Art by the incredible @bunnelbie (I love it so much!! Thank you!!)
A scene from my fic With the Stars Flying Past Us where Din and Darcy say their vows and become married.
Din grabbed onto her hand again, pressing it against his chest plate over his heart. Darcy stared up at his t-visor and she could feel his eyes on her.
“Mhi solus tome,” he started, slowly. Darcy said the words back carefully, surprised that the words coming out of her mouth sounded like what he’d said.
“Mhi solus dar'tome,” Din continued. Darcy followed.
“Mhi me'dinui an.” Darcy stumbled over the second word, Din squeezing her hand reassuringly.
“Mhi ba'juri verde,” Din said, and Darcy followed.
Din pulled her close to him, Darcy yelping at the sudden change in position, and then he was grabbing the back of her head to touch their foreheads together.
Art by the incredible @bunnelbie (I love it so much, thank you!)
A scene from my fic Take Me to the Lake where Din and Darcy are in a lake.
The moonslight was hitting his face and made him look almost ethereal and breathtaking. Darcy just loved looking at his face so much. She had believed for so long that she’d never see it, and she had been fine with it. She respected him. Darcy felt honored that Din let her see him like this and that he felt safe and comfortable in her presence. She just felt so much love for him that it felt like her heart would burst….
“I know I’ve told you this before, but you’re very handsome, and our kids are going to be absurdly cute. Not as cute as Grogu, but still very cute,” Darcy said.
Din chuckled, his eyes crinkling.
aaa thank you so much for commissioning me! this was one of the loveliest prompts i’ve ever gotten—such a pleasure doing this
Heart a galloping monster in his chest, Din moves before his better angels can stop him. He has to touch you before you go. If he doesn’t….
He lifts his left hand and pinches the tips of his gloved fingers. Slowly, as though not to disturb the air which freezes between you, he removes his glove inch by inch until his flesh meets the night. He flexes his fingers then removes his opposite glove. Your eyes drop to his skin, pupils expanding.
“Mando…”
Ignoring your breathy whisper, he reaches for your hip. The silk fabric is like water beneath his palm; he rubs a crease between his thumb and forefinger. He moves his hand over the dip of your waist, over the rise of your breast where he pauses his knead his fingertips at your cleavage. He traces the length of your neck with his thumb and tilts your head upwards so he can meet your stunned gaze. Your skin is hot, flushed with shock and desire. Your lips part, and he nudges your plush lower lip with his knuckle.
He wants to kiss you. With everything that composes his being, he wants to kiss you.
2 of 9 Commissioned Artworks by the wonderful, kind and talented @bunnelbie inspired by my fic The Infinity Cubeand a little description I provided based on myself (shamelessly living out my Pedro Boy fantasies )
mando and princess-turned-hunter!reader requested by @dindjarindiariesfor her lovely story “security”! this was so much fun to do—thanks for requesting ٩(•̤̀ᵕ•̤́๑) !
Summary: Inexperienced!Din x Inexperienced!reader. There’s a first time for everything.
Warnings: Smut: handjob, slight cum play.
A/N: This could be the same Din and reader as Try Something New, but a little earlier in their relationship - getting to know each other and learning together <3
Summary: A series of drabbles, headcanons and one shots exploring Din Djarin’s sweet new life.
Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader
Ratings: vary from sweet to spicy (check individual works). All my fics are 18+, minors pls do not interact.
A/n: I LOVE hearing from you about this universe, so always feel free to send through headcanons and ideas! However requests are closed for the moment.
The way I love Cottagecore!Din and couldn’t even try to pick a favorite. Each one is just a perfect little moment and I love revisiting this soft sweet world where Din is happy ❤️
I’ve been thinking about monster versions of the Pedro boys ever since I wrote this horny fever dream - and thanks to this ask from @sweetangel0069 I am back on my bullshit. I imagine this as sort of a Mr. Darcy, regency period type of thing only Demon Din is a feminist icon because that’s what we do here.
Enjoy some Demon!Din.
Pairing:Demon!Din x F!Reader
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) **pussy-eating** language, age-gap (legal, reader is of age) dirty talk, supernatural elements, sexist society, sexist comments from readers father
The moon was full and bright, it drew your eye as you finished the small glass of water in the silent kitchen.
The manor was blessedly quiet at this hour and you took advantage of it. Everyone was asleep and it felt as though you could steal a few blessed moments of peace. No mother hovering and nagging about your lack of a suitor. No sisters gossiping or bickering - no overbearing father to deal with and just like you’d been doing since adolescence, you dallied.
Warnings:SMUT, somnophilia helloOooo everyone I am BAAACK, oral sex, face sitting, cockwarming, domestic kink idk if that’s even a thing but it’s in here, mentions of death, canon typical violence, descriptions of hunting an animal, ends on a cliffhanger, this might actually be the longest most descriptive explicit smut I’ve ever written I was left alone for too long send help
A/N: hiya yoditos missed yall like hell, thanks for sticking with me in my 100+ day long era of broodiness I swear to god I’m gonna fuckin finish this story if it’s the last thing I do
***
Even after all that excitement and adventure, if there was ever one single moment with Din you’d want branded into your memory forever, it’s this one.
He’s asleep. And no—not because he passed out quicker than you can snap your fingers and then awoke less than two or three hours later at most, not like he always does. This time, he falls asleep, and then he staysasleep.
The baby is tucked away in his crib, shields closed and hidden inside the quietest part of the Crest, and you’ve been awake for at least an hour. You, awake, and Din, asleep. You could count the times this has happened on one hand, and in other circumstances, you might worry that he’s sick or something. There were a lot of people in Nariss and he could’ve caught a bug, but then again, he wears a filter over his mouth pretty much all the time, so you wonder how often that actually happens. No, his body temperature is normal when you lift the back of your hand and fold it along the bend of his neck as he breathes slowly—a few degrees warmer than you, but normal for him.
Is he just that tired? You blink your eyelashes against the skin of his collarbone, staring at the red and green buttons illuminating through the darkness across from your fluffy, comfortable bed on the floor. You’ve seen him come back bleeding and still not rest like this. You thought you slept for a long time; it was one of those nights where you wake up multiple times, smile when you remember where you are and whose body is pressed tight to yours, before passing back out and thanking the Maker that you can continue to sleep. After days of bells ringing every hour, a city with enormous crowds roaring, parades clanging, and fireworks booming, you’ve returned to the most blissful silence you could’ve ever dreamed. Hyperspace, Din’s skin pressed against yours, and against all reason, waiting in the darkness for him to wake up.
Your cheek is squished against his chest and instead of holding you like normal, his limbs are completely splayed out on the floor spread eagle and… maybe you didn’t sleep a long time? What’s more likely? Your body being okay with operating on less than average naturallyor Din finally letting himself relax for far longer than he usually does? You don’t have a clock handy, but you feel well-rested. Alert. Maybe it’s a little of both?
Part of you is antsy to not be the only one awake—it’s so weird—but part of you also wants him to sleep as long as physically possible since he never fucking does it. You wonder if this has always been in him. If he was always able to mute his body’s natural need to be active, present and ready, or if this is somehow an unintentional change inspired by your cultivated love of the most basic things in life that most people take for granted. Sleep in the cool, pitch blackness. Water, freely used and consumed and enjoyed, not hoarded and traded like precious jewels. Real food, not… dehydrated chalk bought in the barren markets under a blazing hot sun. It had enough nutrients and fed you well enough, but caf was once a luxury to you, and fruit was, too. For him, you think they still are to an extent—necessities are luxuries, but what about luxuriousnecessities? Long hot showers, mouthwateringly delicious food, sleeping in… those are completely foreign to him unless you give him a real shove, and this time, you think he made the leap all by himself.
His skin is soft under your cheek though, no matter how harsh of a life he’s lived. You’re suddenly struck with the realization that he’s experienced this multiple times with you, this is what it’s like. Tangled in sheets, hearing him breathe slowly while you hold onto him and stare into the darkness, wide awake. His body is so warm; you fit perfectly next to him and you’d stay here forever if you could.
Except… you’re a bit bored. Not bored enough to move, obviously, but enough to wish he was awake and interacting. You must be terrible company if this is how he typically spends his downtime in the mornings, just waiting for you to wake up, and every gentle breath he takes is another moment you consider a way to entertain yourself.
Well. What does he typically do to entertain himself when you’re asleep?
But then your brain instantly short circuits like it shocked itself with your own train of thought.
Maker. Your chin lifts slightly and your fingers twitch against his chest out of surprise alone, immediately tense just remembering all the gloriously naughty details. It’s been around a year and a half since you first met Din, and you think the best mornings you’ve ever had all started out the same exact way. There’s nothing like blinking your eyes open out of a deep slumber and suddenly realizing that you’re a breath away from an orgasm. It’s like your mind barely has a second to register the warm tongue slowly moving between your legs before you’re locking down and—
Whew. No, no you don’t have the audacity to do that, that takes serious fucking backbone, and it’s unsurprising to you that Din established it early on as something he loves doing. He’s brazen and likes what he likes, no shame. Courageous enough that part of you thinks he doesn’t even know what the word actually means. It’s nothing at all to him, and proves to be the greatest challenge in the universe for you.
Oh, but then the longer you think about it, the more appealing the idea becomes. His body laying out completely naked and relaxed under you, lost in his dreams while you pleasure him. Could you make it as good as he does? Could you make it so soft and hot and generous that he doesn’t wake up until the very last second, and by then it’s too late to stop? It sends a small shiver down your spine. The first time you gave him a blowjob, Din barely allowed it and complained about wanting to fuck you the entire time. The next time you were able to do it, it was in public and again, he only just allowed it. He was still as a statue and tolerated the pleasure you gave him, endured the smooth glide and heat of your mouth, only grabbed you once to make sure you didn’t pull off of him right when he was about to cum so you didn’t make a mess.
This time, if you can manage to make it as sinfully good as he always does, then you’ll finally be able to get him to experience the luxurious things he deserves. Without complaining about the actions he wants to take instead, without holding tense and on edge the entire time. Heat ripples through you, deciding that he’s going to enjoy this. Maybe he’ll start sleeping in more, who knows?
Just testing your luck, you carefully lift your head from Din’s chest, making sure his breathing doesn’t change, and press a whisper-soft kiss to his shoulder.
No response from him. Is he a light sleeper? You don’t even know, that’s how often you’re in this scenario. Will he make a sudden movement when he finally rouses, will his breathing change? It suddenly occurs to you he could actually be fully awake right now and you wouldn’t have any idea unless he decides to make some indication, but you suppose that thrill could be part of the appeal for him when he does this to you.
Your mouth slowly opens and you let the warmth of your tongue barely brush against his skin. Still, nothing at all from him. Completely comatose, the gentle rise and fall of his chest is your only indicator he’s not actually dead right now.
Carefully, you extract yourself from his side in the soft nest of blankets so that your skin isn’t touching his anymore. It’s a process, but you stay patient and slow. You don’t use your hands, their only purpose is to prop yourself up, allow you to hover over him without making any physical contact. All you want him to feel in his dreams is your mouth, soft lips and warm tongue worshipping him, and you’re exceedingly cautious with your movements in order to make that happen.
With every kiss you press to his skin, you think about how much you adore him. Every slow lick along the curve of his muscles is a thought, a hope for him, a brand of your love on his body. In response, Din’s breathing almost seems to go even slower under you, melting into the soft blankets. He isn’t excited by your gentle caresses, not any more than someone would be excited to be home. Instead, it speaks to peace. Bone-deep tranquility in the quiet, never more relaxed than he is when the Crest is moving safely through hyperspace, he’s wearing no armor, his son is sleeping peacefully, and you’re resting in the silent darkness next to him.
You make your way downwards, taking all the time in the world with it. The sheets cover his naked waist and you’re careful about lifting them, even more careful in slipping your body underneath. Your tongue trails gently down the ridge of Din’s hip, your lips brush the very top of his thigh. Even in the pitch black, you can tell his cock is already beginning to find more of a shape in response to your mouth. Your lips are barely a feather against him, never lingering in one place too long, making sure to keep your touches teasing and perfectly elusive. He’ll never be able to predict you in his dreams, you’re gone before his slumbering thoughts can manage to figure it out.
The whole time, you move closer and closer to the object of your desire. When you can’t hold off any longer, you press a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock, opening your mouth to flutter your tongue under the curved flesh.
Din’s thigh barely twitches in his sleep, and you feel him continue to grow thicker. He’s so soft here, his skin is like silk, and for a long moment, you just use your breath to warm him. You slowly drag your parted lips down the length of him, a mere ghost of a touch, and it seems counterintuitive how quickly he’s getting hard for almost nothing at all. When you reach the base, your tongue peeks out to trail a thin little line all the way back up, and you do that at least twice more. Barely there, barely anything, but he continues to swell nonetheless under your whispering touches and it’s filling your body with all sorts of debased desires.
Whenever you thought about Din doing this to you before, it was always blush-inducing, something that warmed your cheeks and made you smile bashfully. A kink your future husband has, nothing more and certainly not anything less. Now, while you’re experiencing it from the other side, the intimacy is making you incredibly hot and achy between your legs. Imagining him being as careful with you as you’re being with him, picturing him under the blankets just like this but carefully dipping his tongue into your slit instead, pressing slow kisses to your clit and listening for your breathing to shift. He’s almost always up front and full speed ahead when you’re there to react to him, and it somehow only strikes you right now that he can be extraordinarily patient and attentive when he wants to be.
After a few more open-mouthed kisses along his deliciously hard length, you pull back to press another soft kiss to the tip—but this time his cock jumps against your lips so hard that you feel it graze your front teeth for a second, and you freeze.
No teeth. Noteeth. You don’t even want something as firm and tactile as your hands to touch him, and teeth are even more likely to rouse him. Even though Din has given you plenty of indication to say that he likes a little discomfort with his comfort—he likes jerking off dry, he likes biting, leaving marks and fucking you so good that you can’t stand afterwards—you want it to be allcomfort. You want to give him the luxuries he doesn’t think he deserves and you’ll wait an eternity to get that to happen.
He doesn’t move or react in response to your slip up, and his breathing doesn’t change. Regardless, you know it’s only becoming more likely as time goes on, so you find the spot you know he likes the most, on the underside just under the head of his cock. Your mouth stays there, your tongue bathing it gently while your lips find a home along the silky hot curve of his tip. And then you just keep doing that without ever moving, stopping, speeding up or slowing down. You do it until he’s swollen and dribbling precum, throbbing and aching for release. You do it until you feel his muscles start fidgeting, his balls pulling up tight to prepare for it. Still, you never rush. You’re as patient as a saint while you pleasure him, but it doesn’t really take that long at all.
When you’re sure he’s inches away from it, you lift up just enough to slide your tongue underneath the head of his cock and ease it into your mouth.
That’s where he leaks now. Your tongue fits along the curve of him, slowly massaging him with every soft corner of your mouth, and then Din’s breathing finally changes—finally, you hear the rhythmic, lulling inhales and exhales stutter awake.
“Sw—?” Comes his groggy voice, but then he chokes open-mouthed and shocked as he immediately starts cumming, hard and unexpected and first thing in the morning on your tongue.
Your moan feels good when you finally let it out, a soft noise of relief after holding it in for so long, but Din… Stars, it’s like he’s still figuring out where he is, and it’s likely the reason he just shakes instead of thrashes somehow, his fingers just clench instead of doing something brash like usual—grabbing you fiercely or slamming his hand against the floor with it. This time he just shudders and his hips flex up into your mouth, so shocked that it all just comes out through his throat while yours is being filled. The gasp he takes is pure heat ripping through you—raw, harsh, desperate. Caught against such soft sheets, helpless and confused with the lingering darkness of sleep.
“Fuuuuuck,” Din groans, long and loud and dragging across broken glass just to get to your ears. His hands fumble as they blindly reach for you but you’re hidden under the blankets, so all he can do is just twitch and pant brokenly and croak your name while he finishes unloading in your hot mouth.
When he finally stops and you hear his moan turn into a quiet whimper, you settle your head down on his stomach, content to hold him there on your tongue for a little while while he catches his breath. Din sounds like he just ran a marathon not even thirty seconds after waking up, and you flutter your eyes closed and hum in contentment, settling down to get comfortable. Even though his muscles are still spasming in the comedown and not providing a stable surface to truly rest on, it’s so much more relaxing than when you did this in the shooting range on Tatooine and you plan on doing it until he tells you that’s enough.
Din stops allowing it so much sooner than you hoped, though. Maybe it’s because you just couldn’t help yourself and started gently sucking on him the second he stopped trembling. Whatever the reason, the blanket is suddenly ripped off and your elbow is caught in the darkness. You don’t want to, but you finally let his soft cock fall out of the heat of your mouth and he doesn’t even allow you to kiss it one last time before you’re being hauled upwards.
Without a word, he flips you on your back and then just flattens himself down on top of you, burying his face into your neck and sighing.
You reach to gently scrape your nails across his back, smiling unseeingly up at the pitch black ceiling when he shudders and lets out a muffled mmf against your skin in appreciation. Din’s shoulders dwarf you and you take your time dragging your fingernails across the vast spread of them, the subtle dip that leads to his nape. Nails slowly raking through his curls now, flexing your hand wide to ride the curve of his scalp, pressing your fingers in and working at that tension you know lives there. This is where the padding of his helmet digs in the most and weighs heaviest; you know, if only because you’ve worn it yourself, it’s right behind his ears and down just a bit—
—there, Din melts fully into you, breathing deep and slow while you touch him, letting your other hand drag up and down his back. He’s so big and muscular and heavy but you love being squished by him, especially knowing his intense lack of energy and inability to move is specifically because of you.
“Morning,” he finally mumbles into your neck, and you just giggle happily, albeit shallowly and with little support. It’d be easier to breathe if he just moved off your chest a bit and you’re trying to conserve air at the moment, but you think Din is still so drunk off that orgasm that he takes a few more seconds before realizing.
When he finally eases himself downwards to free your ribcage from his weight, oxygen seeps back into your lungs and it’s good enough. He’s still all bulk piled on you, sandwiching everything below your stomach between him and the ground, but you can breathe now and he’s at the perfect height to drop his head down to your chest.
Din’s mouth lazily drags down to one of your nipples, and his lips close around it with a low noise. Oddly enough, it’s so nice that it feels more domestic than overtly sexual. You relax back down into the blankets and play with his hair while he plays with you, arching your chest to his mouth and humming softly.
“You slept for a really long time,” you whisper down at him, and there’s warmth in your voice that’s never been there for anything else before. You don’t know what you’d call it, but it carries the endless sunshine you grew up in, the nourishment of the precious water you used to farm for. “Are you feeling okay?”
Din’s bassy moan rumbles out in deep satisfaction, and he moves to lick one long, slow line between your breasts. “Mmm,” he breathes against your skin. “Never better.”
The rough timbre and vehemence in his tone sends a small shiver down your spine, and you shift your shoulders a bit to offer him your other nipple. He quickly takes it into his mouth, and his soft curls spring while you comb your fingers through them, his fingers dig into your hips when your nails gently scratch his scalp. It’s blissful. You’re filled with a deep, aching love for him once more, and your soul is plagued with a generosity for him so bright and brilliant that it’s almost a compulsion inside you.
You want to lock him in the fresher for a good half an hour and force him to take a long, steaming hot shower, and then you want to make him breakfast.
You can’t even fucking cook. You likely could if you learned, but there’s no kitchen in this ship, and Din would probably break down the door in the shower if you had the audacity to try and barricade him in there. No, you think you’re just feeling that mushy and doting right now. He’s such a capable man in every single circumstance, and the fact that he’s allowing you to take care of him is as addicting as it is intoxicating. You long to give him nice things, feed him and touch him and fill his life with the softest, sweetest pleasures.
You’re completely lost in domestic fantasies, but when Din’s teeth gently close around your nipple and his tongue flicks it at the same time as if to get your attention—thenit becomes sexual.
“Settle down,” you breathe out, dragging your palms along his shoulders and beginning to knead the tight muscles there. Does his back hurt after laying on it like that all night? You can give him a massage, your hands are so much stronger than they used to be—
“I want to fuck you,” he immediately lifts his mouth to fall back into an all too familiar exchange with you, but the way he’s panting against your skin lessens the threat and it’s more heartwarming than anything else. “But you already made me cum.”
But Din’s mouth and your arousal is another familiar exchange, and when he goes back to using his tongue and teeth in different ways while laying between your legs, your breathing starts to come a little heavier. You start to wiggle a bit, fidget and move under him but it’s like his body has welded you to the floor.
“I want to make you food.” The urge is so strong that you at least need to manifest it out loud before you get too distracted to remember. “Are you hungry? What sounds good?”
“Mmm,” Din rumbles once more, and that’s all the warning or answer you get before his arms suddenly tighten to steel and he flips you over on top of him. There’s a tiny squeak from you while you flail and try to catch yourself in the pitch blackness at the abrupt change in position, and then you’re caught by his arms hooking under your thighs and shoving you upwards.
“Din—?” You scramble to hold on, not wanting to plant face-first into the metal ground but not really registering where exactly it is in the darkness, either.
“What sounds good?” He repeats under you, continuing to lead you up along the length of his body. At one point you feel his shoulders shuffle downwards between your spread knees, and you think that’s the moment it finally registers for you.
Air rushes from your lungs in understanding, suddenly feeling his chin brush against your hip and warm breath fan against your pussy. You can barely speak right. “Wait, you w-want me to…?”
“Sit on my face,” he finishes low in his throat for you, finding your wrists in the darkness and tugging them down until you feel his soft locks brushing along your palms. His large hands close around your fingers and push your knuckles into fists, encouraging you to grab a handful of his hair. “Use it. Make yourself cum.” Din’s head turns to give your thigh a soft kiss, and the massive shudder down your spine makes your whole body erupt in goosebumps. “It’s yours.”
Fuck, he barely said a handful of words and you’re already soaking wet for him. Warm hands soothe along the backs of your spread thighs and you don’t realize how tight you’re holding yourself until his fingers dig in and start working at those flexed muscles. His breath is a hot whisper against your skin, as gentle and elusive as your mouth was on him earlier. Din’s powerful hands keep massaging your legs and hips and ass, pressing kisses to your twitchy muscles and getting closer to where you want him most.
You think your body doesn’t know whether to tense or relax the second you feel his tongue dip between your folds. His chin either lifts up or your hips sit down a little more, you can’t really tell because it’s pitch black and all you can concentrate on is him brushing your clit in soft, gentle strokes of his tongue. A low moan rumbling between your legs gives you even more shivers, and you start combing your fingers through his hair while Din trails his up and down your legs.
“Fuck,” you whisper, subconsciously leaning into his mouth with how much you want it. The position you’re in feels too dominant to match how needy your voice sounds, but you don’t want to move because then he might stop and you can’t let that happen. His tongue feels perfect, tracing smooth and practiced arches over top of your clit just the way you like. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you feel the beginning of an orgasm start to simmer deep inside you.
But then, as soon as you register the familiar chaotic swirl building down low and your breath catches, it’s like he just… tapers off.
Gradually, Din’s tongue stops being so dexterous. At first you think you’re just imagining it, imagining that release creep further away the closer you get to it, but no—you let out a pitiful little whine when you realize that he’s moving incredibly slow on purpose. Still drawing circles around your clit, but then at one point he starts avoiding it. Instead, he drags his tongue down until it presses along the slope leading to your entrance, and you’re left trembling and confused by the lack of stimulation.
What is he doing? Is he trying to edge you? His mouth isn’t tired yet, you know from experience how long it takes until that happens, but he’s slacking. Lazing under you, barely moving his tongue at all at this point. You bite your lip, trying not to get frustrated with him.
“Din, please,” you pant instead, begging for that last something that’ll bring you over the edge. Your body is rigid over him and your fingers flex repeatedly against his scalp without pulling any hair, gentle but tight with tension and so close to it that you whine. “Please, I want to cum—”
His hand leaves your skin for a second, and then he brings it back to give you ass a loud smack. You gasp and jerk forward, snapped out of your frantic climb and accidentally tugging his hair when he turns his head against your thigh.
“Useit,” Din growls, and then teeth sink into your soft flesh.
You wince at the unexpected pain and your fingers pull on his hair, but his teeth stay clamped around the sensitive skin and you have to yankto get him to stop. Fuck, you know that’s gonna bruise, and for just a split second, you feel a spark of anger at him for treating you so carelessly after how gentle and sweet you were with him. Any marks of his you wear are usually left in the throes of ecstasy, but this just feels provoking and harsh and intentional. Wanting to stir you up and find the fighter inside you by being just this side of mean, like he did when you first learned how to throw a punch on Naboo. Refusing to accept your timidness or inaction any longer—if he knows it’s in you, then he’ll force you to be brave.
Your fingers yank on his hair again to pull him into position and Din’s encouraging groan is cut off by your hips dropping down on his mouth. When he deliberately doesn’t give you his tongue, flames begin to lick at your skin in the absence of his touch. Not only is he forcing you to do it yourself, he’s also going to make you say it out loud yourself, and a thrill skitters throughout your entire body.
“Open your mouth,” you breathe, heart pounding at the sudden power rush, and everything inside you turns molten hot when Din’s jaw slowly opens and his tongue obediently slides deep into your slit in response.
You lift your hips up and move back until just the tip of it rests against your clit, and then you slowly ease forward and drag your pussy all the way up the length of his tongue.
Din groans again while you lift up and move back once more, doing the exact same thing over again, and then again. The movement becomes more fluid the more you do it, the pleasure starting to blur into a pure fiery sensation every time you rock your clit along his tongue. Callused fingers dig into your ass and help you, your hands release his hair so you can plant them above his head and start fucking down into his mouth. Your body is a rolling tide gradually beginning to rise, breathing speeding up and pleasure mounting until everything finally boils over and you cum just like that, on your knees and the heat of your cunt rocking against his face.
Eventually, the aftershocks die down just enough to feel his arms slide up to hook around your thighs, keeping you steady and held in a firm grip that you’re immediately thankful for. Your energy is drained and your spine slouches while you recover, panting and buzzing in a post orgasm bliss.
But then of course, Din decides to use thatof all moments to start moving his tongue.
Your chin snaps upwards in the darkness and everything in you seizes, but you’re clutched in a devastating grip that keeps you anchored right there to the floor. His arms are steel iron shackles wrapped around your hips and a tongue that has gotten waytoo good at learning what you like for you to even keep up. That firm, perfect rhythm right over your clit, giving you everything you begged for earlier but at the most overwhelming of moments. No matter how you try to scramble away from the shocks of oversensitivity, he’s able to yank your hips back to sit down exactly where he wants you.
You choke out his name and Din keeps you held there so tightly that your weight is actually shifted backwards at one point, forcing you to reach both hands back and plant them against the floor behind you so you don’t bend wrong. Your head drops back and your mouth opens silently at the ceiling, expression clenched and lungs gasping while you endure. He doesn’t let up and you think you must acclimate at some point, because there’s just a split second of warning you get where lightning sparks in your floor muscles and then comes the crash.
Your body contracts so wildly with your second orgasm that you fling forwards and barely catch yourself at the last moment, shaking and moaning through the onslaught. You nearly rip the blankets under your fists, that’s how hard he makes you cum. It was good when you were in charge of taking your own pleasure but he’s just shamedyou, it’s fucking blinding when he’s in control. Your shoulder just barely muffles your sob of ecstasy and it takes so much out of you that you’re dead weight on top of him afterwards, not able to move a single muscle.
Somehow, you find yourself tucked against his side once more with your head laying against his chest, just like when you first woke up this morning, and you’re as comfortable as you are confused. How did you get here? You don’t really remember Din easing your body down next to him and then scooping one arm around you into this position, but when you squeeze your legs together, your pussy is still throbbing and you’re wet with his mouth. He holds you silently, and you both bask in the endorphins for a few moments while you catch your breath.
You’re still slightly dazed, but your body feels so fucking good and pleased that you blurt it out without thinking. “When can I look at you, Din?”
You think he’s just as surprised as you are by the unexpected… helplessness in the way you say it. Phrasing it like that in a strangely powerless tone, as if he’s the one standing in your way and preventing it.
“Why does it sound like you’re whining?” He turns his head to ask you flat out, and even though there’s no malice behind his words, they’re so blunt and forthright that you immediately bury your face in his neck to snort an embarrassed laugh in agreement. It did sound like that and you’re really not proud.
“You’re right,” you admit, feeling his palm beginning to drift up and down your back. It immediately relaxes you and soothes every worry or anxiety. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“I already told you before.” His voice suddenly sounds deeper. Not the pitch necessarily, but the actual depthof it. Almost contemplative, in a sense. Saying it to you as if he’s now just a little further away than he physically feels while holding you. “Look whenever you want.”
You know this. What you don’t know is if your lingering inability to decide on a moment is a testament to your natural aversion to taking charge in important situations or if it’s just because of his tone whenever he talks to you about it. There’s a sudden quietness that his voice tends to take on, a reserved silence that sits deeper than his normal preference for not speaking that makes you wonder if you still don’t know some very crucial detail he isn’t sharing. He said Mandalorians look at each other when they agree to spend the rest of their lives together, but is that it? If so, you can’t imagine life would change all that much beyond being able to look him in the eyes whenever you’re alone with him. You’d still be here on the ship to raise the kid while he hunts for quarries, you’d still spend blissful nights wrapped in his arms, the only thing that would be different is that you could have the lights on. You could take his helmet off every single time he comes back from a hunt and give him a long, soft kiss in the privacy of the hull, fluorescents bright and blaring along the bone structure you only know by touch.
You’re quiet for a while, but Din’s voice comes through the darkness when it’s clear you don’t know what to say.
“Do you need to…” You don’t have any fucking clue what he’s trying to ask, but the quiet unsure way he says it is endearing all on its own. “Do you have anybody you… need to tell first?”
It immediately strikes you as odd—when he found you on Arvala-7, you didn’t need to say any goodbyes before hightailing it off that barren wasteland and you don’t ever remember him once mentioning the complete lack of people you told. Why would he ask that, you wonder? But then, you suddenly realize he’s likely only saying that because he’s just as clueless as you are about what you seem to be waiting for.
“Are you asking me if I have a family, Din?” You tilt your chin up to kiss him slowly, even though your lips want to pull into a smile at the sentiment. “A mother you need to impress? A father you need to ask for permission?”
His head drops against the blanketed floor with an already overwhelmed thump and groan. “If they exist, they’re going to despise me.”
And you allow yourself to consider it for just a single second, not trying to hide your blinding grin in the darkness. What a disasterthat would be—a story all its own, watching him introduce himself to your parents with a gruff silence and awkward stance. He’s only charming to you, it’s a fact you’re well aware of every single time you’ve seen him interact with anyone else. Karga, Peli—he’s… abrasive and stoic with them, short and the furthest thing from sweet. You can’t even imagine what it would look like if he actually cared about anyone else’s approval, much less tried to gain it.
Still, you can’t help but tease him. “Despise you? What makes you say that?”
“Because I took their little girl away from them,” Din purrs in response, riding his hand down the curve of your hip without moving his head off the floor. “And I do terrible things to her in the dark.”
Shit, if he keeps talking like that, terrible things will be the only things you do in the dark, and you know neither one of you is physically prepared to go again. Instead, you smile and admit the truth.
“They don’t exist,” you tell him, dragging a finger along his chest as it moves. “Not anymore. I’m all yours to steal away, no one will challenge your honor.”
Din shifts slightly, just enough to imply he’s lifting an arm back to prop his head up and look at you.
“Kuiil was all you had?” He whispers after a moment, reaching a careful hand forward to play with your hair.
“Pretty much,” you whisper back, resting your chin on his chest. This isn’t something you necessarily enjoy talking about, but when he’s the one asking, you suppose it’s easy to share. “Some neighbors here or there that I took turns staying with, but Kuiil… taught me everything I know. Helped raise me, and then let me hang around and bother him after I was old enough to be on my own. It took a village, but he was always my favorite.”
“Is that why you’re so good with electronics?” Din asks thoughtfully, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb. “I never knew that much about him, except that he was a great mechanic, and a… selfless man. A good person. I really liked him.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, more wistful at his memory than sad. Din doesn’t like a vast majority of people, but if anyone deserves the mantle, it should be Kuiil. “Big scary Mandalorian in the middle of the desert with fifty guns strapped to him, Kuiil still probably would’ve given you the shirt off his back if you said you could use it. He helped me keep the farm going after my parents died. I think… he was my best friend.”
It’s a few moments before Din speaks, but when he does, his voice is barely there. Hidden in the darkness almost as much as his face is, but informing you of everything you need to know just by his tone. “My parents died, too.”
Your heart automatically goes out to him, even though it’s currently pressed tight against his without any fabric obstructing it. Din doesn’t sound particularly sad, but maybe… resigned, and you can relate to the feeling. It must’ve happened so long ago that it’s just a fact at this point, nothing particularly painful or groundbreaking, not anymore.
Your voice is soft with understanding. “And then you were raised by the Mandalorians?”
He nods an affirmative in the pitch black, but you can only tell through the way his muscles subtly move under you.
“Did you ever have a family with them?” You ask, not wanting to press too hard on painful memories but also not wanting him to think you’re disinterested in hearing about his past. He almost never shares it, you need to tread lightly whenever he decides to. “A clan you joined before creating your own?”
“No,” he answers calmly, but there’s something gentle and somber in his tone that you’ve never heard before. Lost in his memories. “I was too old for that when they found me, I was sent to the militia for training the first week I was there.”
Well that… doesn’t sound good. They sent an orphan to train with an army a week after his family died? Even if he was a teenager or young adult at the time, far older than your measly eight years when you lost your parents, that’s just… unfathomably cruel.
And then all of a sudden, things start clicking into place even without having any further details. Just knowing that simple, two sentence fact about him explains so fucking much, it’s insane. The preference for solitude, the militaristic attitude and gruff exterior, the sandpaper grit he approaches his entire life with, it makes so much sense now. If you had no generous neighbors or community to rely on when things fell apart, you’d probably be hardened to stone, too.
Instead, you’re… tenderhearted. Where he’s fearless and quiet and rough around the edges, you’re curious and dreamy and emotionally empathetic. How easily could the roles have been reversed given the circumstances, you wonder? Could you have ever survived an existence like his before you met him? Something tells you that you’d probably die first, left behind somewhere or taken by your loneliness. You hated your childhood—you still can’t think about that horrid, lonely desert without shuddering, but… you suppose there are far worse things to endure in life than how you were forced to survive, and the man holding very still underneath you waiting for your response is testament enough to that.
“A clan of foundlings, then,” you muse softly, settling the conversation there. He’s shared more than enough, more than you’d ever have the tenacity to ask.
“This is The Way,” Din murmurs quietly at the ceiling in response, and it might be another half hour or so just like that before you both finally drag yourselves out of bed. You should be arriving at your destination soon to retrieve the fifth quarry, and neither of you have forgotten about the deal you both made before you spent a week outrunning him.
***
For as much keeping secrets has always been somewhat of a precedent for Din, you’re starting to realize he’s really not all that great at it.
Or maybe you’re just getting lightyears better at reading him, feeling the subtle shifts in his energy and figuring out exactly what he’s thinking just by listening to his footsteps pace around behind you. Your clothing is being balled up and thrown into a spare bag, he’s accumulating all measley credits he can find stashed around the hull and throwing them in there too, and you’re standing still in the middle of the hull while he can’t stop moving. Crossing in front of you, behind you, finding things to add to the bag that he’d never take for just himself. Extra rations, extra supplies—he even walks over and yanks open the emergency kit, rummaging around and grabbing an E-bacta shot. Though, he wavers slightly on it, looking down at the syringe balanced in his glove for a bit longer than necessary before adding it to the stash.
You know exactly what’s going through his head, it’s almost entertaining. Almost, being the key word. If you weren’t feeling so empathetic, you might find the constant restlessness a bit disconcerting, but as it is… your heart is very warm and heavy in a strange way. Part of the reason you haven’t said anything is because you’re wondering if he’s actually going to follow through here, or if he’s going to say something to you. Is he going to speak up?
From the tightness in his shoulders and the low angle of his helmet as he walks, you’re guessing not.
“Hey,” you finally murmur, giving him a soft smile while you cuddle the kid a little closer to your chest. “I know. It’s alright.”
“Know what?” He asks distractedly, walking over to the armory and opening it. He begins strapping extra ammunition to his body—knives, vibroblades, bullets, fitting guns in places you never even considered before, and it’s endearing enough to make you smile softly.
“I know you’re trying to figure out if you should tell me the truth or not,” you respond, shrugging a shoulder and looking down at your feet when he slows to a stop.
“The truth about what?” Din asks, cautious and slow.
“That you found me way before midnight that last day on Sanctuary II,” you say as you study the floor, your voice coming out melodic and sweet and maybe just the smallest bit sad. “Days before then, probably, but you let me have an adventure when you didn’t have to. You really don’t want us coming with you to grab this quarry, but you also don’t want to tell me I lost. It’s alright. I know.”
Though… you’d still love to go with him. You’ve been studying the quarry’s identity whenever you can, memorizing his face and name and the vague background the Guild has on him. Oshua Ryler, twenty year old human male, missing for two months, no criminal record, last seen on Anoth. The puck was commissioned by his twin sister Thia, ten thousand credit reward if found alive, zero if brought back dead.
It’s a complete shot in the dark for a very small return, but you were so excited about being useful that you had absorbed every bit of information you could about him. Din never said a damn thing to you about it, his voice sounded light and unbothered whenever he addressed you and at first, you thought he wasn’t unhappy to have the company.
But then you caught sight of his hunched shoulders and his worried pacing. The rigid movements and the way his hands never stopped fidgeting. Always moving, sleeping and eating less the closer you got to Anoth, not speaking the amount you normally inspire in him.
If that didn’t make you go all gooey and soft with understanding, then the way he was clearly trying to hide it from you sure did. He’d only stand there and look visibly conflicted when you weren’t paying attention, he’d only allow his composure to slip whenever he thought you weren’t looking.
Even now, when you finally glance up at him, Din is holding very still like he’s just a big metal canteen filled with uncertainty. It melts you instantly, makes you fold without even looking to see if you have a winning hand. He knows how much it means to you that you’re not stuck in one spot for days on end again. And… you also know much it means to him that you and his son stay here, far away from the danger that seems to follow him around like the cape clipped to his shoulders.
“Be safe,” you finally lift your chin to tell him, showing him your most heartfelt smile. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
And then he’s instantly rushing forward and crowding you, pressing his body up against yours and squeezing you tight. You nearly stumble backwards at the unexpected ambush and have just enough sense to save the baby at the very last second from being squished.
“Thank you,” he whispers next to your ear and stars, you have never been crushed like this. Not emotionally—literally, physically, you think your back actually pops under the strain of his arms and you can’t decide if you need to get away to prevent your spine breaking or if it’s the greatest feeling in the universe.
When you’re finally released from the death grip, it takes you a moment to recover and you do so with gentle gloves cupping your jaw, a beskar helmet lingering so close to your face that you’re sure he’s behind the visor looking at you like you painted the sky. Hell, you probably would’ve conceded a long time ago if you knew this was the kind of relief that would flood through his soul—it’s palpable, you can feel it roll through him under the armor. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed for choosing to stay behind like normal, but without you and the kid tagging along, he’ll probably be much quicker and more efficient with grabbing this throwaway puck.
Still. You point to the e-comm strapped to his wrist, and the matching one on yours. “Midnight check-in?”
His thumbs brush the line of your cheekbones as if you’re made of glass, transparent and fragile and cherished after being completely compacted and crumpled with gratitude. “If I can.”
That’s the best you’re going to get, and right now, you think you’re so dumb in love with this man that it’s more than enough for your dreamy little heart.
***
“Well, little goblin!” It’s done. It’s finally done, after months of work, and you’re proud enough to fucking beam. “How do I look?”
It’s been barely a few hours since Din left, and you spin around and lift your arms like a ship, glancing down at your figure with glee. Din’s old armor lays against you like it was created for you specifically, but that’s just a manifestation of your attention to detail. You slaved over this in all your free time not spent sparring or practicing your shots—dissolving all the paint and rust, reshaping the metal with Peli’s forge, rewiring the magnetics box to make sure it would stick to the underplates without falling off—and now it’s fucking perfect. It’s missing gloves and boots and one of the pauldrons for your shoulders, and of course, a helmet obviously, but a chest piece and two thigh braces and one pauldron actually looks kinda fucking cool. Less invasive, less heavy, arguably more feminine. Even though you’ve got nothing besides your dark, drab clothing underneath it, you still think you look… badass.
Badass.
Two gigantic black eyes blink thoughtfully at you, causing you to frown at the lack of immediate happiness from him. Come on, is nobody thrilled to see your character growth? Din was silently torn up by your childlike drive to adventure and the kid is now apparently unimpressed by the productivity you’ve engaged with during the waiting periods, so what gives? Are you missing something? Are you the problem?
No, of course not. It’s like this metal strapped to your body refuses to let you think that way any longer. You’re not the problem, but you canbe, it whispers to you.
Though, while you’re peacocking around in front of the ship in the new digs and hyping yourself up, the baby just spins around and walks away from you.
“Hey, where are you going?” You call out to his tiny little back, popping your hands on your hips. When you don’t get a gurgled response, you sigh and follow him back up the ramp, clanking. Clanking,you’re making that sound. You like to imagine that this is almost how pretty ladies in big cities feel when they wear high heels for the first time and get to listen to the clack. Ooh, it’s powerful, a reminder of your upgraded wardrobe every step you take, and you fucking loveit.
You get why Din never wanted to take his off. When the armor is comfortable and fits your body, it feels… right. Correct. Meant to be. An extension of yourself that you could almost forget about if it wasn’t weighing you down. It’s safe and concealing, protecting your body in a way that makes you want to keep it on if only for peace of mind, regardless of external threats.
Eventually, you find the kid next to the bed, hauling your backpack out from the corner of the hull. It’s three times his size and four times his weight, but he continues heave-hoing across the floor until it’s far enough away from the wall to open the contents.
“What’s up, bug?” You ask, plopping down next to him with a rattling clink clank clonk. You can get used to this, holy shit. “You hungry? No fresh meat in there, sorry to disappoint. We can go look for something outside?”
You make a gesture of putting your hand to your open mouth a few times and then touch your tummy, something you’ve started doing to signify the word food to him. The kid ignores you completely, but he also seems stumped at the concept of a zipper, so you open it for him and watch him dig around in an attempt to satisfy both of your curiosities. Soon, two little green three-fingered hands tug out a light piece of fabric. He drags it over to you and pushes the clothing into your lap, and you study it with raised eyebrows. Your robe from the festival in Nariss? This is what he wants?
“Do you want me to wear this?” You ask out loud, considering. It’s got two pieces, the hooded tunic and the pants, and it might go well with the armor. The robe was literally made from scratch for you but you never really considered putting it on again, thinking of it more as a costume full of good memories than an everyday wear kinda thing, but it might be a good idea just to see.
A few minutes later, and, well. This kid is a fucking genius. For donning a drab brown sack around his body at all times, he makes one hell of a stylist.
You look… like you finally belong at Din’s side, almost. His equal—wait, no, pfft, definitely not equal, but a counterpart of sorts. A sidekick? Are you giving off sidekick vibes, is that what this is? The opalescent fabric shielding your body has no bloodstains or wear and tear the way his clothing does, the armor laying on top of it has no char marks or dents from enemy blasters, but you look like you’re at least in the right place now. An untried soldier, perhaps, or one that’s been sheltered and never had to pay any real dues.
Since you’re already in this deep, you figure you might as well complete the package. There’s an extra holster you find in the Crest’s armory and an ammo belt that slings across your chest. It’s a bit big on you and the fancy gas canisters for your blaster weigh it down more than the regular ones Din uses, but it works. From what you can see in the reflection of the Crest’s fuselage, you’re thrilled with the final result and this time the kid is beaming, too.
He climbs up your thigh and you scoop him up, chuckling at the way he plops against the armor and snuggles up against it. Usually he sits on one of your hips, but this time you cradle him in a forearm just because the metal is too clunky to navigate.
“Guess who I am, goose.” You give one of his cheeks a tiny little poke, and the boy giggles. “Who am I?”
He looks perfectly at home cuddling up to solid steel, just as comfortable as he is when he’s falling asleep in Din’s lap. It makes you acutely aware of just how small he is, how fragile and helpless. While you’re looking down and admiring him, you see the kid bring one tiny little hand up to his mouth a few times, and then reach down to touch his tummy while he blinks up at you.
Ah, so he ishungry. You suspected as much, one meal keeps his tiny tummy full for awhile but it’s been a few days since he gobbled down some poor live animal. He’s entirely capable of catching and consuming it himself, which is a relief on your behalf, but it was pretty horrendous to witness the first couple go arounds.
“Alright, squirt,” you huff, clanging down the ramp and not bothering to close it behind you since you don’t plan on being too long. Maker, the sound is so sexy, it sits deep in your bones and makes you stand up a bit straighter, lift your chin a little higher. “Let’s see if we can find you something.”
Apparently not much happens on Anoth. The terrain is rocky and the population is abysmally low, which isn’t all that ideal. A local town or marketplace may give you something to do, but you suppose there’s an upside to boredom. The Crest continues to be pristine and you’ve now cultivated a new set of armor out of crumpled scrap that used to be gathering dust in a forgotten storage compartment. Even though there isn’t any real information about the level of crime on this planet—which typically means it’s not notable enough to be a concern—you feel safer like this as you begin trekking around slate grey boulders in search of a small animal. Your blaster slung around your hip, the light fabric rippling in the breeze, and silver metal clinging to your body.
Wait. You reach up to lift your hood over your head and pull the mask up over your nose, and now. Yes, this is the feeling. Your breath puffs against the fabric and your boots scrape across pebbles and rough cliffs, and the baby seems so content in your arm that he’s actually quiet the entire time. You search for a good twenty minutes in easy silence, but this planet seems… barren. No crawling critters outside for the baby to chase down and catch, no rivers running nearby to grab a fish from, and no markets or people to be seen.
There is, however, a large flock of birds flying overhead and a perfectly good blaster on your hip. Better than good actually, magnificent and crafted for your hand specifically. There’s also a hungry baby looking longingly up at the sky, and you give him approximately thirty seconds to use his sorcery to pluck one of them out of thin air and levitate it down towards his greedy green hands.
When it doesn’t happen, you lift your blaster with one hand and cradle the kid with the other, squinting one eye shut while you take aim.
Breathe in, breathe out. Fire.
Without any ceremony at all, the plasma beam hits and one of the birds plummets to the ground, dead long before it even reaches impact.
You… truthfully, there isn’t a single part of you that actually thought you’d make contact the very first shot, which might be why you suddenly feel shocked and a bit nauseated by your actions. You didn’t even think—you saw a living thing and then you killed it because the baby in your arms was hungry, no consideration beyond it. It makes logical sense to any rational person, yes, but it doesn’t make sense for you,and it’s fucking you up because it didn’t fuck you up the way it should’ve. You allowed the instant power rush to make you careless and brash, and the sound of it hitting the ground slices through the armor clinging to your body.
You remove your hood and pull down your mask while approaching the dead animal with a frown, trying your best to not feel like a terrible person for shooting it. It’s like as soon as your face is revealed and you’re staring down at it, the guilt starts digging claws into your stomach, shame rolling off you in waves. This little bird did nothing to you, it didn’t deserve to die, but then the baby climbs out of your grip and drops to the ground with a happy little coo. He waddles up and grabs the corpse without blinking, and then downs the entire thing in one bite, feathers and all.
“Oh.” Your face twists up with disgust, but you’re also strangely relieved at the fact that you didn’t have to be the one to touch it and that it’s completely gone now. Out of sight, out of mind. You don’t like dead things and regardless of the armor you’re wearing, you really don’t like being the reason they’re dead. Or handling them when they’re dead. Or looking at them when they’re dead. But if it’s to feed the baby, then you suppose the creature has served a greater purpose than it ever would have alive, and there’s an entire flock of them continuing to fly and sing unbothered above your head. At least the end was swift and painless for this animal, and you much prefer that over witnessing it being swallowed alive by the deceptively tiny chomper at your feet.
You think you’re still working to process what you just did when the speaker in your ear flicks on.
“Sweet girl—” Din’s voice suddenly crackles through the comm, sounding out of breath and… scared. “—to get out, they’re coming for the kid, you have to get—”
“Mando?” You reach a hand up to the earpiece, trying to hear him. He’s breaking in and out, but for the first time since you’ve known him, it sounds like there’s true terror in his voice. He’s speaking so fast, fitting so many words into such a small space when he normally doesn’t talk much at all. “Slow down, I can’t understand you—”
“Run!” He roars through the earpiece. “You can’t let them take him! Get to Nevarro—Karga will—”
Screeches of blasters quickly fill the comm and drown his voice out before he can say anything else, and you try calling out to him again but get no response. You stare down at your wrist in shock and when the communicator cuts out completely, you’re left standing with the baby at your feet in dead silence.
There’s about five full seconds of nothing before you grab the kid off the ground, turn around and sprint like hell back to the Crest.
Your mind blares panic as you run, Din’s voice repeating in your thoughts over and over again. They’re coming for the kid, you can’t let them take him, you have to get out. What does that mean? Who is coming for the kid? Whoever they are, it’s enough to make him scream at you to retreat to Nevarro, sending a life or death rush of adrenaline through your veins, pumping your legs forward as fast as you can.
Fuck, you traveled so far away from the Crest, you were so lost in your head while wearing this armor that you put your family in danger. The metal makes too much noise while you run, like it’s just not meant for it. Not meant to be worn by someone sprinting so fast for safety, it’s meant to protect someone standing still and confronting the threat that’s chasing them. The large rocks scattered around the landscape require you to serpentine your way through them, never slowing and never stopping. Get to the Crest, get to Nevarro, don’t let them take the kid.
It takes an eternity but as soon as you see the ship parked in the distance, you spot a small group of stormtroopers walking up the open ramp.
Stormtroopers?
You halt in your tracks so fast that you skid forward on the rocky ground and nearly fall, not quite believing your eyes. What the fuck are they doing here? At first you think you’re just imagining your worst nightmare coming to life—the Empire never made its way out to Arvala-7 but you’ve heard more than enough stories from Kuiil to know what you can handle and what you need to run from. You’ve never seen a stormtrooper in real life before, but you know what the armor looks like. You recognize the white plastic they strap to themselves, the cheap regulation blasters they carry and how they’re notorious for not being able to use it, but they represent a much larger threat than any single one of them individually and you’re woefully unprepared to face it.
You spin around and duck behind an enormous boulder before they can spot you, shoulders pressed tight to the rock and baby clutched to your chest as you sink down to the ground. Your heartbeat slams in synchrony to the footsteps of the troopers moving up the Crest, and your arms are wrapped so tightly around the kid that he has to use his arms to shove at your rigid hold in order to be released.
“What do I do?” You whisper to him when he finally looks up at you, staring into his large black eyes as if he’ll choose now of all moments to speak coherent words in full sentences. “What do I do?”
The wrinkles are purely for aesthetic purposes, there’s no sage advice to be found from them. You feel like you’re having an anxiety attack and might actually die before ever making it out of here. Your breaths are all wrong—you try to close your eyes and do everything you can to breathe the way Din told you, inhaling quietly through your nose and letting it out through your mouth, but you can’t. You can’t get enough oxygen, you’re so scared that your lungs are trembling and they’re making it impossible to stay silent. Tears flood your eyes and you hunker down, body freezing and crumpling under the terror. You know you need to run, but you can’t seem to move a single muscle and your only means of escape is being boarded and captured right now.
You’re doomed. You’re being confronted by certain death from dozens of meters away and it’s so much scarier when it doesn’t sneak up on you. One of the last things Din said was that they’re looking for the kid, and while you have no clue what the Empire could possibly want with this child, there isn’t a single doubt in your mind of what will happen to you if they get to him. You’re going to die if you don’t find some way to escape with the baby. You know it, and Din knows it. You could hear the pain ripping through his vocal chords when he screamed at you to run. He could be dead right this second but you can’t move, you can’t breathe, you can’t think—
Three fingers slowly land on your cheek.
You blink at the baby in front of you, the unexpected touch of him enough to hit a reset on your fumbling and leave you stunned with zero thoughts. Feeling his tiny hand brush against the tears wetting your skin for a moment.
Except, then all he does is use your face to prop himself up and start climbing. You automatically grimace and scrunch an eye shut to protect yourself from his claws, but then he reaches one arm behind your head with a small gurgle.
Slowly, the fabric of your hood is tugged upwards, with a few pieces of your hair caught in his grip and being yanked on at the same
Warnings:SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!
A/N: Hey yall!!! So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read! School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc
Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!! As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!
Day 5–11:13am:
You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot. Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider. You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns. The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.
Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime. Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip. You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago. On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes. Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.
It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.
“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it. “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”
Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it. Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy. Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you. Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.
“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth. “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”
Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours. “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids. “They start at eight.”
Thefireworks, you almost forgot. You know what? Today is a good day. You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one. The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back. Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.
Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates. The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago. The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask. Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes. It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by. Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony. Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color. Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.
Extravagant, magnificent are both words. Floral is another.
It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city. As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming. The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete. You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you. Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers. Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops. Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them. You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.
About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch. There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself. Good intentions, terrible idea. Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours. It’s so goodand it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at. Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.
Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language. Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different. It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy. Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it. Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on. There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.
At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin. You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.
A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession. First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always. Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs. Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions. The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…
Through it all, you think of Din. No matter the faces, the sights you see. There’s someone juggling. There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts. There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed. Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din. Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you. You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year. You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go. For you, he’d go.
Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second. Why… Why was that scene so vivid? So wistful? You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din. But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation. Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him. Why? You want to travel the galaxy, right? You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?
For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.
***
Day 5—5:04pm:
It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.
More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over. You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.
“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress. So many fucking people here, you know her pain. “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were justhere—”
She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.
“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you. “Before anyone knows they’re missing. Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while? You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”
Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task. Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be. Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days. The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you’ve ever met.
“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees. It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”
You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word. You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.
***
Day 5–5:17pm:
“Really?” You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.
Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you. The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet. The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.
“How did you find us so fast?” One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.
“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn. Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off. All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult. “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”
“Are you gonna rat us out?” The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.
“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away. “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”
You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.
The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second. Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective. Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—
He’s here… isn’t he?
Only, there’s nothing. Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will. You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.
It’s so… unexpected, this feeling. It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter. You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens. Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not. Playing with you from so far away.
This…thisis a taunt.
The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary. Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was. This is scarily sophisticated. Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you. You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid. You know him with your eyes closed. You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace. Not because you can see it, not really, not directly. But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.
“You okay, Nerida?”
The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you. The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.
“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room. He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least. But you’re not stupid, you know what this means. You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way. He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down. You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.
“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools. “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left. Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”
***
Day 5–5:32pm:
Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows. You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering. Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.
Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place. When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily. A purple fruit. She must’ve saved it for you.
Maker, fuck yes. It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors. As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards. It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him. You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.
Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it? It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float. It’s just a thing. Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives. Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles. You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time. You don’t know what else you’d call it. Love is the only word. To love, to know. To hold in the heart.
Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group. You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.
“Where is everyone going?” You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem. It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together. They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately. Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next. A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.
“The eastern part of the city!” Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings. “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”
“Is…” You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn. Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway. “Is it part of an ocean?”
Naydee shakes her head. “A really big lake!”
Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it. You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view. And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.
Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage. You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze. So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you. Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes. They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown. You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.
And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on. All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out. They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything. You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city. It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time. You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.
And that’s when you see him.
But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he’s just allowing it to happen. You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for. Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away… This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes. If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you’re about to be on the wrong side of.
You have a decision to make, very quickly. Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear. Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time. Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.
You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping. Baby. He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion. You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to. You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.
Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly. What do you do, what do you do?
No matter what, you know it’s over. Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result. What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you? The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.
Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear. When you do see me… try to outrun.
You should run—run,it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.
Unless…
Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor. You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right. This maybe has a… two percent chance of working? Maybe? Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have? Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.
You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead. He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing. Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left. Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—
A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.
Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear. Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrifiedand it shows, you can see it in your eyes.
You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.
“Miss Nerida?” A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actuallyfight him. Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.
Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner. They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units. Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you. Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.
Just a few more hours, kid. A few more hours.
Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.
“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking. Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong. “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”
They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you. You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it. She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.
“What did you do?” He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice. He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed? The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.
You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory. It worked. It worked. You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip. Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.
“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze. “Don’t get caught.”
There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds. “You look beautiful.”
You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you. The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.
***
Day 5–5:24pm:
Din is fucking furious.
Hehadyou. You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere. In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you. Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.
But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you. They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following. It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.
He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour. It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.
Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes. There was… a moment. Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet—
No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be. It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.
But he can’t get rid of it. Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered. The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear. It was silvery, he’s almost certain. Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.
Color. Everywhere. Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.
***
Day 5–6:59pm:
This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.
It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it. Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream. The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.
That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would. You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.
You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now. You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud. You’ve decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though. Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be. Fully, without worry or fear.
Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—
It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen. So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it. You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.
As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response. There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.
Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.
Din.
You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above. You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself. “Do you always see in black and white?”
It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does. “Only when I’m tracking someone.”
The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you. You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is. He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.
“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?” You ask after a moment. This whole time, everything has been grey for him?
“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all. “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”
For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying. Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly. He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him. “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”
He takes a second, before clarifying for you. “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”
So that was the ultimatum. He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again. Does he not understand? Does he not know what you know? Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him. It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest. And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive. Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t. Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.
“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky. It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point. “You’d find me without the helmet. And I’d find you.”
The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick. You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course. That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred. Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight. This is a celebration of life and family. Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching. A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.
“Think so?” He asks softly. He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant. You’re able to hear it in his words. You don’t know why, though. Doesn’t he believe you? Perhaps… perhaps this isn’tThe Way. Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all. Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love. This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that? How would the Mandalorians reconcile that? You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face. It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.
“I know so.” For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does. Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you. “Will you look at the sky?”
“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t. Not the way you want him to. And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you? The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest. You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them. All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time. You want him to know the significance of that.
“With color?” You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.
“I…” Din wants to argue, or at least say it again. He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off. It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.
“How do I fix it then?” You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold. How do you fix this problem? How do you convince him to look with you? You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left. “Do you want me to come look for you? It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away. Look at the sky.”
It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay. You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response. You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you. He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.
But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again. This must be the end, they saved the best for last. Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.
“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you. Maker, it is, isn’t it? Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying. Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.
It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways. It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.
Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.
“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on. “Come and find me.”
***
Day 5–7:37pm:
After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you. Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.
Stars, that’s a lot of children. They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.
“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her. “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”
“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up. At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you. Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day. You’re going to have to say goodbye now.
“What happened to your family?” She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention. “Have you been in touch with them? If not, I’m sure you can come back with us. It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”
You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.
But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?
There’s more people here. More danger, but better places to hide. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense. But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women. He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.
It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule. Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses? Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time? No, you’re overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.
“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that. Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end. Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond. Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical. Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it. You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.
“I…” Quick, come up with something. You clear your throat. “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them. I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”
Naydee smiles and nods. “Sounds perfect.”
Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t. You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is. You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them. But with Din, you don’t have any walls. They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since. It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.
Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is. Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back. The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out. You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.
You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is. You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time. He could be anywhere now. Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.
***
Day 5–11:32pm:
You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view. One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so. Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.
The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach. Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy. If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it. These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous. Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.
It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong. This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so. It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier. Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet. Why? Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right. What’s he waiting for? You can’t have won. It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he shouldbe there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.
When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.
“Sorry!” Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face. “Didn’t mean to scare you! I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there. “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”
You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus. She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din. Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you. You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far. Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards. You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls. What is he doing?
Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it. “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”
She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently. The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.
Fuck, you just need to breathe. As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax. You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance. Breathe. Focus. There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.
Can you eat? You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy. You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now. The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard. It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there. The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.
A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there. Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator. Five minutes. You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you. Can you feel him? Is he closing in?
You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath. Focus on that feeling from earlier. The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards. Can you feel him?
Something catches your eye.
Or no… it doesn’t, does it? Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss. The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual. Nothing else.
But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall. It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat. He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?
Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back. You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately needto keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—
—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.
Run. Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t. Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass. He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can. The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away. Where’s the kid? How did he get those robes? Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?
Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.
You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them. It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward. Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster. Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.
As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you. Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.
Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you. Walk right by… Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing. He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place. The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.
You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight. Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away. The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster. It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.
You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet. Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door. Where is he? There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them? Wasn’t he right behind you?
Summary: Mando offers a lesson in restraint. And blasters.
Word Count: 4000
Warnings:Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, grinding, descriptions of male and female bodies, allusions to sexual acts, female masturbation, descriptions of PiV sex, we’re fantasizing about one (1) sexy space dad in this house.
Notes: Don’t we all just love some weapons training? Someone explain to me why it is so attractive when Mando does it, because I have never found it sexy in real life. I’m also dedicating this installment to my Star Wars sister @amywritesthings because we just keep yelling at each other about how much this trope worms into our brains and I feel like she’s owed this as a treat.
Takes place directly after A Sweet Response to Tragedy. Like literally the next day.
The blaster in your hand is warm, sweaty along the grip and sticking to your palm. Your wrists are tired, your trigger finger stiff, but you raise the barrel to aim again before firing a bolt.
Zzzst!
“Miss,” Mando says, and you sigh comically, dropping the blaster from its durasteel target and tilting your head up to the sky.
“I don’t think this is a ‘practice makes perfect’ situation, Mando,” you huff, looking over at him. He’s sitting on a fallen tree, one elbow on his knee as the child stomps around in the dirt.
Glorious. Utterly glorious! This has redeemed my shitty day. Thank you.
Thank you for the lovely comment! I’m so glad that Mando’s competency kink made your day! This was a super fun one to write, and I’m so glad you enjoyed it!
Everyone had seen it from the moment he’d led you across the threshold of the covert and introduced you as an ally to his tribe; asked them if you could both lay low in the protected tunnels beneath Nevaro’s streets, whilst the heat from your last bounty died down. Din’s affections towards you had never been overt or expressed out loud but his fellow warriors could see the quiet and brooding feelings he kept locked away at a safe distance. Their first clue being that he brought you here at all; that he chose to work with you.
He’d always been a lone wolf.
If any of them could see him now they’d surely hear the sound of his heart breaking.
Everyone had seen it from the moment he’d led you across the threshold of the covert and introduced you as an ally to his tribe; asked them if you could both lay low in the protected tunnels beneath Nevaro’s streets, whilst the heat from your last bounty died down. Din’s affections towards you had never been overt or expressed out loud but his fellow warriors could see the quiet and brooding feelings he kept locked away at a safe distance. Their first clue being that he brought you here at all; that he chose to work with you.
He’d always been a lone wolf.
If any of them could see him now they’d surely hear the sound of his heart breaking.
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t still be watching. He shouldn’t have rushed up the stairs in the first place, but at the sound of your cries he thought you were in trouble.
Only upon seeing the scene before him did he realise they weren’t cries of pain - but pleasure.
He’s full of shame and guilt, he knows he should have turned away the moment he laid eyes on you, yet a sordid curiosity keeps him rooted to the spot.
He’s reminded of a time at home - his real home. His mother and father were arguing about something he didn’t quite understand, and a young Din was crouched at the top of the stairs listening in. The way the tone of his mother’s voice lashed at his father, and his father’s cut back in return, made him sick. His brows furrowed so hard that they ached, and his fingers grew tired from gripping harshly at the blanket around his shoulders as he eavesdropped.
Yet no matter how sickly the scene made him feel; two people that before he’d only ever seen happy and very much in love, suddenly shouting out and berating each other with harsh words; he couldn’t bear to turn around and run back to bed like he wanted to. He urged his legs to move; begged them to carry him to the safety of his sheets and shut out the noise with his pillow, but they wouldn’t. The shock and confusion held him as though they were trying to suffocate him, and this kept him seated in place until the argument had long dissipated.
That same feeling sank within him now, as he stumbled upon you riding his vod.
A sickness. A heaviness on his shoulders, as though if he dared to try to move he would be thrown to the ground by an unknown force attempting to pin him to the dirt.
Your back is arched away from the large torso you’re clinging to, neck thrown back, and heaving chest exposed. Even from how far away Din is standing, he can see the hard peaks of your nipples, one firmly locked in the hands of the warrior beneath you as you bounce against his body. The warriors hands move, both coming to cup firmly at the full cheeks rippling against his hips. His hands are so large they seem to engulf them entirely as they force your movement harder against his cock. You place your palms face down on the broad expanse of his chest to give yourself an anchor to move more freely with the guidance of his grip.
The sound of your whimpers still rings in the air, a song that kindles a burning fire at Din’s core now that he knows pleasure is the source of them. Yet a deep sadness sets in to douse the flames as Din reminds himself he’s not the cause of them.
Sat on the head of the enormous man beneath you, is an unmistakable blue helmet.
Paz Vizsla.
Somehow this made Din feel even sicker.
Not that seeing you on top of any of his brothers would have been a relieving sight, but to see you with Viszla of all people hit a distant nerve Din thought he’d forgotten.
Paz Viszla had always had everything. The respect, the power, the strength; the pure-blood Mandalorian heritage. At just a few years older than Din, their Alor would often pair them together for training and hunts, a fact that Din grew to resent.
During their younger years Din had idolised him. He was just that bit older that Din began to look up to him as an older brother, one of such genuine Mandalorian blood that he would be able to teach him the true ways of Mandalore. As a young boy Din had a desperate need to prove himself; to ensure that his rescuers knew that he was worth the life they had saved and the effort they would go to, to teach him.
Paz always had a talent for fighting, his sheer size gave him an unnatural advantage over Din, one that would force Din to learn to fight with speed and intelligence rather than braun. He soon began looking to Paz to teach him more than just fighting. The older boy had a way with girls even as a teen, was popular with all of the other foundlings as well as the adult and high ranking members of the tribe, and he never failed to impress his elders.
It seemed to Din though, as time went on, that all of that childhood success would light small fires of pride inside Paz’s mind, slowly filling his head with air. He began to turn into a brute. Cocky, headstrong, inheriting a wild temper against anyone who dared disagree with him, and worst of all - becoming a bully.
Pazliked being better. He liked being stronger. He liked being of pure blood. He liked that there was no one else in the tribe that had the balls to look him in the eyes and tell him that he was being an asshole.
Din couldn’t stand him anymore.
By eighteen Din had learned to stay out of Paz’s way; nod his head when appropriate, or keep quiet when he disagreed. Din was focused on his own achievements, his own training and skills, and was now doing well - reallywell.
Paz couldn’t stand it.
So much so that on one of their last hunts together Paz stole the kill and claimed it all for himself, having not lifted a finger to kill the beast. He also began to play dirty and without honour during their training time, ensuring that he would win against Din everytime, and taking the extra effort to boast about it to the entire tribe as often as he could. From then on there was nothing Din could achieve, or have, that Paz wouldn’t attempt to take away from him for the sake of his own image and glory.
And here he was now - with you.
Paz grips you harder and flips you onto your back. He begins to pound against your hips relentlessly with a light grip on your throat muffling your screams.
Despite how thoroughly you seem to be enjoying yourself, resentment swells within Din and turns to anger. He hates the sight of Paz with his hands around your throat; how unceremoniously the warrior is fucking you into the mattresses; even the filthy Mando'a (which you can’t even understand) that drips from his tongue as he fucks you. Din thinks you deserve more ceremony than being thrown around so that the Mandalorian can fuck you in the way he wishes. He thinks you deserve more intimacy.
He has to admit, he sees glimmers of softness in Paz as he approaches his peak and readies himself to spill all over your stomach, but Din’s legs finally release him from his torture and allow him to move. He rushes out of the corridor as quietly and as quickly as he approached.
He can’t stand to watch anymore.
The next day Din enters a meeting chamber, looking for the Armourer.
Instead he finds Paz, stood around idly in a tight circle with the other Alor'ads, boasting about his nights escapades with you.
He tells his fellow warriors about the whole evening, leaves no detail out. How soft you are. How hot and wet. How you sounded. How tightly you squeezed around him. How at first you could barely fit him. Gives them details about your body a-
Din snaps.
“She’snot a piece of meat.”
The group of helmets turned slowly at the sound of Din’s voice, each one with a certain air of authority that begged not to be challenged.
Paz lets out a short laugh on his breath.
“I didn’t say she was?”
“You didn’t have to.”
Din leaves the room before the conversation can escalate any further.
