel his words instead—the vicious hatred for Din, the sick and twisted need to see you suffer.

The tiny details seem to blow up to be just as large as everything else, all existing in tandem, a cloud of noise filling your brain.

It's Din's voice that brings you back to reality, replying to whatever horrors the Clawdite had proposed as your punishment.

"No. NO! Don't touch them." He demands, and your heart fills with pride at just how solid his voice is, how stoic he remains when staring danger in the eye.

You lift your eyes from the ground, letting yourself look at your Mandalorian, to feel everything that stirs within you. The sense of unreality lifts when you look at him, solid as the ground he stands on; your rock.

Lightning and thunder explode in startling succession, the room bathed in light and then diminished back into darkness. Somehow it doesn't surprise you—you'd felt it in the way the hair on your arms raised, the way the metal building hummed with an electric charge.

"Would you look at that—Mando's gone soft!" the Clawdite claps his hands together in pure glee at your suffering, and his smile turns into a leer as his friends guffaw in reaction.

He struts over to Din, crouching down and flicking his helmet mockingly. You can't help but notice as Din's whole body erupts in a shaky tremor of barely-contained rage.

"You're not in the position to be making orders, so I suggest you shut up." the Clawdite spits, his tone as cutting as his words. He stands up and starts pacing the room again as if this entire incident was a chore that he wished would be over.

"Whatever you're going to do, do it to me, instead." Din does not back down, nor try to resist the restraint of the Clawdite's henchmen—no, he takes it all in stride.

You make eye contact with the visor and shake your head furiously, mouthing your disapproval to him. But Din relents, his head raising solemnly as he nods at you. His emotions vibrate through your chest at the exchange like they have a life of their own; his fear mixed with fury, contempt paired with bravery, and overflowing love for you and the child— the sensation of it so strong it sends your head reeling, and it takes all your might to not sway from where you kneel.

What was happening to you?

“If you insist,” the Clawdite yawns in reply to Din's demand, his grating drawl bringing you back to the moment “Bring him here.” He points to a spot in the ground in front of you, and your heart drops.

You can't bring yourself to watch as they manhandle Din, forcing him to stand and marching him over so he's stood opposite you, an arm's reach away. You focus your eyes down and into Din's cloak you'd wound around you and at the child, chest wrenching at the silent tears streaming down his face, experiencing his fear exactly as you'd felt Din's.

With tears thick in your eyes and throat, you reach out and grasp his little hand in yours, trying your best to comfort the child as it feels like your entire universe crumbles around you.

What were they going to do to him? To you? To babybug?

When your hand makes contact with the child's, a single word echoes through your consciousness, so loud, so tangible that you startle, wondering if it was said out loud.

The word is all around you, and so is the feeling associated with it, childlike wonder contrasted with unbearably heavy sadness, a sense of boundless curiosity juxtaposing the sensation of having seen it all, happening somewhere deep within.

The feelings live inside of you, now, just as that single unknown word does—and in an instant, these experiences are not new, but something that has always been there.

GROGU.

It feels like a lifetime passes before you tear your sight back to Din, whose cool demeanor has melted away to unleash the rageful beast within. He grunts and growls, thrashing and kicking at your captors as they struggle to restrain him. The rain roars above, hammering so hard onto the roof that you wonder if it will collapse in on you.

How did you not hear him? He's so loud, everything's so loud.

One of the captors pulls out a taser and shocks Din, making his body contort stiffly before collapsing onto his knees. Seven people and an array of weapons, and they still fight to bring your Mandalorian down.

Din calls to you, his words ringing in your ears above the sound of the rain and the crack of lightning directly above.

"Ner'cyare, haa'taylir be'chaaj." He grunts hoarsely, his voice crackling desperately through the modulator. Look away, my love.

Look away from what?

Your face is wet, and you don't know if it's from your tears or the rain.

The Clawdite barks something to the bounty hunters, and then one of them is stepping away and behind Din as the other five tighten their grip on him, knees digging into his back and forcing his arms to bend at angles so harsh it could dislocate them.

The Clawdite is standing behind you now, and he grabs you by the jaw again, forcing your head to stay firmly focused forward.

The child wails a plaintive cry, his screams piercing your soul, and a visceral quake runs through your entire body as you feel the earth start to vibrate beneath you.

Lightning.

The bounty hunter behind Din brings his arms forward, palms resting flatly on either side of his sleek beskar helmet.

You feel the bolt; see it in your mind's eye, a hair's breadth away before it strikes.

He feels under the rim of the helmet, looking for the release latch to lift Din's helmet from his head, and a surge of raw, primal dread pulses through your very being as it finally dawns on your horrified senses of what is happening.

NO!

…

White.

So many things happen in quick succession that you're not sure in which order they occur.

First, a sharp, piercing scream—from you, perhaps, or a voice inside your head.

Then, a sensation of something emerging from your chest, a power, an energy lain dormant, finally unleashed.

Next, a light, blindingly, dazzlingly luminous, that fills the room and your vision, melting everything away, everyone, everywhere.

For a brief moment, all is still. You look down, the shriek that cuts the air transforming into the ringing of the rain.

The bolt of lightning has plunged into the room and down into your outstretched hands.

You hold it for just a breath, feeling it charge up with all your terror and rampage and devotion and hope, and then, with a roar, you release it into the room.

The power of the blast is so intense it creates a shockwave, sending the bounty hunters flying, crashing against the walls of the room and crumpling into lifeless heaps.

A wave of dizziness engulfs you in the aftermath, weakness gripping your entire frame as you lean over and heave, emptying your stomach of its contents.

Your body is drained, your mind depleted, and it takes all your strength to roll onto your back, dust clouds rising above you as you collapse unceremoniously.

The last thing you recall is the feeling of the child as he stirs in your arms, and a suit of beskar armor crawling over to you and taking you in his arms, the endless black of a visor consuming you whole.

The darkness starts to spread, creeping across your entire vision like the stars extinguishing in the night sky, and then, at last, there is nothingness.

---

When you awaken, it takes time to remember all that happened.

But once you do, you're too afraid to open your eyes—to see the reality that lies before you.

Instead, you reach out with your newfound connection and you feel it.

The gentle breeze as it whispers through the room, a soft sigh of solace and relief. The stirring of the curtains as they flutter against a windowpane, dancing with the softly dappled light. The echoey space of a room long abandoned, with everything left exactly as it was the day that it was left behind.

With it all is the earthy smell of rain lingering in the air, the grime and dust washed away, revealing the crispness of a new dawn.

The mattress is soft beneath you, stuffed full and slightly lumpy in the most nostalgic way. The familiar weight of a woodsmoke-tinged cloak lays over your body, the sinking sensation of a too-soft pillow encapsulating your head.

Stars, this must be a dream. In your mind, you're picturing the window in the bedroom of your childhood home, so vivid…

Yet, when you finally open your eyes, it's exactly what you see before you.

You try to move, but your limbs cry out in protest, arms too exhausted to even lift yourself onto your elbows. Exhaling heavily, you're made aware of a gentle weight laying on your chest, curled in a ball and hidden under Din's cloak that's over you.

The weight starts to twitch beneath the cloak, and giant pinkish-green ears poke out from the top, followed by buggy eyes and lips pursed in an expression of worry.

You let out a shaky exhale of relief at the sight of the child unharmed, and reach out your hand to touch his to see if what you experienced earlier was not just a freak occurrence.

It comes as no surprise when a rush of emotions floods you, memories and dreams and fears and hopes. A long life both ahead and behind, all in the mind of the very special creature before you.

It helps you remember the most important thing.

"Grogu?" You croak, voice weak, and a spark of amazement shoots through you as his ears twitch in response, his teeny face breaking out into a gappy grin.

It's then that Din jolts awake from his slumber, perched in a chair in the corner of the room. His mirror-metal armor clacks against itself as he stands at once, rushing over to your bedside and running shaky hands across your body to check for any injuries.

"Y-you're awake, you're—osik, thank the Maker you're—you—" his voice is like sandpaper, gritty and rough, but his words are so soft, and his hands even gentler as they skirt up to cup your face.

"Ner'mesh'la atin'ika, you saved us—I thought it was the end, I—" Din's voice cracks, thick with tears threatening to fall, and he stills himself by bringing his forehead to yours, the cool metal of the helmet kissing your skin delicately.

"Din," you lay a hand on his wrist, thumb drawing circles at the bare skin. "I'm okay, I promise. Just feel…" you wonder if any words can sum up how you really feel. Like every single one of your cells was torn apart and pieced back together again, your spirit raw, soul anew.

"Exhausted." is all you can bring yourself to say.

"Of course you are," Din pulls away from the keldabe kiss to look you deep in the eyes "You need to rest; however long it takes, we're staying here."

Looking at the reflection of yourself in his visor, you don't look nearly as bad as you feel. In fact, you seem revitalized, almost. It feels like every time you start to make sense of this whole situation, another question is left unanswered.

The context of Din's words brings your focus back to the room, and you look around at it again, so many questions coming to mind.

"Are we really here…?" You whisper, eyes wide as they take in all the tiny details "In my childhood home?"

Din freezes, cocking ever so slightly to one side. He locks gaze with the child in your arms, whose ears flap eagerly, big eyes blinking as slow as a lothcat.

"So that's what this place is?" Din murmurs, and looks around at the place with new eyes.

"It was the kid, he led us here. Wouldn't let me take the ship up past the atmosphere, kept messing with the controls until I listened to him, and…" He catches himself rambling, words cut short as if he's just remembered that you're right before him and all he wants to do is hold you.

He pulls the chair from the other side of the room, setting it by the head of the bed where he can rest his hand over yours lovingly.

"How did the kid know?" You wonder. Nothing makes sense.

Din shuffles in his seat, chest rising and falling with a weighty exhale before he replies.

"Do you remember what happened, cyar'ika?" he pauses again, trying to form the words. "The lightning, you…"

"Me?" You stumble to cut his words short "It was babybug, his powers, he must have given them to me, somehow." you shake your head, trying desperately to explain away and make sense of it all without completely overturning everything you know about yourself, but deep down the truth is clear.

Din's hand is on your face again, tucking away a stray hair behind your ear, caressing the skin of your cheek so tenderly as he delivers his next words.

"No, cyare. I saw everything—and it all came from you."

The world freezes again. Breeze dying down, white noise ringing in your ears. It was too much to take in, too much—

"Something changed in you when your necklace was snapped off. You did the same kind of… thing I've seen him do," Din continues, baritone voice somber as he brings his hand down to pat the child on the head.

"You're… you have… You're like him." Din finalizes, nodding securely "Like the… our child."

You blink back at Din softly, letting his words soak into your skin, beneath the aching muscles, digging deep into the corporeal essence of who you are.

His beskar armor becomes hazy as the tears fill your vision, but you blink them away before they can fall, looking out the open window and at the expansive stretch of field that was once a small plot of farmland tended to by your parents, now left neglected wild.

It all starts to click: your family farm being raided by the Empire, in search of force sensitives to be eradicated or kidnapped.

The pendant your parents gave to you, that your Mom tied around your neck and told you to never take off. And how the moment it did, that a burst of energy was unleashed from within.

And even fuzzier memories come to you still: of sensing people's emotions, crying with their pain when they hadn't even shed a tear themselves, and giggling with their joy of a close-kept secret longing to be shared.

The connection you felt to the world around you when you were young was more profound than you could ever describe, but that was all dulled the day your Mom wrapped that pendant around your neck and hid that from you, for your own protection.

But now you're safe, you can embrace who you truly are.

"I'm force sensitive," you utter. It's a statement, not a question, but Din nods in heartfelt affirmation all the same, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he does so.

You have more questions, so many, and you're eager to get help to answer them.

"The pendant my parents gave me, they told me to never take it off. Do you think it was some kind of…?"

"Force dampener?" Din contemplates, staring at a spot on the ceiling as he thinks. You study the patch of scruff on his neck and wonder how long you've been out cold for "I'm the last person to know, but it sure sounds like it."

Din then removes his hand from yours and reaches beneath the layers on his chest, lifting out the necklace bearing the head of a mythosaur from his neck and raising it over your own head, the weight of the cool beskar pendant landing onto your sternum just as your original pendant had.

"It may not replace what you lost, but I want you to have it, anyway."

"It's wonderful, Din," You look up at him and feel so full of love that your heart could burst. "Thank you."

"How does it feel? To be connected to the force." He asks earnestly as he goes to hold your hand again. The child turns to face you, looking up with his huge abyss eyes, awaiting the answer just as much as Din was.

"I feel like myself for the first time." you confess."Connected to everything," you look down at the kid, running your fingers through the wispy tufts of hair atop his head. "Connected to him."

And then you remember, as fast and powerful as the bolt of lightning you'd channeled your force powers into, that Din doesn't know the most important thing.

"His name is Grogu." You say proudly, turning your palm upward to intertwine your fingers with Din's, giving his hand a squeeze.

Din rises in his seat in surprise, clutching onto the side of the bed to steady himself. Sitting down again, he leans closer, asking you for confirmation.

"Gro…gu?"

But you're not the one who replies to him—Grogu is. His floppy ears twitch wildly as he lets out an exclamation of glee at the sound of his Buir saying his name for the first-ever time.

Din turns his attention to the child, lowering himself to match his eye-line as he repeats the word with more surety.

"Grogu."

The adorable, pure sound of baby's laughter fills the room as Grogu giggles gleefully, bouncing up and down on your chest in the bed.

"Oof—Grogu!" You huff out a chuckle, and the kid's head turns to face you so fast he swipes his feet out from under himself, face-planting into your stomach.

"Gonna have to work on you getting used to us calling you that, hm," You muse as Din takes Grogu into his arms and lets him crawl up and perch himself on his shoulder. Grogu teeters, clutching onto Din's helmet for support.

"And practice your balance with those big ears, you little womp rat," Din adds affectionately, bringing up a hand to steady Grogu as he balances on one pauldron.

The sight of them reminds you of the moment you decided to leave this planet, to join Din and Grogu on their adventures across the galaxy.

You can't help but recall how you'd felt so compelled to take the child into your arms from the moment you'd seen him, the connection instant. The bond had felt like it had been there all along—and now, with a deeper understanding of who you were, you wondered if there was more truth to that than you'd ever assumed.

"You saved us, you know," Din says to you seriously. You look up at him with wide eyes, bottom teeth sinking between your lip. "They're not coming back for us. You got 'em good, atin'ika. I'm so proud of you."

All the fighting, the training, the racing across the galaxy, and seeing planet after planet. Everything you'd learned and experienced felt like it had finally come to fruition.

With your heart fit to burst, you find the energy to lift yourself into a seated position. Din scoots closer to accommodate you, and you rest your head onto his chest plate, sighing softly as he wraps a strong arm around you, the child brushing his fingers gently through your hair.

And it feels like home.

Notes:

Don't cry 'cause it's over, smile 'cause it happened

EPILOGUE WILL BE UP NEXT WEEK BESTIES

I'd love to know if anyone saw force-sensitive Reader coming? I've been dropping steady hints throughout the entire fic!

Chapter 22: Epilogue: A Clan of Three

Summary:

it's here, it's over. the final chapter/epilogue!!! also included is a long rambly authors note <3

It began as a night like any other… Until Din Djarin walked into your cantina and set your life on a course that had, up to that point, been but a dream.

He was known to you at the time as the enigmatic Mandalorian, a silhouette in the doorway; illuminated beskar steel and hulking muscle, sucking the air out of a room like the vacuum of space and captivating you with his aloof anonymity.

Little did you know exactly who lay beneath it all. Peeling back the layers led you to discover the hardened warrior had a heart of kyber, a tender soul for those in need, a tireless ambition for justice, and a fiercely protective nature for the ones he cared about.

The sheer depth and vastness that was Din Djarin astounded you each and every day.

Now, it feels like home. Knowing him, knowing Grougu, and finally knowing the direction that your life could take.

From here it could go wherever you wanted it to.

All of this comes to mind as you sit atop the summit of a mountain, overlooking the land of a planet you'd never seen the likes of before.

It was a forested planet of vast rolling hills and the occasional mountain, where waterfalls pooled into great crystalline lakes and ancient, cone-shaped structures dotted the landscape.

Jedi temples. Din insisted on taking you somewhere that you and Grogu would not only feel safe, but be connected to who you are.

The sky was still dim with the final remnants of dusk, but you were sitting here so early for a reason—to watch the sun rise on a new day.

It had been a while since the tumultuous events of your home planet, and you'd had the time to heal both physically and mentally since then, to come to terms with what happened and all that was unearthed.

You'd even had the opportunity to wander through your old house, finding some mementos that reminded you of your family to carry with you on the journeys ahead.

The most treasured keepsakes you didn't take, however—you'd buried them in the patch beside the back door where the wildflowers grow, finally able to say a proper goodbye to the family that was so cruelly stolen from you.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you," Din murmurs from where he sits right beside you. Grogu is playing nearby with his beloved beskar ball, making it float into the air and catching it over and over.

You turn to look at Din curiously, leaning back on your hands as you gaze up at the angular lines of the helmet.

"I'm done with the bounty-hunting life." The words leave his chest in a rush of air that tells you it's something he's been holding in for a while, but the news shocks you all the same.

“Done?” You ask, voice small.

“Done,” he nods “Over. I don’t want any more of it.”

"But you've been hunting your whole life, it's your livelihood—" you say the first thing that comes to mind, but Din is speaking over you with reassuring words.

"It only brings us trouble. My only priority is keeping us safe." He rests a hand on yours, looking over at Grogu as he frolics. "I'd put it all aside for you, cyare—take off the armor and live dar'manda if you asked me to."

As a non-Mandalorian. A traitor.

"I'd never ask that of you," you say softly, "I want you wholly, all that you are, Din. Beskar and all. But if your decision to quit bounty hunting makes you happy, then it makes me happy."

Din takes in a deep breath, tilting his helmet to one side. Wondering how he ever found someone as perfect as you.

"Cara mentioned there're planets all over looking for marshals like her. Said she could put me in touch with people." He tells you, voice airy with a tone of hope "All I have to do is ask,"

Your eyes light up at the thought. A place to settle down and call home.

Four walls, a kitchen, dappled light coming through the curtains in the morning as you lay in bed together, the space around you still—not careening through hyperspace. A room for Grogu to play and learn in, a bed for him to rest his head.

Din would be the town marshal and you could fix up starships or work as a mechanic—hoth, you'd even man a cantina bar again if you had to. Or—

Oh.

You look over at Grogu as he plays in the grass, chasing a jumping bug as it hops away from him.

You have a job, already. A very, very important one.

"Look," Din murmurs, pointing over at the eastward hills as the sun breaks out from above them.

In an instant, the sky is filled with streaks of color, blood-red and pale orange melding with the indigo and cerulean atmosphere to create a light show that seemingly dances before your very eyes.

"The colors. I've never seen anything like it before! Din, you should take off your…" Your words fade away at the sound of the helmet disengaging, and the gentle clunk as he places the solid beskar object to one side.

He doesn't ask you to cover your eyes, or make any move to shield your gaze from them, and your head spins with the reality of what you're about to share.

He's looking right at you. You feel his eyes surveying your face, the gaze both intense and comforting at the same time.

Brown, they're brown. He told you when you'd asked him once, and now you would see exactly what shade they were.

"There," Din says at last, and your skin erupts in shivers at the sound of his unmodulated baritone voice. "Now you never have to ask me again."

Slowly, you start to turn your head, mouth dry and skin prickling and heart racing a parsec a second, until, at long last, your eyes land on Din Djarin's face.

There he is.

Looking at him for the first time, you feel nothing short of pure joy. It feels so familiar but at the same time brand new, the endless days of longingly tracing his features in the dark finally filled in by the details that only sight could bring.

Nothing could prepare you for just how gorgeous he was, though.

Deep brown eyes, earthen rich in their comforting gaze, framed by dark lashes that reeled you in like a labyrinth of the soul. Beneath them is the subtle pigmentation of many sleepless nights, reminding you that you had to continue your mission to coax Din into taking a full night's rest with you, instead of catnapping multiple times a day to stave off the need for proper rest.

A prominent aquiline nose, evoking imagery of ancient Nabooian regality as if it were carved by the Maker themselves. The graceful arch is so majestic in its structure, contrasting the soft features of his eyes.

His mouth looks like home to you, a full bottom lip and well-groomed mustache with flecks of salt and pepper among the strands. Below it is the scruff off a few days' worth of stubble on his chin, running along his cheeks and framing his sharp jawline.

His face is framed by the wispy waves of his rich brown hair, curling so pleasantly around his ears, neckline, and temples, akin to waves rolling to shore and kissing the sand so delicately. You know just how soft his hair feels dancing between your fingers, having mapped his curls by touch alone—but seeing them in person was like viewing a piece of art for the first time.

No description could do it justice; you had to see it to appreciate it fully.

With another awe-inspired scan of his face you take note of the various scars dotted about it—the fresh peachy nick on his chin, or the old silvery line through his left eyebrow; not to mention the unmissable red slash sitting cleanly on the bridge of his nose.

After the events on your home planet, he'd divulged that he'd hacked through fourteen of the rogue bounty hunters before getting captured by them—reminding you that he's a warrior and he bears the marks to prove it.

At last, once it feels like you've taken all of him in, you realize your breathless anticipation for the moment has dispersed, transforming into an outpour of emotions that flood your senses with this newly established connection.

You watch the falter in his expression, the slight opening of his mouth and widening of his eyes as he awaits a verbal reaction from you.

"You… you're…" you utter, bringing a hand to his face and stroking the patchy scruff of facial hair that adorns his jawline.

"You're beautiful, Din."

It's dizzyingly exciting to watch his reaction to your words, rather than going off body language and tone of voice alone.

He looks like he wants to disagree—mouth opening and closing once more, as he glances away and bites the inside of his cheek to reassess his words. When he looks back at you his entire expression softens, and the gentlest of smiles fills his face like the beams of the sun.

"I love you," he whispers, and you watch the way his full bottom lip forms the words, entranced. Lips you'd pressed yours to countless times in the dark while feeling every emotion beneath the sun.

This time, as you wind your arms around his neck and meet his mouth, you're not dreaming of what they look like, or the expression on Din's face as you embrace.

No, now you can break apart and see it, his blown-out pupils and heavy-lashed eyes and tousled hair and—

"Patu?"

The moment is broken in the only way you could forgive: Grogu stands beneath you, his little mouth open wide with shock as he stares up at his helmet-less dad and you.

You bundle him into your arms at once, pressing a peck atop his wrinkled forehead and grinning from ear to ear as you hold him up to look directly at Din.

"Look at your Buir, Grogu! You were right, he is handsome," you say to the child, thinking back to that one time you'd asked the kid what his dad looked like.

Din chuckles at that, you melt as you take note of the way his eyes really do crease as he laughs.

The child giggles at the sound of Din's elation, and makes grabby hands for him. Din takes Grogu into his arms and sits him in his lap gently, handing him his little beskar ball to play with.

"There's something else, cyare," Din speaks up again, and your heart stutters as you get to see his emotions written across his face. "Something I've wanted to ask you."

It's clear as day, the way his brows quirk up and then down, mouth twitching after he speaks as he tries to retain a straight face. This was something he felt very strongly about, there was no doubt about it.

He isn't used to people looking at him, you muse.

You reach out and squeeze his hand, nodding encouragingly, and the anxiety on his face softens.

He looks out to the sun rising above the forested hills, jaw clenching and unclenching as he takes a deep breath.

When he looks back at you, his eyes are filled with such love and longing that it takes you aback.

"For the longest time, I've wanted a clan of two to become a clan of three. Would you—?"

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before you're blurting out your reply, heart on your sleeve as you say that one word Din has been waiting so long to hear.

"Yes." You gasp, mouth ajar as time seems to stop completely.

"Yes?" Din repeats breathlessly, and Grogu stops playing with his little metal ball and looks up at his dad, wondering what all the fuss is about.

"Yes, yes, YES!" You gush, collapsing into Din as he chuckles softly, pulling an arm around you and drawing you close.

You gaze deep into his eyes, noses mere millimeters apart, and for the first time in forever, you feel complete.

"Welcome to the family," Din utters, and you cherish the way you feel his words on your lips from the sheer proximity.

"And what an odd little family we are," you say sentimentally in reply, eyes starting to glaze over with tears.

"Aliit ori'shya tal'din," Din murmurs into your mouth, pressing his lips to yours before he offers the translation. "Family is more than blood."

For a moment all is still; your eyes focus on the horizon, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you see the sun break above the mountains.

"I'm glad you said yes, because you kind of already joined the family when you accepted this," Din traces the mythosaur necklace that hangs around your neck.

You stare down at it in amused disbelief. "Your necklace?"

"Yeah. It's Mandalorian custom to gift a necklace as initiation into the clan." He says matter-of-factly.

"Din Djarin!" You exclaim, and a giggle slips past your lips. "Just how long were you planning on keeping that a secret from me?"

Din laughs deeply, and you look again at his face to see the way his eyes crinkle, except this time you pick up his slightly crooked teeth and the apples of his cheeks and like a mudslide you find yourself slipping as you fall in love with him a little bit more.

You knew him so well, had fallen for him so deeply, and yet things were only just beginning, a life with him where you could see his face every day.

Din breaks your train of thought with a murmur in your ear, a question that offers the most endless of possibilities.

"The day is ours, atin'ika. What do you want to do?"

You look down at the vast expanse of land, your eyes wandering to the temples dotted about the forest. Maybe you could come to understand more of your and Grogu's abilities in one of them.

You could spend the day studying the primeval Jedi structures, emerging by noon to have a picnic and refresh yourself under the spray of a waterfall. The afternoon would soon turn to evening, where Din would set up a campfire and you'd cook up a homemade stew for the three of you. It still wouldn't stop Grogu from trying to eat a frog, though.

You'd stay up 'till late, talking and enjoying the act of looking at each other without the beskar between you, until the stars would fill up the entire sky in the blanket of night.

Perhaps you'd lay there and Din would teach you about the constellations, or you'd retire to the Razor Crest and the three of you would bundle beneath the covers and sleep in until mid-morning.

Anything is possible, now. The rest of the journey is yours to decide.

But one thing was for sure.

Wherever the wind took you, you would always be at home now that you were a part of Clan Mudhorn.

---

🖤 AUTHOR'S NOTE 🖤

Is it over?

It's actually over. I feel so full and yet so lost. What am I going to do without this story living in my head?

Thank you all for everything. For the laughs, the cries, the food for thought, and the overall outpour of support over my silly little story. I am humbled, grateful, and (almost) all out of words.

Now for some story rambles. If you're interested in learning about my process and thoughts behind writing Beneath Beskar, then feel free to read on!

I felt the fervor to write this fic after noticing the potential of just how deep Din Djarin could be. The man of two sides—hard steely beskar, cold and unknowing, and gentle softness beneath, the person nobody really knows. I had read quite a few Din fics and hadn’t seen this theme explored fully yet, so I wanted to fill that gap in the fandom, and dive into his struggles of juggling both of these sides to him, as well as tapping into themes of loneliness, identity, and human connection.

This fic went through a lot of changes in its lifetime—the original tale I wrote months before uploading here had all the feels but a lot less direction, and I ended up pausing writing about 12 chapters in (which originally was set on Hoth, where there was no miscommunication on Seolona, and Reader never opted to stay on Nevarro—super different, really) feeling lost in the slow burn. Yet, after many chats with my friend Sofia, I went back and wove meaning into the entire story (the very friend who convinced me to publish this fic in the first place!), taking into consideration the ending that I was aiming for.

Reader was given a destiny: a revelation of their own to uncover, separate from their relationship with Din and parental role to Grogu. I also gave some structure to their training so that there was an actual arc and progress there, and dived deep into Star Wars lore to find all the cool planets and cultures to utilize in this story.

I was super grateful for the 70k-ish words I'd written before, which meant for those early chapters that I was mostly doing heavy editing while being able to focus on deepening the story and making the earlier events of the narrative connect to future happenings.

This is something I highly recommend to other fic writers out there! I never expected this story to take 2 years to complete, but after some chapters blew up in size and had to be split (I'm talking about you, Kalora training arc) and others sprung up out of nowhere (The getaway to Naboo that I wrote in the space of a week while I had covid) it only makes sense that it took so long! If I hadn't gotten that headstart who knows how long it would have taken.

This fic really has been the little comfort space I carved in my mind these past two years. There's something so peaceful about imagining Din, Grogu, and Atin'ika traveling from one planet to the other, chilling in hyperspace or landing on some random planet, taking things as they come, living that nomadic life. It's extra awesome that I got to share it with all of you, and it's a dream come true that you've enjoyed this journey just as much as I have!

There’s one more thing I want to share that might come as a disappointment. Originally, I had plans for a sequel. You might be thinking—why end the story here? I know, I’ve spent a long time wondering that, too. But the lack of a sequel lies in the ending to this story.

Initially, Din was supposed to freak out at Reader’s sudden force powers, and not in a good way—Mandlaorians and Jedi have been at odds for centuries, after all. Instead of being understanding, loving, and excited, he was going to fall into his old ways of distrusting aruetiise: wondering if Reader was hiding their powers all along, and, when the Reader tells Din that they need to give Grogu to his people so that he receives the right training in the force, an overly-protective Din disagrees completely, leading the Reader to make the impossible decision to take Grogu and leave Din and the Razor Crest behind, going on a desperate search for fellow force sensitives to help them.

This would have led to an intense chase across the galaxy, where Din would be tailing after the most elusive quarry he’s hunted yet, the trickiest part being that he loves you and deep down wants nothing more than to give it all up and be with you. Din would feel extra threatened because you know so much about him—seen his face, know his name. And, worst of all, he was the one who trained you. He quite literally taught you how to run from him, so you know his ways, his moves. Allowing you to be always one step ahead.

There would be sooo many close calls and heated comlink convos and physical pursuits and maybe one time where you both relapse and spend a night together only to start the chase again the next day.

Eventually, the Reader realizes they are the one who should train Grogu in the force, not some stranger they would leave him with, Din comes around to the whole Jedi thing, and they all live HEA. Kinda fun, right?

I doubt I’ll ever touch this arc, so feel free to take it and make it your own if you want to! Here’s a summary I wrote, I also have some messy notes for more in-depth parts of the story if anyone would like me to share:

Din Djarin was your shadow, hunting you across the stars after you took his son and left him in pieces.

After uncovering your force powers, you realized it was your duty to bring Grogu to his people: the fabled Jedi warriors.

Yet there was no deeper distrust than the Jedi and Mandalorians, and Din would follow you to the ends of the galaxy to get his family back.

But, to his downfall, he was also the one that trained you to run from him.

When I say it's been an honor I really do mean it. I can’t thank you all enough for what you’ve done for me. I won't be writing much here anymore as I start working on something to try to get published someday. If you maybe one day pick up a novel and it’s all cheesy and nerdy and slow burn-y and there’s a character like my dear Din or Atin’ika… Perhaps it will be me that made it :)

Okay, after way too many words, I think I’m done here.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, vor entye, bal ret'urcye mhi 🖤