Actions

Work Header

An Unexpected Meeting

Summary:

On the verge of war, your planet has an unexpected visitor and your king has an equally unexpected reaction.
Can you keep your king from making a mistake and possibly save a man's life in the process? And what consequences will there be to your actions in the future?

Notes:

This is my first fanfiction in many years. In fact, I think it's the first story of any kind I've written in many years.

I welcome feedback. In fact, I'd love it.

I'd also love to hear any ideas and/or requests regarding the storylines or scenes. If I feel like I can make something fit, I'll be happy to do so. If I can't make it fit, I'll let you know.

This has a slow burn but there is eventually explicit smut/spiciness. As such, there are chapters of this story that are not appropriate for younger readers. If you are a minor, or if explicit content makes you uncomfortable, please move on to a different story. Additionally, I am including warnings at the start of chapters as I go and I will update tags as new things come up. If you notice any warnings/tags that I miss, please let me know.

Oh, there are some minor descriptors used for the Reader character: she's on the petite side, has long-ish hair (though nothing else specific is used regarding texture or color), and she does blush (though again, I don't think I've ever specified just how much it is noticeable). I think that's about it, everything else is left up to the imagination for her appearance.

If you'd like to reach out, I'd love to hear from you, either in comments on the story or, if you'd prefer personal messages, I am on Tumbler.

This is definitely non-canon, though I'll try not to stray too much from the show's general story arch. Still, while I love the show, I'm not an expert and I'm just letting my imagination go.

I do not claim to own any of the characters from the existing Star Wars universe but the original characters are my own and this work of fiction is my own. I do not give permission for it to be duplicated in any way.

Tumbler username: keeshya6

Chapter Text

The swish of silk gossamer fabric echoes off the high granite walls as you stride through the palace, your mind laser focused on your destination at the other end of the grand building. You stumble a few times in your haste, the toes of your boots catching on the thin fabric of the outer layer of your dress. Kicking at the fabric in annoyance, you press on.

 

Why the kriff can that seamstress never seem to remember that I am not as tall as my mother?

 

You take the final couple of turns to the throne room a bit too sharply and nearly bowl over a few unsuspecting guards at their various posts. “Sorry… excuse me,” you mumble each time, so focused that you hardly notice your own rudeness with each bump or their own rapid apologies for being in the way.

 

Finally reaching the doors to the king’s audience room, you pull up short, taking a moment to compose yourself. One deep breath in and one slow exhale, as your hands brush down the unruly skirts of your impractical dress. With a nod to the guard standing beside the door, he pushes open one of the two heavy, ornately carved, wooden doors and you step inside.

 

The room is not overly large compared to many throne rooms throughout the galaxy, fitting perhaps 50 people at max capacity. It only takes you a few moments to reach the front of it, taking in the scene before you as you step up onto the large platform that dominates that side of the room, the empty throne centered against the wall.

 

Five men, the only others inside the room, are on the raised dais: the king of Sardecia, three kings guards, and an unfamiliar armored figure that was being kept on his knees by two guards’ hands on his shoulders and the third guard’s blaster held level on him. His hands are bound behind his back. The tension in the air is palpable and dread settles into your stomach with an all-too-familiar weight.

 

“Father?” you ask softly.

 

The king, Cailen, turns his head to you, and the scowl he’d been leveling on the stranger softens slightly as he says your name in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Malok asked me to come,” you answer, referring to one of your father’s elderly advisors, as you take a moment to study the man kneeling between the guards.

 

Despite the precarious position he is in, you can’t help but notice the imposing air about the man. He is donned in Beskar armor with thickly weaved cloth underneath. Even sitting back on his heels, the top of his helmeted head looks like it would reach at least to the center of your sternum if you stepped closer. Likely about 6 feet tall you estimate. Those details alone are not overly intimidating though. It is the way that inscrutable T-shaped visor levels at you, giving away nothing about the man behind it. You can feel the barely contained energy within him, even from this distance. The strength of skill and experience just waiting for an opportunity to make a move.

 

What is a Mandalorian doing on Sardecia? you wonder. You’d read about the secretive warrior clans years ago in your studies, but you’d never expected to actually encounter one.

Your father says your name again sternly and you realize you had not heard him speaking to you. Your eyes tear away from the armored figure and settle back onto the king. “I apologize, Father. What did you say?”

 

Cailen scowls down at you, his arms crossed over his chest. “Why would Malok ask you to come here now?”

 

A soft scowl of your own creases your brows as you raise your chin to look up at him defiantly. “Because he knew you should have. What is going on here?”

 

“Nothing for you to worry about. My men caught this would-be assassin in the mountains beyond the palace grounds.”

 

You blink up at him a few times, darting your gaze between the Mandalorian and the king.

 

“Assassin? Why do you say that?”

 

“It’s obvious, Darling! We are on the brink of war with Kartelli and they have sent this man here to end the war even before it begins!”

 

You bite back a groan of frustration, closing your eyes for a moment and pressing your lips together. You had just known that this had something to do with that damned conflict. Well, supposed conflict.

 

Kartelli is the nearest inhabited planet to your own Sardecia. The two mid rim planets have never been on friendly terms, but tensions have risen over the last few years as both planets have tried to lay claim to the resources available on the third planet within your solar system, Goullen. Goullen is small but rich in mineral resources. Due to toxic fumes within the atmosphere though, neither would-be conquering planet has been able to secure a hold on Goullen.

 

Since his election as king six years ago, your father has made it his life’s mission to secure Goullen for his people. But as each year passes by without success, you have watched him sink further into depression, paranoia and down-right war mongering. He sees ‘the brink of war’ around every bend in the road and your fear that he was going to do something terrible because of it now seems to be coming to fruition.

 

“Father,” you start slowly as you look up at him again, “What has this man done to suggest to you that he is an assassin?”

 

Cailen’s answer comes out as a surprising snarl. “He is a Mandalorian. A hired gun. The Kartellians have sent him to dispose of me and my family! What other reason could a Mandalorian have for being on Sardecia at a time like this?”

 

“Plenty!” you respond in exasperation, noting the curious tilt of a Beskar helmet at the edge of your vision. “Father, we are NOT at war! People are still visiting Sardecia all the time for trade, commerce and just to see our planet.” With a frustrated sigh you throw up your hands and gesture at the kneeling figure. “Maybe he just likes mountains!”

 

Your father’s scowl remains firmly in place as he looks at you, a muscle in his clenched jaw twitching.

 

You put your hands up quickly, patting the empty air to fend off the coming tirade.

 

“Father,” you say softly, switching tactics, “You know that I can help allay any misgivings here. You should have called for me.”

 

The scowl softens a touch and he diverts his eyes from yours. “A king should be able to trust his own instincts without his daughter questioning him.”

 

You reach out to gently touch his arm, arching a slender brow at him and smiling softly. “A good king also recognizes when he should use the resources available to him, so costly mistakes are avoided.” You don’t enjoy questioning your father’s abilities, and you do your best to soften the harshness of your words. “Let me help.”

 

It takes a few moments, your heartbeat feeling like it is up in your ears as you wait, but Cailen finally nods at you. Exhaling in relief you begin to turn towards the Mandalorian and the guards as your father gestures to the guard on the man’s right.

“Starick, remove his helmet.”

 

Your eyes widen in shock as you dart a look between your father and the others.

 

“No!” you yell, as chaos erupts.

 

Starick’s large hands are reaching for the Mandalorian’s head when the kneeling man leaps up, slamming an armored shoulder into the startled guard’s stomach and shoving with all his might. Starick stumbles to the side, hands flailing to try and find purchase to steady himself. His hand closes on the edge of a piece of Beskar armor and both men roll off the dias to the throne room floor.

 

The other two guards leap down the steps and are on the Mandalorian in an instant. One hauls him off of Starick and the other shoves his blaster’s barrel under the helmet and against the underside of the Mandalorian’s chin, forcing his head back.

 

Starick rights himself and, with a snarl, reaches for the helmet once again as you practically leap off the stage too and give the guard a hard shove away from the prisoner to stop him.

 

Everyone in the room freezes in surprise, staring at you. You can even feel the Mandalorian staring at you through the edge of that T-shaped visor and you can’t help but notice that you were right about how tall he is, now that he’s on his feet and you’re right next to him.

 

Your fingers clench into fists at your sides as you whirl on your feet to face your father again, who is now looming from atop the dias.

 

“What the hell, Father?!” you yell at him. He winces at your tone. You never yell at him and it is startling enough to postpone any angry retort from him. You point a finger at him, jabbing it angrily in the air. “You know that Mandalorians… well, some Mandalorian clans anyway… require that they do not remove their helmets. What the hell are you thinking telling Starick to do that?!”

 

Cailen looks uncomfortably flustered in the face of your uncharacteristic anger for a moment, but then he plasters another scowl on his features as he crosses his arms again.

 

“Your ability requires you to touch the subject's forehead, Daughter. Does it not? How the hell else are you going to do that?”

 

Sighing again, you rub your hand over your face and then try to push your fingers through your hair, a nervous habit. You forgot though that your hair had been piled high into an up-do for a council meeting earlier in the day and your fingers knock several pins loose to the floor, sending unruly locks of hair cascading down the back of your neck and around your face. You glare at one of the locks in frustration for a fraction of a second before turning that glare on your father.

 

“No, it doesn’t require I touch his forehead.” You pause to force the anger out of your voice. It won’t help anything. “It is just a touch of skin to skin, Father. Preferably as near to the head or heart as possible, but that isn't absolutely necessary.”

 

After several heartbeats, Cailen gestures for Starick to step back and you sigh in relief.

 

Kriffing hell, this is nerve wracking.

 

Turning to the two guards holding the Mandalorian, you gesture to one of the chairs facing the throne platform. “Can you please let him take a seat? And please stop shoving that thing into his chin.”

 

The guard with the blaster frowns but pulls the blaster back, keeping it level now on the Mandalorian’s chest. The chin slowly lowers and that visor levels on you again for a moment before the third guard and Starick push him back into a chair. He cannot sit back though, with his hands still bound securely behind him in manacles.

 

With a wave of your hand you have the guards step away from him. They do so hesitantly, glancing between you, the Mandalorian, and your father. But they do step back, all three now brandishing their blasters on the dangerous man.

 

Your tongue darts out across your lips nervously as, after a moment’s consideration, you step closer to him, the skirt of your gown just barely brushing his right knee. Your eyes dart across the planes of that cold metal helmet and finally settle on the visor, about where you guess his eyes would be. After taking a steadying breath, you introduce yourself, telling him your name.

 

“As you have probably figured out, I am the king’s daughter.” You pause for a moment. “I am also one of his advisors, due to a… unique… ability I have.” The helmet tilts a bit to the right in, you are guessing, mild curiosity. “Do you have a name?”

 

There’s a long interval before he finally speaks. “Just call me Mando.”

 

You’re a little surprised by the sound of his voice. It’s richer than you had expected, even in just that brief sentence. There’s a slight electronic tone to it from the helmet’s modulator, but there’s still no denying the smoothness of it.

 

Taking a deep breath, and swallowing away a strange dryness that came to your mouth suddenly, you nod.

“Mando, have you ever heard of the Force?”

Chapter 2

Summary:

Continued from the moment we left off in chapter 1. Lots of drama, some violence and some angst.

Chapter Text

“Mando, have you ever heard of the Force?”

 

There is another long pause before the Mandalorian gives an almost imperceptible nod.

 

Okay, he’s not a chatty one, is he?

 

You return the nod, chewing a little on the corner of your bottom lip in thought. “Our people have a bit of an affinity to the Force, so to speak. We have a slightly higher than average number of the population that has some form of Force sensitivity, though most of them do not even know it, much less learn how to use it. The Force isn’t exactly common knowledge.”

 

As you explain, you gesture to Starick and then a chair, waving for it to be brought over. He drags the chair over in front of Mando, so you can sit facing him.

 

“I am one of the few that has learned to channel it into something useful. With direct contact to another person, I can sense the truth of their words.”

 

You settle onto the chair, uncertain for a moment of where to place your feet. You’re closer to the Mandalorian than the other men in the room are comfortable with. You can practically feel your father bristling with protectiveness behind you, probably glowering at the both of you.

 

The closeness isn’t exactly comfortable to you, but it doesn’t surprise you. Any time you’ve done this, you have had to be close to the subject. Your ability brought with it an odd sort of familiarity that was hard to explain to anyone that hadn’t experienced it. Granted, none of the others you’ve done this with had ever been like this man: barely contained danger and, if you were honest with yourself, very intriguing.

 

“It isn’t precise,” you continue explaining, somewhat absently as you also consider your positioning. Mando hasn’t moved in the slightest since you started talking and you aren’t sure if that makes you more or less at ease. “It will not show me any details of who you are or what you are doing here. However, it should be enough to give me a sense your intentions and to confirm if my father’s concerns are accurate or not.”

 

Finally you just shrug slightly and set your feet to either side of one of his larger ones, bracketing his knee between yours. Shifting your skirts a little so they won’t pull taunt against your legs or his, your hands briefly brush against his knee and calf. You pretend not to notice and finally raise your eyes back to him.

 

His head lifts too, to meet your gaze again, and you realize he’d been watching your flustered movements. Now, with another tilt of his head, you can sense he’s smirking at your discomfort behind that visor.

 

You feel warmth rise from your chest and creeping up your neck, threatening to blossom into your cheeks. Your eyes narrow a bit at him as you stamp down that traitorous blush. His shoulders move so subtly that your not sure they actually did at first, until you hear a faint chuffing sound from within the helmet, so quiet that the others probably couldn’t hear it.

 

Was he laughing at you?!

 

After fixing him with a glare for a moment, you finally sigh and roll your eyes before continuing. The moment had actually broken the tension just a bit.

 

He was amused.

 

You were annoyed.

 

Your fingers absently push through your hair again, knocking a few more locks of hair loose, as you recenter yourself with a deep breath.

 

“I will need to… touch you, for this to work.” You clear your throat softly. “Then, I’ll ask you a few questions. When you answer, I should be able to sense how honest you are being through our connection. The best way I can describe it is like a wave of warm or cold energy. Sometimes a feeling of the subject's...emotions come across too, but it’s usually very vague.”

 

When he doesn’t give you any response, you hesitantly gesture to the cowl around his neck. “May I?”

 

Maker, help me, I think I’m blushing again! Why? I’ve done this dozens of times before.

 

Probably because with everyone else you had just needed to place a couple of fingertips against their foreheads. Placing your hand against the side of his neck seems far more intimate. You aren’t the only one coming to that conclusion either, you know, as you hear your father grumbling and pacing the dias behind you.

 

The Mandalorian considers you carefully for several moments and you can feel his eyes on you. You try to push down that blush again but you know it’s not working. Instead, you simply choose to ignore it. It doesn’t help that his hesitation has you second guessing yourself either. Is your father correct after all and he was sent here by a political enemy? Or are you possibly remembering what you had read about Mandalorians incorrectly? Maybe they couldn’t reveal any of themselves? Your efforts to help may be entirely in vain.

 

After what feels like forever, he gives another nod in affirmation and leans a little closer to you, lifting his chin slightly. He stops short though as every other man in the room tenses and takes a step closer in response to his movement.

 

You lift your hands quickly to the sides, palms out, looking at each guard and your father in turn to keep them at bay. Then, looking back to Mando, you reach out. He leans in again so you can reach behind his neck to release the back of the cowl and pull it free. You absently fold the piece of cloth and set it on your lap as you look over the small amount of bared skin.

 

He’s tanner than you had expected, given your impression that Mandalorians basically lived in their armor. Corded, lean muscles follow the lines of his neck, disappearing down into his shirt towards his shoulders, and you find yourself wondering if that golden color continues past the hem of the shirt.

 

Your eyes widen for a split second as you realize how inappropriately your mind had wandered for a moment, and you try to force your focus back to your task, hoping your thoughts hadn’t been too obvious.

 

You raise your hand towards him again, but hesitate, hovering just a fraction of an inch from his skin. He cants his head away from your hand, as if in question. Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you set your hand flat against the side of his neck, your thumb resting just under the rear angle of his jaw where it disappears under his helmet.

 

His skin is warm beneath your hand and you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your thumb. Is it your imagination or did he shiver a bit at your touch? Likely it is just because your hand is colder than his skin and you decide to ignore it.

 

Setting your eyes on his visor again you absently lick your lips before speaking again.

 

“Are you on Sardecia because of anything to do with Goullen?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you working for anyone from Kartelli?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you here for anything to do with the Sardecian Royal Family?”

 

“No.”

 

You nod, carefully considering your next question. Warmth had spread into your hand in brief bursts with his answers, which you know means he was being honest. However, you can also sense his hesitancy. Granted, given the situation, you can’t exactly blame him.

 

“Are you on Sardecia because of a bounty?”

 

Pause. “No.” There was a brief moment of coldness against your hand before he spoke, but it was replaced with another pulse of warmth. That usually meant a subject was considering lying, but decided against it.

 

“Do you have a particular reason for being on Sardecia?”

 

“No,” he said and your eyes narrow up at him as a cold wave goes down your arm. About to protest and confront his lie, you pause for a moment, startled by a distinct feeling of protectiveness that carries through the wave too.

 

The volume of your voice lowers a bit. “You’re protecting something?”

 

You can feel him tense beneath your hand. “Yes,” he answers slowly and then his voice lowers too, a dangerous edge to his tone, “Don’t ask more about it. It has nothing to do with your planet.”

 

You blink in surprise at the intensity of the warm pulse that laces up your arm and the almost overwhelming determination that comes with it.

 

With your eyes still locked on that T-shaped visor, you raise your voice to be heard by the others. “He’s not here because of anything to do with your war, Father. He’s just a visitor.”

 

Your father quickly steps down the stairs of the platform and stops next to you. “Then why is he here?”

 

It takes an astounding amount of will power for you to tear your eyes away from that Beskar helmet and to look up at your father.

 

“You know it doesn’t work like that. I can’t sense specifics. But I know he’s being honest about having nothing to do with the Goullen conflict and having no ill intentions towards us.”

 

Cailen growls in frustration and shakes his head. “That’s not good enough! I cannot take chances with war coming. Hokey ‘wizardry’ is not enough to confirm a man this dangerous can be allowed to live.”

 

Your eyes widen at that declaration and your jaw drops. Your father had never failed to trust your ability before and now he was talking like he planned to execute the Mandalorian? This is insane!

 

“The hell?!” Mando snaps in response and you hiss sharply, yanking your hand back from him. You hadn’t even realized you were still touching his neck until a pulse of searing heat and anger lanced into you from the connection.

 

Starick and another of the guards quickly step forward to make sure the Mandalorian stays in his chair, ensuring their blasters are in plain view and held steadily on him.

 

You stumble to your feet, knocking back your chair.

 

“Father, you cannot be serious! You’re talking about a man’s life here!”

 

Cailen steps close to you and glowers down at you, making you take a startled step back.

 

“I am talking about the lives of thousands of Sardecians! Now, that is enough!” He points a finger at the two guards holding Mando in place. “Keep him here. I will be back with the Council.”

 

Turning on his heel, he gestures for the third guard to come with him and the two quickly leave out of the door that you came in.

 

You stand frozen for several moments, eyes wide as you stare at the door after it closes behind them.

 

“This cannot be happening,” you whisper to yourself, your brows knitting together as you look at the two guards and then Mando.

 

“You did the best you could, Miss,” Starick responds to your rhetorical statement. “Let the Council deal with him from here.”

 

Taking a few steps back, you stagger up the steps of the dias, your eyes darting between the three men. You can see Mando is breathing shallowly, seething. The tiny twitches of his head suggest that he is calculating, examining each guard and trying to gauge his ability to escape from them. They’re doing their best to not give him any openings though, keeping their blasters steady on him.

 

You begin pacing the dias, your mind reeling. You can’t just let your father kill an innocent man, can you? But what can you do? You only have, maybe, thirty minutes before your father has roused the Council members and brought them here as witnesses. They might object to his verdict for the Mandalorian. Then again, your father’s recent ramblings had been persuasive enough to instill a fear of even the prospect of war into many of them. They might not see reason either. Could you take that chance?

 

After a few precious minutes have passed, you very nearly decide to do exactly that. Like Starick had said, you did your best. Is there really anything else you can do anyway?

 

Then, you stop short at one end of the platform, noticing a heap of equipment you hadn’t seen earlier. There was a utility belt, a rifle of some sort, a strangely small bandolier of ammo, a blaster pistol, a knife and a myriad of other unfamiliar items. You blink at them for a moment, then sharply raise your eyes to the two guards that stand between you and the Mandalorian, their backs to you, facing the door your father and the Council will come through.

 

Neither guard seems to be paying any attention to you, but you could swear that Mando is watching your every move. His chin is tilted slightly downward, as if he’s looking at the floor, but you can feel the intensity of his gaze.

 

Your eyes drag back to the pile at your feet and you bite at your lower lip. Of course it’s his gear. He would have been disarmed by the guards when they caught him.

 

You crouch down as slowly and quietly as possible, glancing up at the guards to make sure they’re still facing away from you. Reaching out, you waver for a moment, your hand hovering over the pistol and your brows creasing together.

 

Can I really do this?

 

You feel a slight tremor in your lip as you consider a desperate course of action, clenching your jaw closed to still the shaking.

 

Yes, I can, you tell youself, taking a moment to remember that fierce protectiveness you had felt from Mando during your brief interrogation. He’s innocent and… something out there needs him. I cannot just stand by.

 

Screwing up your courage, you watch the guards as you carefully loose the blaster from the pile. Standing, you keep the weapon tucked at your side so it is somewhat hidden in the folds of your skirt. With steps that are probably not as casual as you hope, you walk to the far side of Starick.

 

Mentally swatting away another wave of hesitation, you take a quick step up behind the man, keeping his body between yourself and the other guard, and press the barrel of the gun into his side, just below his ribs.

 

A surprised grunt escapes him and he goes rigid, eyes wide.

 

The other guard looks over at him questioningly. “What..?”

 

His question is cut off as Mando takes advantage of the distraction, leaping up from the chair like a spear into the guard’s gut, helmet first. The surprised guard doubles over the warrior’s back with a pained “OOF!”

 

Starick shifts instinctively as if to jump in and help his comrade. You push the barrel of the blaster into his rib a bit harder to remind him of its presence, and you reach over with your free hand to take the blaster he’s holding. “Don’t,” you warn him, a little proud of the sternness in your voice, and he stiffens again.

 

Meanwhile, Mando bends at the knees under the other guard and heaves to stand up straight. The winded guard flips right over that Beskar encased head and lands hard on his back, across the legs of the chair you had toppled over earlier, splintering the wood beneath his weight. Mando spins towards him and lashes out with a booted foot, catching the prone man in the temple. His head snaps to the side and with a groan he goes limp and quiet.

 

Turning to you and Starick, Mando steps easily over the unconscious body and closes the distance. You both watch his approach, wide eyed. He stops a couple of feet from you and, without a word, turns to the side to show you his shackled wrists and inclines his head questioningly.

 

You blink a couple times and then nudge Starick. “Release…” you stop to clear your throat, fighting a fresh lump of anxiety. “Release him,” you command the guard.

 

Starick snarls at you over his shoulder. “You know this is treason. What in the Maker’s hell are you thinking?”

 

“I’m thinking I can live with treason more than I can with being an accomplice to murder.”

 

Another hard jab of the blaster into his side has him reaching into his pocket for the keys to the shackles and a moment later they drop to the carpeted floor with a metallic thunk.

 

Mando steps back from Starick, watching him warily as he moves around behind you. Your body instinctively tenses as you feel him draw close to your other side and you’re able to feel his body heat as a gloved hand reaches out and closes over the hand you are holding his blaster in.

 

“Give it to me,” he demands, his voice low and startlingly close to your ear.

 

With an unexpected shiver, you release the weapon into his grasp and take a step away from the two men, adrenaline rushing down your spine. You loosely hold the guard’s blaster in both hands now, in front of you and pointed at the floor.

 

“Starick, is it?” Mando growls as he keeps the pistol’s barrel shoved into the other man’s side and leans in closer. “You have two choices. Kneel, and they’ll find you unconscious next to your friend. Or don’t, and they’ll find you with a plasma shaped hole through your belly.”

 

Starick stares at the Mandalorian for a moment and then, looking past the other man’s shoulder to glower at you, Starick drops down to his knees. Without a moment’s reluctance, the Mandalorian’s free hand catches the back of Staricks head and drives it forward, slamming his chin into a raised Beskar thigh guard with a sickening crunch. Starick slumps to the floor without so much as a groan.

 

You stand there, frozen, as you gaze down at the prone guard, your chest rising and falling with quick, labored breaths.

 

Then suddenly you are back peddling with a squeak of surprise as the Mandalorian whirls on you. You stumble, your heel hitting the first step of the throne dias and Mando’s hand snaps out to catch you before you can fall. His firm grip holds the back of your arm, just above the elbow, and he pulls you towards him to stand up straight, which brings you within a hairsbreadth of him. You swallow hard, staring up at your own reflection in that inscrutable visor.

 

“Why?” he asks, simply, after several tense and silent moments.

 

You dart your tongue out across your lips and try to speak against the sudden dryness in your throat. “Like I told him,” you answer, your voice so quiet that he leans closer to hear you. Can he really get any closer?! “I can live with this, better than with unjustified murder.” You pause for a moment in thought, considering the last couple of minutes. “Thank you for not killing them,” you whisper.

 

Several moments stretch out again in what feels like forever before he finally releases your elbow and moves to step around you and up onto the platform. He crouches down, gathering up his equipment and returning it all to its rightful place on his person. As you watch his movements you try to guess how much time there is to spare.

 

“I think you have about a ten minute head start, but that could be a generous guess,” you say, your voice coming out steadier now as you focus on the newest problem at hand. Leaning down, you set the guard’s blaster on to the bottom platform step and then move quickly to the east wall. You pull aside a low hanging banner and the barely visible outline of a door can be seen behind it. With a push of your palm, the door swings open to reveal a dark hallway about 100 feet long, ending in a turn to the right.

 

Mando steps up beside you, peering into the passageway.

 

“A king had this built a few hundred years ago, to evacuate his family if needed, during some kind of intercontinental war,” you explain, more out of nerves than anything else, as he hadn’t asked. “Close the door from the inside and then follow the hall around that corner. Take the second left. It will lead to an exit into the back gardens. From there, you’re on your own.” You look up at him and start at finding him very close again, feeling his gaze searching your face.

 

“What about you?” he asks in a surprisingly soft tone.

 

Your jaw clenches as you frown a little. “What about me?”

 

“What’s going to happen to you?”

 

You blink a few times and absently bite your lip. He sounded genuinely concerned and it brought your own anxiety crashing to the front of your mind again. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly, shrugging one shoulder. “If I cannot convince the Council of why I had to act… in this way…” the words catch in your throat and you shake your head. “...there’s really no way to know what they’ll do. If they do deem it… ‘treason’… there are any number of consequences they can enact. It depends on how severe and damaging they view my actions to be.”

 

You avert your eyes from his intense stare after that, wrapping your arms around yourself and jerking your head towards the open doorway. “You need to get out of here.”

 

A gloved hand catches your jaw and lifts it to force you to look up at him again. “You could run too,” he suggests, releasing you after a moment.

 

Wide eyed and silent for a moment, you shake your head. “No.” You can practically feel his scowl in response and quickly continue. “If there is even a chance, that by staying, I can help pull my father back out of this crazed haze he’s in, then I have to stay.” You shrug a little, fingers absently twisting into a lock of your hair. “I cannot give up on him yet.”

 

After a moment’s consideration, Mando takes a step back from you and gives a curt nod.

 

“All right,” he replies and turns to step into the passage. He pauses a moment, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Thank you,” he says before continuing over the threshold.

 

“Good luck,” you answer softly, and watch as he shoves the door closed behind him and then you drop the banner back into place.

 

Turning slowly, it feels like you’re wading through molasses as you look over the mess of the room. Toppled furniture and unconscious bodies are strewn about and you give a soft, mirthless laugh at the insanity of it all.

 

You slide down to sit on the bottom step of the dias, near the middle, and wrap your arms around your knees before resting your head on top of them and closing your eyes.

 

Dank Farrik. Stars, what have I done?

Chapter 3

Summary:

What consequences have there been to the events of chapter 2?

Lots of angst in this one.

I would love to hear your thoughts on it.

----------------

Chapter Text

To call the heat here oppressive would be an insult to the bowels of Mustafar’s volcanoes. Only you can’t help but make the comparison. Hell, you seriously doubt those distant volcanoes are nearly this hot.

 

Steam rolls off dirt encrusted machinery in massive waves, choking the air out of the area and transforming the factory into a living hell. Huge chain drives crank and squeal constantly, turning gear trains within the underbelly of the factory. There is a never ending rhythm of sha-thump sha-thump sha-thump as large pistons thrust into thick steal cylinders, powering some distant mechanism several stories overhead. The noise is deafening and overwhelming, drowning out all conversation and all coherent thought.

 

You had stopped wondering what the machines did months ago. Something for the upper city. It didn’t make any difference to you.

 

Your job, your only purpose, was to make sure the one labeled in Galactic Basic as “Engine 76-SE-522L” kept running for the 16 hours they shoved you into this massive hell hole every day.

 

Your hands are raw from applying lubrication to chains and pulleys, pipes and whatever the hell the other bits and pieces are called. No one had really bothered to tell you what they all actually are, just what to do to keep them going. Your skin constantly feels like it is on fire too, but you make damn sure the engine is sprayed down with cooling water every hour, on the hour.

 

And Maker forbid you should try to use that precious water to cool yourself off. You’d made that mistake, not once but twice. Your desperation had gotten the best of you the second time. Both instances had resulted in a beating that left you unable to walk for at least three days. Your meager rations were halved during those days too, to further drive home the point that your noncompliance would not be tolerated.

 

Your time in the factory has finally come to an end for the day and your legs nearly give out from under you again, for the millionth time it seems, as you struggle against the fatigue of heat and exhaustion. Blistered hands hold tight to the railing of the metal bridge that snakes between the massive machines, hanging hundreds of feet above a distant floor that you can’t see. You take a moment to steady yourself on that railing before trudging onward.

 

It takes nearly another hour to escape the sweltering heat and you have to pass through half a dozen more rooms to do so. When you finally reach the under-city street, the night air hits your scalded skin like a balm, and you just lean up against the wall beside the door for a few minutes to enjoy it. Your head rests back against the metal wall, eyes closed, and you seriously consider sliding down to the ground right there and falling asleep.

 

No, that’s a really bad idea.

 

With a groan and a pained wince, you push off the wall and begin a slow trek up the street towards the kitchens for the bonded servants. Your only goal at the moment is a bowl of whatever gruel they’ve thrown together today and then your cot to get as much sleep as possible before you have to repeat the day over again.

 

You collapse into a chair at a crowded table rather unceremoniously, lifting the edge of your dirty tank top to try and wipe sweat off of your face. A nudge to your side gets your attention and you blink away moisture to look over at a petite, yellow skinned Twi’lek as she sits down next to you. She smiles at you sympathetically, offering a torn up and stained but relatively clean rag.

 

“Thanks, Ji’anna,” you say with a half-hearted smile and use the cloth to wipe your face and the back of your neck. Then you gingerly begin wiping off your hands and between your fingers. You sigh as you contemplate your hands. You hardly recognize them as your own anymore.

 

Ji’anna leans over to you and is about to drop her pointed chin on your shoulder with a mischievous smile when you yank away from her sharply with a scowl. Her bright eyes go wide and her mouth forms a little ‘o’ before she laughs sheepishly.

 

“Right. Sorry! I forgot you don’t like to be touched.”

 

You heave a sigh, rubbing your bare shoulder where her chin had almost come to rest and you look down. “Yeah… Try to remember, hm?” you reply and give her the tiniest of smiles to show you forgive her.

 

She returns the smile brightly and then leans her elbow on the table to prop her chin on her palm instead. “You want’a hear something juicy?” she asks, wiggling her brows dramatically.

 

At that moment, a kitchen worker drops a spoon and a bowl of some sort of soup onto the table in front of you, some of it sloshing out onto the table. It certainly isn’t an appetizing looking meal, but the scent of broth and some kind of questionable meat hits your senses and your stomach growls demandingly. You pick up the spoon and begin shoveling food into your mouth, glancing over at the Twi’lek after a few bites. “Sure,” you say with a shrug, around a mouthful of food.

 

You don’t generally care about the gossip down here but Ji’anna always loves to share it with you for some reason. Plus, honestly, it’s nice to have someone to talk to sometimes.

 

“You remember that big Keshiri from section seven? Kwolan, I think? He was working in the water house.” You nod in response. “Turns out, he’s not bonded at all!” she half shrieks, eyes wide. “Never has been! He’s free but he came down here, pretending to be bonded, to hide!”

 

You swallow a bite of your food. “Hide from what?” you ask before taking another spoonful.

 

“Everyone is saying something different,” she responds with a wave of her hand, raising her voice a little as the hum of the crowd around you gets louder as more people gather for their evening rations. “One says he stole some kind of treasure from a Hutt lord. Another says he killed some New Republic captain or lieutenant or something. And someone else says he used to be a guard for the Emperor himself and ran off when he failed to protect him.” Her petite shoulders lift in a shrug as she laughs a little. “Don’ know.”

 

“Then how do you know he’s hiding from anything?”

 

“There’s a bounty hunter after him!” she squeals excitedly, clapping her hands together. “He came down earlier today, started asking around at a couple of the bars and work houses. Even had one of those official hologram fob things with the Keshiri’s image.”

 

You go still for a moment, briefly thinking about the last bounty hunter you had seen. Well, the only bounty hunter you’d ever seen.

 

“Hm… too bad for Kwolan,” you mumble with a smirk and a shake of your head, going back to finishing up your meager meal. “I wouldn’t want to be him.”

 

“Definitely!” she says with a laugh. You can’t help but laugh a bit with her. Her delight at the misfortune of others is always somehow disturbing and entertaining all at once.

 

Her expression turns a little dreamy then. “Mm, he’s so lucky. Can you imagine the life he must lead?”

 

“Kwolan?” you ask with an arched brow.

 

“No!” she laughs. “The bounty hunter! Just think of all the amazing places he must get to see, and all the interesting people he meets.”

 

You laugh a little and shake your head at her as you push your empty bowl away. “Oh yeah, amazing places,” you say, cynically. “He could be visiting somewhere like Naboo, maybe, but instead he’s crawling around in the grime and dirt with all of us?”

 

Her little nose scrunches up a bit at that and the twinkle leaves her eyes. “It really would be a shame if all that shiny armor gets mucked up.”

 

Your hand freezes in mid-air, half way to bringing your cup of water to your lips. You look over at her slowly. “Shiny armor?”

 

She nods enthusiastically. “Yep! I saw him when he came to talk to the overseer at the textiles plant,” she says, referring to the factory she works in. “Armor bright as could be, like polished chrome!” She brings her small fists close together and then quickly spreads her fingers outward, like a burst, as she tries to demonstrate.

 

Brows knitting together, you bite your lip a little. “What did his face look like?”

She waves a small hand dismissively. “Oh, he was wearing a helmet. Real mean looking one with a dark T visor.” Her hand lowers to her lap as she looks at you curiously. “You okay?”

 

You blink a few times rapidly and nod your head, your mind spinning. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

Really?! Of all places he could go hunting, he turns up here? Oh, who cares? The chances that I’ll actually run into him down in this maze are almost none.

 

“Well, if you want to get a look at him, he’s probably near by,” Ji’anna’s peppy voice breaks into your thoughts. “The overseer told him that Kwolan would probably be here around this time for dinner.”

 

At that you stand up suddenly, your chair pushing back and screeching a bit across the hard floor. Ji’anna looks up at you in wide-eyed surprise.

 

“Um… no. No. I don’t think so. I… I have to go. Bye,” you stammer out and turn to make your way to the exit.

 

“Bye,” Ji’anna calls quietly after you in confusion.

 

You weave your way through the crowd of bonded, grumbling softly to yourself.

 

Why does the idea of seeing him again bother me so much? I should be feeling some relief, shouldn’t I? He’s alive. He got away that night. At least… At least that means that everything I lost wasn’t for nothing.

 

With a growl of frustration you push through the last of the crowd and out into the dingy street, inhaling the air deeply as you leave behind the oppressive press of scores of bodies. You close your eyes for a moment, rubbing the back of your aching neck and then pushing your fingers though your hair. They catch on dozens of tiny knots and you briefly wish you still had your old hairbrush, probably for the millionth time.

 

Sighing, you open your eyes and turn to head towards the bonded barracks, before freezing in place again.

 

Kark. There he is.

 

---

 

Mando had watched you go in to the food hall a while ago, after following you from farther down the road where he’d spotted you. He had considered catching up to you then, but he wasn’t sure if it was actually you. You had changed so much in the last twelve months that he hardly recognized you.

 

Really, he wasn’t sure why he thought he’d recognize you at all after all this time, even if you hadn’t changed. He’d only met you the once. Then again, it’s hard to forget the face of someone that saves your life.

 

So, he waited, leaning his shoulder against the wall and crossing one booted foot over the other at the ankles.

 

Now, when you come back out and turn towards him, suddenly rooted to the spot and eyes wide, he can see that it really is you.

 

Pushing off the wall, he walks towards you slowly, his eyes scanning over you from behind the visor as he takes in just how much the last year has changed you.

 

Your elegant dress has been replaced by torn and filthy trousers and a tank top shirt. He isn’t even sure what color they were originally supposed to be. Your previously unmarred skin is dabbled with fading bruises and cuts beneath smudges of grease. Hands that he remembers as pleasantly soft are cracked and blistered from the heat. Long hair that had been luscious is now unkempt and knotted. You’ve also lost some weight; your cheeks have taken on a hollow look. And there is a mark, a small black tattoo, on the side of your neck just below your right ear. It’s mostly hidden underneath unruly strands of your hair and he can’t make out what it is.

 

Mostly though, he notices the change in your eyes. The night he’d met you they had been bright; first with eagerness to help diffuse the situation, then with anger at your father, and finally with determination as you helped him escape.

 

Now, that brightness seems all but gone, replaced by a dull acceptance and fatigue.

 

Dread presses on his chest as he stops within arms length of you and says your name, quietly and questioningly, as if he’s hoping you’ll tell him he’s wrong and you aren’t who he thinks you are.

 

Your breath catches a bit at the sound of his voice, surprised again by the smoothness of it through the modulator. Licking your lips, you barely nod.

 

“Hi, Mando,” you say softly, wincing a little bit at how weak the greeting sounds and avoiding eye contact with him.

 

He takes a step closer, gently catching your chin in his gloved hand and lifts your head.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asks softly.

 

For a moment you can’t seem to think of how to answer, swallowing back a lump in your throat. You’re also suddenly, and painfully, aware of how filthy you are as you spot your reflection looking back at you in his helmet.

 

“I’m… I…” You huff shakily, struggling to find the words. “I’m bonded here,” you finally manage to say, your voice cracking a little.

 

Mando’s helmet jerks slightly as he grimaces, his grip on your chin a little tighter as he holds your gaze.

 

“Bonded?” he asks, his voice a faint growl and you almost don’t hear it. “You’re… indentured?”

 

You scarcely manage to nod against his hold on you.

 

There’s a long pause and you can barely hear Mando’s breath stutter within the helmet. “Because... of that night?”

 

Your jaw clenches hard, pushing back a tremor. You hadn’t really given your situation much thought recently. Really, you didn’t like to think about it at all.

 

I am not going to cry, you snarl at yourself inwardly. I am done crying over this kriffing hell hole.

 

“Yes,” you whisper in response.

 

He seems frozen in place for a moment. Then, releasing your chin, he steps back from you quickly. His gloved hands ball into fists at his sides as his turns away from you and lets out a string of expletives under his breath that send your brows arching up sharply in surprise.

 

You watch him pace with your arms wrapped around yourself nervously. You can hear his shallow breathing and it takes a few minutes for him to calm. He turns toward you again but doesn’t look at you, keeping a bit of distance now. His hands remain at his sides, clenching and unclenching, the leather creaking softly. After a few more moments pass, he finally lifts his head to look at you again through that visor and you can see from the set of his shoulders that a weight has settled on him.

 

“Maker,” he says softly, his voice catching a bit, “I’m so sorry.”

 

That plaintive apology cracks something in your chest and your breath hitches as you tear your eyes away from his, biting down on your lower lip hard. Shaking your head rapidly, you hold back a sob that threatens to escape you. “You… you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” you reply softly, “You didn’t do this to me.”

 

He starts to step toward you again and you take a panicked step back with another sharp shake of your head, refusing to look up at him.

 

“No, no. I… I have to go,” you mumble hurriedly and turn to move around him, spinning away from the hand that reaches for your arm.

 

You break into a run then, heading for the barracks. Gasping for air from the tightness in your chest, you squeeze your eyes closed for a moment as he calls your name after you, but you don’t turn back.

 

---

 

Mando considers following after you and argues with himself for a moment over it. Finally, with a primal yell, he spins towards the side of the food hall instead and slams a clenched fist into the concrete wall. Once. Twice. Again and again, until his knuckles begin to throb and then he feels the flesh split open under the leather.

 

Stilling, he focuses on the pain, resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes. Strangely, the stinging ache calms him and his ragged breaths gradually return to normal.

 

“How the hell could they send her someplace like this?” he growls to himself, swallowing back the taste of bile from his throat as he slowly steps back from the wall. “I have to get her out of here.”

 

He turns in the opposite direction from where you’d run off, his stride quick and determined as he makes his way back into the factory sector of the under-city.

 

It takes him about twenty minutes to find the Overseers’ Office again. He’d visited it earlier when hunting down the Kishiri, but this place was like a maze. Finally finding it again, he pounds on the door with a side of his fist, wincing against the sting in his knuckles.

 

The door slides open a few moments later and a gray skinned Nikto looks up at Mando in surprise.

 

“Ah! Bounty hunter, you’re back! Did you find him?” The short, and slightly pudgy Nikto, named Leestun, gestures for the Mandalorian to come inside.

 

“No,” Mando answers curtly and Leestun’s brows lift curiously at his tone.

 

“Well, it is a busy area and he sounds like a crafty…”

 

“Forget about the Kishiri,” Mando cuts him off. “I need to know about a…” he practically chokes on the next work, “...slave... that is down here.”

 

That brings another curious expression to Leestun’s horn covered face. “One of our bonded slaves? Which one?” He moves over to a desk and sits down, pulling out a large data pad and gesturing for the Mandalorian to take a seat.

 

Mando ignores the offer as he tells the Overseer your name, pacing the office instead of sitting as he presses his abused knuckles into the palm of his other hand.

 

“Ah, yes,” Leestun says after a moment of searching and he pulls up your file. “That one. What about her?”

 

Facing the Nikto, Mando braces his hands on the back of the chair he’d been offered and levels his visor at the man. “I need to know how to free her.”

 

Leestun’s brow furrows. “What?”

 

“You heard me,” Mando practically snaps, then pulls back on the sharpness in his voice and tries again. “How do I get her free of this place?”

 

Leestun glances down at the file on his data pad and swallows hard, easily sensing that the dangerous bounty hunter wasn’t going to be happy with his answer.

 

“You can’t,” Leestun says with a slight shrug. “She’s a politically bonded slave. Whatever landed her here, I do not have the authority to undo her contract.”

 

Mando’s fingers clench tightly around the back of the chair as he fights to keep his anger in check.

 

“That’s womp rat shit and you know it, Leestun. There has to be something.”

 

The Nikto lifts his hands as if in surrender. “I swear, we cannot break a bond contract. No one on Nar Shaddaa has that authorization. I don’t even know if it is possible, but you’d have to find a Slaver’s Guild on one of the slave export worlds to find out.”

 

A growl of frustration escapes Mando’s helmet as his head drops down and he stares at his hands. “So, she stays here until her contract expires? Or until your Maker cursed city kills her?” he snarls out.

 

Leestun slowly shrugs. “Or until her bond is bought. But there is no way to free a political prisoner like her.”

 

Mando goes still for a moment, mulling over those words, before that beskar helmet slowly raises to level on Leestun again. “What do you mean ‘until her bond is bought’?”

 

Sensing a possible escape from the bounty hunter’s anger, Leestun nods eagerly. “Oh, yes! Her contract can be bought out from the company. Then, her new owner can take her, well, wherever!”

 

Swallowing hard, Mando pushes away from the chair and resumes his pacing.

 

Could he really buy your bond?

 

Mumbling to himself in frustration, Mando’s hand tugs uncomfortably at the cowl below his helmet and he rubs the side of his neck. Then he stills again, suddenly drawn into the memory of the feel of your hand on his neck all those months ago.

 

You had been like a salve on that nerve-wracking night, sweeping into the room and offering him a chance to get out of there alive. The coolness of your touch had surprised him and he knew he had shivered, but he wasn’t sure if you’d noticed. Your hand had been soft though and, if he was honest, the uncommon closeness was delicious.

 

Pulling himself back from the memory, Mando sighs and clenches his jaw. He leans over the back of the chair that faces Leestun’s desk, his elbows braced on the back of it and his hands folded over one another in front of his hidden face.

 

A few tense, silent moments pass as he stares at the nervous Nikto.

 

“All right, Leestun,” Mando growls. “How much?”

Chapter 4

Summary:

Trigger warning: a little physical abuse and violence.

More angst as we pick up shortly after the ending of chapter 3.

Chapter Text

Every lump in the cot feels like it is jabbing into your shoulder, hip or head,  no matter which way you toss and turn throughout the night. 

 

Fitful scenes flit in and out of your dreams as you struggle to find some semblance of sleep. Racing gualaar through the mountain valleys of Sardecia with your brother.  An overseer's baton sweeping your legs out from under you.  Your father's inauguration speech.  Mando holding you steady at the base of the throne room dias.  Your mother's tear stained face at your sentencing.  

 

A startled cry rips from you as a hand gently shakes your shoulder,  waking you from your restless sleep.   A wave of sadness pulses into you and you yank back from the touch, nearly toppling off the cot.

 

"What?" you snap, your throat dry and scratchy as you search the darkness.  Your eyes are bleary and tender from failing to fight off the tears before falling asleep, making it difficult to focus on the figure standing over you.

 

"Hey…" Ji'anna's soft voice cuts through the sound of your pounding heart as she says your name gently and sits on the edge of your cot. 

 

"Maker, Ji'anna," you mumble irritably, tugging at your threadbare blanket, "Can you please remember not to touch my skin? You know I don’t…."  Your words trail off as you finally focus on her face, startled by her uncharacteristically melancholy expression.   Then you remember the feeling of sadness from her touch and you swallow hard against a lump of apprehension.  "What is it?"

 

"Overseer Leestun sent me for you.   He… wants to see you," she says softly, worry in her eyes.  "He said to bring your things with you."

 

You stare at her for a few seconds,  fear twisting in your chest as you hold the blanket closer to you like it will shield you.   "Why?" you whisper,  your mind reeling as you try to figure out what you might have done wrong.  Leestun never wanted to see bonded servants unless it was to dole out some kind of punishment.   

 

But why have you bring your things? Have you been doing poorly and he’s decided to send you deeper into the under-city?  You can't imagine what a worse job than your current one would look like,  but you are sure the ones further down would somehow manage it. 

 

Ji'anna shakes her head a little, absently stroking one of her lekku head-tails.  Their rich, teal tattoos show starkly in contrast to her yellow skin,  even in the dim of the barracks. "I don't know," she answers softly. Then, she tries to give you a small, reassuring smile.  "But he didn't seem angry."

 

You nod slightly and, with a shaky sigh,  you slowly extract yourself from your blanket and swing your bare feet over the side of the cot to the cold floor.  Reaching under the cot, you pull out your boots and stuff your feet into them.   The soles of the boots are worn so thin that you can still feel the cold floor through them when you put your feet down.  Then you pull a small wooden box out from under the bed and set it between you and Ji'anna to open the lid.   

 

Inside are the few items you still possess in the entire galaxy other than the clothes you always wear.  First is a simple linen bag with a long strap.   Carefully folded under it is a plain black dress.  Your mother had snuck it to you the last time she saw you.   It had been hers at your age,  before your father's career had taken off.   She had wanted to give you something finer but she knew anything finer would likely be taken from you.   Next was a small bound book, A History of Sardecia.  The spine was well worn and broken from being read so much.   There was also a small ring, made of two wires of silver twisted together.   You had hid it in the hem of the dress and made sure it was still there by touch.  

 

Carefully,  you place the items inside the bag and cinch it closed before drawing the strap over your head and right arm. The strap rests diagonally across your torso,  snug between your breasts, and the bag sits on your right hip.   After a moment of thought,  you snatch up the blanket from the cot, deciding you are claiming it, and drape it over the bag between the ends of the strap.  Then, you close the wooden box and slide it back under the cot for whichever unlucky soul gets this lumpy mattress next. 

 

You take a few moments to try and steady your shaking breath,  but it's no use.   With a shake of your head and a small shrug, you push to your feet. 

 

"Okay, let's go," you say, feeling numb. 

 

The two of you walk side by side through the under-city.   Ji'anna lingers close to your side,  worriedly, but careful now not to let her bare arm touch yours.  She rambles on about nothing in particular and you suspect that she is just nervously filling the silence between you. 

 

When you reach the overseer's door, she stops a few feet from it and lightly touches your back, over your shirt, in an attempt to be reassuring. 

 

"Good luck," she says softly. 

 

You give her the tiniest of smiles, trying to look brave, before you turn to the door and knock.  It slides open and you step through.

 

Just inside the office, you go deathly still as your eyes fall on Mando.  He's leaning back against the wall, opposite from Leestun's desk.  At first he barely glances at you as you step inside, instead focusing on one of his hands.  The glove is pulled off and he's adjusting a wrapping of gause around half his palm and between his fingers.  The gause has a light staining of dark red over the peaks of his knuckles.   Then, satisfied with it,  he replaces the glove and finally lifts his head to regard you. 

 

You stammer for a moment to speak before you're cut off by Leestun's voice, snapping your name.  Your eyes dart over to the Overseer and then swiftly drop down to the floor by his desk, remembering acutely that he does not like bonded to meet his eyes.

 

"Good, you're finally here," the Nikto says as he's closing up his data pad.  He steps around the desk and looks you over with his arms crossed, before turning to Mando.  "I do not understand the appeal of human women," he says with a chuckle.  

 

You glance up at the two of them fleetingly, seeing Mando bristling a bit at Leestun's words.  You quickly drop your eyes again before Leestun turns back to you.

 

The Nikto doesn't seem to notice the Mandalorian's ire as he speaks to you again.   "Well, you are leaving here today. You have your things?"

 

"Y…yes," you stammer,  your thoughts tumbling over one another in a jumble.

 

"Excellent!"  He claps his slightly pudgy hands. "She is all yours," he says happily to Mando as he turns to walk back around his desk. 

 

Confusion written across your face, you dare to look up at the two of them. "What?"

 

Leestun glares at you and your eyes drop again.  "You are going with the Mandalorian," he states.  "He has purchased your bond."

 

Your eyes widen as your stare at the floor, your jaw working opened and closed silently as you try to form a coherent thought. Finally, the weight of those words settle into your brain and your eyes snap up to Mando’s dark visor, your eyebrows knit together in shock.

 

And anger.

 

“You… you…” Your breath hitches sharply. “...You BOUGHT me?!” you shriek at him, your voice rising an octave by the last word.

 

Mando winces at the piercing yell.

 

Before either of you notice, Leestun has suddenly come back around his desk and cuffs you upside the head, against your right cheek. With a yelp you drop away from him to the floor, landing hard on your hip and the heel of your hand. You duck your head down under your right arm instinctively, to fend off any more blows.

 

“How dare you…” he begins with a sneer, but his words are suddenly cut off and garbled.

 

Looking up from behind your hand, your palm pressed to the stinging pain on your cheek, you gasp softly. Mando has the smaller Leestun by the throat, slammed back against the wall next to the door. The Nikto’s gray hands claw at the gloved hand desperately, his eyes wide as they stare up at the imposing face shield of that beskar helmet, his feet slowly inching up off the floor.

 

Mando leans in closer, his black visor filling Leestun’s terrified vision. “Do not touch her again,” he growls lowly, “or you will lose the limb that hand is attached to.”

 

With one harder shove of his palm against Leestun’s throat, to drive home the threat, he drops the overseer, who immediately slumps to his hands and knees, coughing violently.

 

He turns to you as you stumble back up to your feet. Reaching out with his left hand, he holds your arm behind the elbow to help steady you, just like he had in the throne room a year ago. His right hand comes up to catch your chin and he carefully urges you to turn your head to the side, leaning a bit closer to examine your cheek. Releasing your chin, the back of his leather clad fingers lightly brush over the angry red welt forming over your cheekbone.

 

You gasp softly at the gentle touch, your breath stuttering. Mando’s hand stills against your skin and the tiniest movement of that helmet lets you know as his attention shifts from your cheek to your eyes. You feel frozen in place, a knot forming in you belly, as you’re held by that intense gaze.

 

Behind Mando, Leestun struggles to his feet, still coughing, and he punches the button to the door. It slides open noisily. “Get out,” he croaks.

 

You blink a couple times, managing to tear your eyes away from that visor as Mando finally drops his hand away from your cheek and releases your elbow. He steps back from leaning close to you, his shoulders straightening as he coldly regards the Nikto for a moment.

 

Leestun’s eyes widen a bit and he swallows nervously before mumbling, “Please,” and looking away towards his desk.

 

You blink in surprise at the kowtowing overseer and have to press your lips firmly together to keep from laughing a little.

 

Mando glances over at you and, seeing your expression, the faint chuffing sound of his chuckle escapes the helmet.

 

You bite the tip of your tongue, glaring up at him.

 

With another indistinct chuff, he jerks his helmet towards the door. “Let’s go.” He turns to walk out of the office.

 

The mirth drains from your face. You watch his back as he walks away, your mind reeling again with the knowledge that he’s bought you.

 

He owns you.

 

Your eyes dart around for a moment before you glance at Leestun. He’s glowering at you from that same spot beside the door. That’s enough to get you moving and you grasp the strap of your bag across your chest as you quickly follow after the retreating armored figure.

 

As soon as you pass through the arch, the door slams closed behind you and you can hear a mechanism lock within the wall.

 

Mando spins around at the sound, his blaster seeming to suddenly appearing in his hand. You freeze in place, eyes wide at him, until he lowers the pistol once he sees there is no threat coming from the overseer.

 

A tiny voice off to your left squeaks your name questioningly.

 

You look over to find Ji’anna stepping out of the shadows, her big eyes dancing back and forth between you and Mando. “Oh. Hey, Ji’anna. You’re still here?”

 

The little twi’lek nods rapidly, coming closer to you and glancing warily at the Mandalorian. “Are you okay?” she asks in a whisper.

 

With a brief look at Mando as he clips his pistol back to his belt, you turn to face Ji’anna. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you answer softly.

 

Hell, am I okay? What.. what the kriff just happened?

 

She doesn’t look convinced. “What happened?”

 

“Um. I’m… I’m leaving Nar Shaddaa.”

 

Her tattooed eyebrows arch up sharply. “You are?”

 

You nod, a little too rapidly. “Yeah. I…” You take a deep breath, working to quiet the heartbeat that thunders in your ears. “My contract has been bought.”

 

Her eyes widen and she briefly glances at Mando before dropping her eyes and looking back at you. “By him?” she squeaks.

 

You glance at him too. He’s standing about ten feet away, waiting patiently with his hands resting on his belt. Looking back at Ji’anna, you nod again.

 

She seems to consider that for a moment and then you see a flash of her normal optimism as she gives a little smile. “Well, at least you’re getting out of here. Who knows, maybe you’ll get to see Naboo!”

 

You give her a questioning look for a moment before remembering the conversion at the food hall yesterday. Giving a thin, tired laugh, you nod a little again. “Yeah, maybe.”

 

“Can I… can I give you a hug?” she asks uncertainly.

 

When you hesitate, your eyes taking in the bare skin of her arms, she shakes her head quickly. “Nevermind. No, no. I know better.” Her hands clasp behind her back and she gives you another sweet smile. “I’ll miss you.”

 

You return her smile, tears glistening in your eyes. Suddenly you pause and hold up a finger for her to wait. With a tug, you pull the blanket, that you had stolen from the barracks, free from its spot draped over your bag. Swinging it around your shoulders, you also twist it around your arms to cover them. After a moment, satisfied that your skin is covered, you hold your arms out to her invitingly.

 

She gives a happy little squeal and steps forward to wrap her arms around your torso in a tight hug. You return the embrace, careful to keep your head tilted away from hers as she rests her head on your shoulder. You catch a glimpse of Mando out of the corner of your eye, his head canted curiously as he watches you.

 

“I’m going to miss you too, Ji’anna,” you say softly. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

 

Stepping back from you, she smiles up at you brightly, swiping away tears from her eyes.

 

“You too,” she says seriously. Glancing away from you for a moment, she scrunches up her nose in thought before screwing up her courage and looking over at Mando. She raises her voice a little to make sure he can hear her. “And you take care of her, okay?”

 

After a moment’s pause, the beskar helmet moves in a single nod. “I will,” he responds crisply.

 

She looks away from him quickly then. Normally, she would never look at an owner directly, much less speak to one unless they spoke to her first. The fact that she had done so for your sake, chancing punishment if it had angered him or if an overseer had been near-by, causes a swell of gratitude to blossom in your chest.

 

You step forward to pull her into another quick, tight hug as you sniff away the tears that threaten to escape.

 

Then, with one final smile exchanged, she gives you a little wave and turns to disappear back into the grimy streets of the under-city.

 

With a shaky breath, you unwrap the blanket from your shoulders and begin folding it back up as you turn to walk towards Mando.

 

“Thank you,” you say softly, not looking up at him directly. “For waiting. I’m ready to go now.”

 

He studies you silently for a second and then nods a little. With steady strides he leads you away from the factory sector, towards the large industrial elevators that you know will bring you to the surface.

Chapter 5

Summary:

This is a fairly fluffy chapter, picking up where chapter 4 left us. Tension building.

Let's turn up the heat!

Thank you everyone for reading and for the encouragement with kudos and comments! I love it all.

Warnings: Some man-handling, a bit of angst and alot of fluff. Sexual tension.

Chapter Text

The journey across the city takes a while once you reach the surface. It probably wouldn't normally, but you keep getting distracted, looking up at the pale sky. Sure, it is an ugly gray and smog filled but… sky!   You hadn't realized just how much you missed it.  It's jarringly bright, but you can't get enough of looking up at it.   No walkways above you. No gears and chains turning overhead.  No walls and machines going up, up, up as far as you can see. 

 

Nothing but glorious, empty sky!

 

Eventually realizing why you keep lagging behind, Mando takes a hold of your arm and guides you through the crowds, his grip firm but not harsh. You relent to his gentle lead and let your eyes drift.

 

Everything is vivid up here, more brilliant. You'd forgotten how sharp colors could look when they aren't choked by steam, smoke, grime and all the layers of the city overhead, casting everything into grim, dark shadows.  Even the people seem more vibrant as they walk leisurely, chatting or browsing shops. No one seems to be in any particular rush. It's a stark contrast to the hurried and focused clamor of the factories now far below your feet.

 

The people do scurry to get out of Mando's way though. They part before him in waves, like they suspect he'd just bowl over them otherwise. You have a hunch that they might be right.

 

Once more you start to lag behind, even coming to a full stop and not realizing you're resisting Mando's lead. He stops to look back at you again, tilting his head, and finds you standing with your eyes closed, inhaling deeply. The scent of cooked meat and spices wafts on the air currents created by the passing crowd and when your eyes open, they search hungrily for the source.

 

You spot the vendor’s booth and just stare at it for a moment, swallowing hard. Then, you suddenly realize that you have stopped moving and look over at Mando.

 

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble, stepping away from the booth to continue the trek towards the dock.

 

Mando moves in front of you and you bump right into his chest plate, face first. “Ow!” You inch back from him, rubbing at your nose and grimacing up at him a little over your fingers.

 

His head tips forward, questioningly. “Are you hungry?” he asks softly.

 

Your tongue darts across your lips as you glance towards the vendor. You start to shake your head no, when your stomach vehemently disagrees with you, giving a loud growl. Your eyes widen in embarrassment and a flush rises into your cheeks.

 

He hooks a finger under your chin and lifts it to bring your focus back to him. “Are… you… hungry?” he asks again, emphasizing each word.

 

Pressing your lips together, you finally give a little nod.

 

Without another word he steps around you and walks over to the vendor. You watch as he talks to the man, biting your lip and wrapping your arms self-consciously across your belly as it grumbles again. Mando hands the vendor a few credits in exchange for two skewers of roasted meat. Moving back to you, he holds them out.

 

You reach out to take the sticks, but he doesn’t release them. Instead, he steps close again, making sure he has your full attention and that you can hear him over the noise of the crowds.

 

“When I ask a question,” he says firmly, “don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. I won’t ask something if I don’t want an honest answer.”

 

You blink up at him for a few heartbeats, your hand resting over his on the proffered skewers. Swallowing hard, you nod again, meeting his gaze. “I understand.” Then he releases the food to you and you give him a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

 

When you take your first timid bite, it makes you seriously wonder if Heaven is real and if this is it. Your eyes actually flutter closed and you swear you might melt on the spot as the rich flavors and spices dance over your tongue. It’s the first well cooked and quality food you’ve eaten since arriving on the company’s slave transport so many months ago. You give a tiny groan of delight before tearing off another bite.  "Mmm… Maker…that's so good," you murmur without opening your eyes. 

 

Mando stands there with you, transfixed for a moment by the joy on your face, as you quickly finish the first piece. It isn’t until a passing Nautolan accidentally bumps into him with a quick apology that he snaps out of it. Shaking his head, he gives a little jerk of the helmet and says “Let’s go,” a little more gruffly than he intended. He turns and resumes the walk towards the docks.

 

You fall into step behind him, oblivious of the distraction you had caused, as you begin to tear into the second skewer.

 

When you reach the docks a short while later, he ushers you up the boarding ramp of an older looking ship. Inside, he points to a couple of metal crates off to one side. "Go take a seat. I have to load up some supplies."

 

As he turns back down the ramp, heading toward a pile of miscellaneous items on pallets, you offer to help. His abrupt, negative response leaves you standing at the top of the ramp, hands set on your canted hips, a little annoyed. 

 

Walking past you again, he drops a few items into a corner of the cargo hold. Then that inscrutable helmet levels on you, finding you still standing in the same spot and looking irked.  Even strides bring him to you and your chin lifts again to meet his eyes through the visor.

 

Kriff, he's TALL.  I'm going to get a cramp in my neck from looking up constantly.

 

"Yes?" you ask.

 

"Take a seat or you're going to be in the way."

 

Your hands raise off your hips and you cross your arms. "Or I could be helpful," you state defiantly.

 

Mando pauses for only a moment before suddenly grasping you by the waist with both hands. You give a little yelp of surprise as he easily lifts you off your feet and your hands snap out to grip the edges of his cuirass for support. He takes three steps forward and unceremoniously deposits you on your ass on top of the crate nearest to the ramp.

 

He leans in, his voice low. "You'll help by staying out of the way."

 

You blink up at him wide eyed for a few breaths. He shifts then, as if to step back from you, but stops short, angling his head to one side.

 

"Wha…?" you start to ask but cut the word off when you realize you've still got a grip on the sides of his armor, the warmth of his chest permeating through the armorweave shirt and warming the back of your fingers. You quickly release the Beskar plate and drop your hands to fidget in your lap, fighting to keep a blush at bay as you avoid looking up at him. "Okay.  All right," you say rapidly, "I'll stay here."

 

Mando watches you briefly before nodding. He clears his throat a bit and pulls back from you, his hands slipping from your waist as he goes back to loading the supplies.

 

You inhale shakily, surprised by the way your skin seems to tingle where the pressure of his hands had been. He had picked you up as if you weighed no more than a blanket and the warmth left by his hands feels like it is spreading through you in waves to settle into your chest and belly.

 

Closing your eyes, you focus on steadying your breath as you scooch further back atop the crate. You pull your feet up onto the crate and drape your arms across your bent knees, plopping your chin down on them.   Once you are confident you've got that blush under control,  you open your eyes again to watch him. 

 

It only takes a couple minutes of watching for you to realize he was right about your help.  He is quickly opening various doors to put items away, or he knows just the right corner that has enough room for this or that. You don't know where he keeps anything, so you would have probably made a mess. You sigh softly in resignation.

 

At one point he opens a door at the front of the cargo bay.  The door is only open for a moment as he sets something inside, but you straighten a little with rapt attention at seeing the tiny room beyond. 

 

A fresher?! 

 

Maker, help you, you literally cannot remember the last time you'd taken an actual shower.  Was it on the ship that brought you to Nar Shaddaa?  Maybe it was even before that,  while you were still being held on Sardecia.  The bonded barracks only had a sonic shower you were allowed to use twice a month.  And you never actually felt clean afterwards.  

 

A few minutes later,  Mando finishes bringing in the last of the supplies,  dropping another crate next to the other two.   He pauses, seeming lost in thought for a moment.  Then,  apparently making up his mind about something, he looks up at you, still perched on the first crate. "I have business to finish in the under-city.   Wait here."  Another pause.  "Don't… go poking around," he adds, as he turns to head down the ramp again.  

 

You take a moment to nibble nervously on your lower lip before you call after him, "Mando?"

 

He stops about halfway down and turns back to regard you. 

 

"Can I…"  The question catches in your throat.  It's been so long since you could safely ask for something from anyone, and you're finding it difficult to form the words. 

 

He's approaching you again before you even realize how long you've paused.  "Can you…?" that smooth, electronic tinged voice prompts you from within the helmet. 

 

You give a small shrug, looking a little sheepish.  "Can I use the fresher?" 

 

For a few breaths, you're not sure if he heard you.  He doesn't say anything.  Had you whispered the question without realizing it? 

 

Then suddenly he's moving again, but this time towards the fresher door.  Sliding it open, he reaches inside and turns it on, adjusting the temperature knobs as he mumbles something about the heat knob being tricky.  Next, he pulls open a couple of drawers to grab items you can't see at first.   When he returns to you,  he holds out a towel, a set of base layer pants and a shirt.

 

"We'll…we'll have to get you some things that will actually fit you…at our next stop," he says, the words strained. 

 

You take the items gingerly, fingertips dancing over the slightly rough cloth as you look down at the pile, swallowing back a lump in your throat.  "Thank you."

 

When his larger, gloved hand reaches out to cover yours, you jump a little in surprise,  lifting your eyes to his visor. 

 

"When you need something…just ask."

 

Your breath quickens a little at those softly spoken, insistent words.  It feels like your chest is in a vice and it's difficult to get air.  

 

Were you imagining it or was there a hint of a plea, just at the edge of his voice?  As if he is asking you to allow him to take care of you?  

 

For a brief moment, you're tempted to reach up to him.  To let your fingers find the sliver of exposed jawline below his helmet and above the cowl that covers his neck.  To let that touch help you understand the emotion that is so well hidden behind that impassive metal and opaque visor.  

 

Would his jaw be rough with stubble, you wonder, or smoothly shaven?  

 

Maker, did it just get hot in here?

 

With a sharp inhale, you pull yourself back from that urge, biting your lip a little as you nod.   "Okay…Mando. I..I will."

 

He finally removes his hand from yours after another moment, giving a nod of his own and gesturing to the fresher.  "Take as much time as you want.   I'll be back in a couple hours."

 

Quick, long strides take him back down the ramp, wind pulling and snapping his cape as soon as he leaves the shelter of the cargo hold. As he reaches the bottom, he presses a control on his vebrace and the ramp shutters and begins to close. 

 

Once it is shut, you take a moment to enjoy the quiet.  Down below, there was never really any quiet.   The machinery echoed off of every surface, bouncing down streets and off of buildings.  Inescapable.  Here, other than the soft hiss of water from the fresher, there isn't any sound now that the airlock seal is engaged.

 

Looking at the open fresher door,  steam rolling out of it, you give a genuine giggle; a sound that you haven't made in many years. 

 

Then,  you practically scramble off that crate.

 

 

Mando comes back just shy of two hours later, dragging a large, unconscious Keshiri behind him.  Opening up the ramp and pulling the bounty inside, he brings the body over to the portable carbon freezer and shoves it into an empty frame.   With the punch of a few buttons, a cloud of freezing gas briefly fills the space, and Mando pushes the now frozen Kwolan over with two other occupied frames.

 

He turns to look around the strangely quiet cargo hold and finally spots you.

 

You are stretched out across the top of the supply crates, sound asleep.  The bag of your meager belongings is under your head as a makeshift pillow and the stolen blanket is draped over you, although it's too small to cover you completely, like it had been torn into two pieces previously. 

 

To his surprise, you'd slept through all the noise he'd just made coming back in, and he can only guess at just how exhausted that means you are.  Either that, or you're a ridiculously heavy sleeper. 

 

Whichever is the case, he still moves as quietly as he can as he approaches you. 

 

Your freshly washed hair is still damp, hanging in locks around your face and shoulders.  The shower had cleaned away the grease and grime, and he realizes that your skin didn't have as many bruises as he thought it did last night.  A faint chuckle filters out of the helmet as he notices the way you had to roll up the legs of the pants and the sleeves of the shirt.   Even with those adjustments, his clothes simply dwarf your petite frame. 

 

After a moment of hesitation, laugh fading, he reaches out and gently draws a few locks of hair away from your neck, finally getting a look at the small tattoo just under your right ear.   It's made in black ink: just an image of a closed fist, wrapped in ribbons.   

 

A slave's mark.

 

Mando sighs as he lets your hair fall back into place. 

 

Well, despite that disappointing reminder of reality, it's still the first time he's seen you look peaceful.  Any doubts he had about buying your bond disappear.

 

Let her be mad at me forever, he thinks.  It's the better option. He's not even sure if you actually are mad, but your accusatory words in the overseer's office this morning keep echoing in his mind.  

 

"You BOUGHT me?!"

 

After watching you for a few more moments, Mando turns to the corner of the hold that has his sleeping rack and slides it open.

 

A pair of big brown eyes turn to Mando and the wrinkly, green skinned child coos up at him happily. Mando lifts one finger up to the front of his helmet as if against his lips, and he makes a soft shushing sound.  

 

"How long have you been awake?" he asks softly, as he holds out a food bar to the kid,  who takes it eagerly and begins to devour it.  He had checked on the child discreetly earlier, while he was putting supplies away, and he hoped the kid would still be asleep when he got back. 

 

Oh, well. 

 

Reaching over the kid's head, he grabs a large bag he'd stuffed into the rack earlier. 

 

"Stay here, be quiet," he tells the little one firmly.   "I'll be back in a few minutes."

 

Closing the door again, he looks over at you to make sure you're still asleep.  Certain that you are, he then considers the area for a moment before moving over by the bulkhead opposite of you and the crates.   

 

He crouches and sets down the large, cylindrically shaped bag, which is nearly as long as you are tall.  Unzipping it, he pulls out a large roll of foam-like material.  It unrolls easily over the decking.  Standing back up, he looks it over and nods to himself,  satisfied with the bedroll's location.   

 

Taking a few steps to reach your side again, he considers you for a moment.  He contemplates just letting you sleep there, but Maker knows you'll wake up sore.

 

Leaning over you, he carefully and slowly lifts your closest arm up and over his head,  draping it around the back of his neck. Then, his arms gently slide under your knees and the middle of your back. He watches your face closely with each movement, pausing if you seem about to stir.  Finally, he gets you pulled in close to his chest and lifts you off the crates, your blanket still draped over you. 

 

He turns back towards the bedroll and then stops in place as you shift in his arms.  Wiggling a little, you seem to be trying to get comfortable again, but you don't fully wake up.  You move your head from where it had come to rest against his shoulder, and instead nuzzle your face into the curve of his neck, against his cowl.   Apparently pleased with finding his body heat there instead of the cold Beskar steel, you give a tiny mewling moan and go still again. 

 

Mando doesn't move, frozen there by the feeling of your breath against his skin, slipping through the armorweave.  "Kriff," he mouths silently, fighting to calm his ragged breathing.  

 

Dammit, why are you so soft in his arms and how do you fit so well now that you've found that spot?

 

He starts to move again and carries you over to the bedroll.  Slowly kneeling, he carefully lowers you down onto the foam.  For a moment you cling to him though, still nuzzling that spot below his jaw.  Mando clenches his fists against the bedroll and bites back a growl.  

 

It takes him a few moments but he finally manages to gently pry your fingers from the cloth of his cape and move back from you,  standing up. A tiny murmur of disappointment escapes your lips at the loss of him, but then you're snuggling obliviously under your blanket, into the soft bedroll. 

 

Mando turns away from you, bracing one hand against the bulkhead next to the fresher, eyes closed behind his visor.  Jaw clenched,he reaches down to adjust the front of his pants, trying to lessen the discomfort from the suddenly tight fit at his groin. 

 

Finally he gives up and tugs open a drawer to grab a towel. "Sorry,  kid," he mumbles towards the closed sleeping rack.  "I need a cold, fucking shower," he growls lowly, before slipping into the tiny fresher.

Chapter 6

Summary:

No warnings to be had really. A little fluff. A little angst.

The timeline will start moving again after this.

Enjoy!

Chapter Text

When you wake up, everything feels wrong.

 

The room feels wrong. The bed feels wrong. The air feels wrong. Even your clothes, hair and skin feel wrong.

 

Everything.

 

Jolting awake, eyes wide and darting around, you clutch your blanket to your chest. It is dark, with only a couple of small lights on in the cargo hold, and it takes a few moments for you to remember where you are, the memories of the last two days flooding back.

 

Oh… the Mandalorian’s ship. Right…

 

Different room and bed. Cleaner air. Different clothes. Clean hair and skin.

 

Taking a few deep, calming breaths, you will your racing heartbeat to slow down.

 

Not wrong, you think to yourself, just different.

 

Tossing off your ragged blanket, you pause, your brows pulling together in confusion as you notice the bedroll you’re on. Your eyes dart up to the nearby crates that you know you fell asleep on and then down to the foam beneath you again.

 

“Huh,” you mumble, “I don’t remember moving...”

 

With a slight shrug and a shake of your head, trying to push away the last remnants of sleep haze, you climb up off the bedroll. You reach above your head, up and back, arching slightly as you stretch. For a second you marvel at the fact that you haven’t woken up with a new ache or pain, something you’d come to expect every morning when you climbed off your cot. A soft smile touches your lips as you press a bare foot onto the foam bedroll.

 

I need to thank him for that.

 

Your smile fades a little then, as you think of Mando.

 

Your new owner.

 

Where is he?

 

Lips pressed together, you sigh and push your fingers through your hair, pacing in the narrow space between the bedroll and the crates.

 

How the hell am I supposed to feel right now? you wonder.

 

Honestly, you FEEL better than you have in a long time. Amazing what a bit of good food and a shower will do, plus a decent night’s rest. But your mind is a jumble from the events of the past day and your nerves feel frayed.

 

Why am I here? Why did he…buy me?

 

With a shake of your head, you push the questions aside for now and look around the quiet cargo hold again, your head tilting to one side in consideration.

 

“Are we moving?” you ask the empty space around you, then laugh at yourself a little. “Of course we’re moving… it’s a ship.”

 

That probably means that the object of your confusion is up in the cockpit. The ship doesn’t seem to have many other places he could be, after all.

 

Taking a deep breath, you walk over the cold metal floor on bare feet, stopping at the base of the ladder and looking up into the alcove above. There is a reflection of lights from somewhere further forward in the ship and you think you hear movement up there. Biting your lip a little in consideration, you shrug and climb.

 

Stepping up onto the companionway, you peek your head into the cockpit. Mando is sitting in the pilot’s seat, doing… well, you have no idea. Something with the controls. Piloting is not exactly your strong suit. You look over the array of buttons and switches for a moment with a rueful shake your head. That’s a lot of stuff to keep track of. Then you find yourself smiling softly, your eyes drawn to the wisps of light flashing past the viewport as the ship travels through hyperspace.

 

After a couple minutes of just watching, you rap your knuckles lightly on the frame of the door leading into the cockpit to let the silent pilot know you’re there. The seat spins sharply and Mando just stares at you for a moment.

 

“Hi,” he finally says, flatly, and you arch a slender eyebrow at him.

 

“Did you forget I was here?”

 

He shrugs one shiny shoulder as he turns back towards the viewport without saying anything.

 

Oh, we’re going to have riveting conversations, I see.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

The beskar helmet turns slightly over his right shoulder for a moment before he nods a little. “Sure.”

 

You step over the threshold and past the two jump seats that sit to either side of the door, moving up to stand to the right of his seat. A slight scrape of metal against cloth tells you he’s probably looking up at you, and you swear you can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t look back at him. Instead, you brace the heels of your palms gently on the edge of the control console. You’re careful not to touch any buttons and the pressure reminds you that your hands are still raw from the factory chemicals. You ignore the ache though as you lean over the control console a bit to take in a better view of the streaking lights of hyperspace.

 

“I don’t know what it is about it, but I’ve always loved the way hyperspace looks,” you say softly, enchanted by the dancing light.

 

Mando watches you for a few moments, the streaking lights beyond the port highlighting the angles of your face from this lower view. He clears his throat quietly and forces his attention back to the controls in front of him.

 

“It’s… peaceful,” he finally responds.

 

You smile softly at that, nodding a little. “I think that’s definitely a big part of it.” You turn to look at him… and immediately regret it, shielding your eyes from the reflection off his armor. “Dank Farrik, you’re bright!”

 

Blinded for a moment, you rub at your eyes and then pause at a sound, blinking against the spots in your vision.

 

“Are you laughing at me?!”

 

Sure enough, there is that amused chuffing coming from his direction. “Well, it’s never been a problem for me,” he says.

 

You dare to look at him again. The reflection isn’t so bad when you’re at least expecting it, and when your eyes are narrowed in a glare. Your nose scrunches up and you stick your tongue out briefly. “Oh.  I see the bounty hunter thinks he’s a comedian.”

 

Ignoring the additional chuckles that come from him, you turn towards the viewport again. You blink away the last few dark spots and keep your eyes on the space beyond the transparisteel, rather than the shiny pilot.

 

“So, where are we heading?” you ask as you push away from the console and slowly back up to the jump seat behind you.

 

“Dantooine,” he answers, pressing a few buttons before turning to look back at you. “I have another…”

 

His words cut off, his hand suddenly snapping out at you as you’re about to sit in the jump seat. You flinch as the gloved hand grabs onto the front of your shirt and gives a sharp yank. With a yelp of surprise, you stumble forward. As you start to fall, he releases the front of your shirt and catches you across the waist. Your hands, meanwhile, flail to find something solid and one hand lands on the edge of the console and the other high up on his far thigh, leaving you leaning over his lap awkwardly.

 

You stay there for a moment in shock before snapping your eyes up to his helmet through a curtain of hair that fell across your face. “What the kriffing..?!”

 

The angry words catch in your throat as you realize just how close you are to him. You swear you should be able to see his eyes behind that visor, a mere inch or two from your face. You become acutely aware of the warmth of his arm across your waist and the taunt muscle of his upper thigh beneath your palm. His fingers flex against your hip and you inhale sharply, feeling like you’re frozen to that spot.

 

Maker, how is he so intense when I can’t even see his face?

 

Finally, he breaks the silence, clearing his throat as he lifts his free hand to jab a thumb back over his shoulder. “That’s his seat.”

 

The sound of his modulated voice breaks through to your frozen brain and you suddenly realize the position you’re in, still leaning over him.

 

“What?” you ask hurriedly, as you push off of the console and his thigh, eliciting a faint strangled noise from within the beskar helmet. You hesitate briefly at the sound, looking down at him.  But then you turn sharply, stamping down a blush, to look back at the jump seat for the first time.

 

Once again you go still in surprise, blinking dumbly at the little green thing staring back at you.

 

It tilts its head excessively to one side, dramatically imitating the confused cant of your head as it looks back at you with large eyes. Its wing-like ears twitch and perk up. Then it gives a soft coo at you and a trilling sound.

 

You know you’re staring at the big eyed little thing, but you can’t help it. You’ve never seen anything like it. For a couple breaths, your mouth opens and closes silently as you try to find the right words, before finally looking back down at Mando in confusion. You find he's still watching you intensely and you swallow hard. 

 

“What is…” Your voice comes out a bit higher pitched than you expected and you pause to clear your throat. “What is it? A pet?”

 

“A child,” he answers, and you can hear a smirk in his voice.

 

You glance over at the wrinkly, green face again. “A kid? Really?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How did you end up with a kid?” you ask, a bit shakily.

 

Mando’s still looking at you as he answers. You can feel it. “He’s a foundling, under my protection.”

 

“Oh,” you respond, lamely, your mind reeling.

 

Licking your lips, you tilt your head at the little one again, who wiggles his tiny three fingered hands at you and twitches those gigantic ears again. You chuckle lightly.

 

He is kind of cute, you decide.

 

“A foundling? Okay. An orphan. Soooo…"  you pause, a soft smirk tugging up one corner of your mouth, "...no family resemblance then?”

 

Mando goes very still beside you.

 

It takes you a long moment to get up the courage but you finally peek over at him from the corner of your eye. That helmet is cocked sharply to one side at you and you can feel the incredulous look he’s giving you. He keeps staring at you, until you snort softly as you try to bite back a laugh.

 

"Does the helmet pinch the ears?"

 

The sound of a slow, measured exhale escapes the helmet and for a second you wonder if you've offended him.   But then he shakes his head with a light chuff and turns back to the console, mumbling something in a language you can't understand through his laugh. 

 

Your shoulders shake as you laugh softly, grateful for the break in the tension. Looking back at the child, you step closer and crouch down in front of him. You drape an arm on the front of the seat to support you.  “Hi, Little One,” you say, smiling at him and looking into those big brown orbs that pass for eyes. “Sorry I almost squashed you,” you whisper.

 

The kid gives you a happy little “Patoo!” and a cherub smile. 

 

Looking back at Mando (well, the back of his helmet anyway) you ask, “Does he have a name?”

 

The Mandalorian pauses and shrugs. “If he does, I don’t know it,” he answers and he sounds a little sad to admit it.

 

You look back at the little green critter, frowning softly at that, just in time to see his tiny bare hand come down on your arm. With a gasp, you have to fight the instinct to yank back from the touch. It could very easily send the child tumbling right out of his chair if you do, which you don’t imagine will go over well with his guardian.

 

Mando turns quickly when he hears your gasp, his hand instinctively hovering over the pistol at his hip, before he realizes that whatever the issue is it probably won’t require firepower. He looks down at you curiously, to find you staring at that tiny hand on your arm.

 

Minuscule, warm pulses dance through your skin like the overlapping ripples of a pond, coming from that tiny spot of connection. They cascade up your arm almost lazily and bounce across your chest, spreading into your other limbs and up into your head. Once there, the pulses reach with calming tendrils into your senses, stilling the almost constant background noise that plays through your mind.

 

You inhale shakily, your eyes closing for a moment before focusing on those big eyes again. “What are you?” you ask softly.

 

Mando seems to materialize next to you then, picking up the child quickly but gently. You blink several times when the connection is broken and the dissonance comes rushing back into the back of your mind. You shake your head slightly in an attempt to push some of that white noise away again.

 

Tilting your head back, about as far back as you can, you look way up at Mando’s helmet from your spot on the floor.

 

With the child held in one hand, he offers the other to you to help you up. “He’s… different. Don’t worry about it,” he says, unaware of the effect the child’s touch had on you.

 

Shrugging a little, as you aren’t entirely sure what just happened anyway, you take his offered hand and let him pull you to your feet. A touch of pain laces through the palm of your hand and you try to hide a wince behind your other hand, as you lift it to tuck a bit of hair around your ear. Of course, the ever observant Mandalorian notices the wince and pauses to study you.

 

You pretend to not notice and move to step through the threshold to go back down the ladder. He keeps a hold of your hand though and you stop to look back at him. After meeting your gaze for a moment, he pointedly looks down and turns your hand over in his to examine your palm. The skin is still raw and cracked, though the shower you took yesterday did at least clean it a bit. He releases the hand and catches up your other one before you have a chance to pull away, finding the other palm in a similar state.

 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say quickly. “Most of the time I don’t notice it.”

 

“There’s a medkit downstairs with a burn ointment that should help. Might even have some bacta strips. Let’s get them wrapped up.”

 

You shake your head quickly. “No, really. I’m fine.”

 

There’s a slight twist and cant of his head at you but he doesn’t say anything. It only takes you a moment to realize that’s probably a ‘Don’t argue’ look he’s giving you. With a sigh, you go back to the ladder and climb down to the cargo hold.

 

About five minutes later he’s got you sitting on one of those crates again, this time with the little green gremlin next to you. The kid is watching intently as Mando lays out individually wrapped bacta strips and gauze. You keep looking over at the little one, not paying much mind to Mando’s movements.

 

Big, brown orbs look up at you intensely, with little hands resting on your thigh, over the thin layer of your pants. The kid coos softly and then suddenly goes into a brief tirade of babbles and gibberish up at you. When it ends, just as quickly as it began, you look back at him with dramatically widened eyes.

 

“Is that so?” you laugh softly, and then glance up at Mando’s visor. “You able to catch any of that?”

 

“Not a word.”

 

You snicker a little and look back down at the kid. “Well, whatever it was, it sounds very interesting,” you assure the little one.

 

Mando chuckles as he takes up one of your hands, palm up, in his larger ones.

 

Your breath catches sharply and your eyes snap to his hands. You hadn’t noticed when Mando had removed his gloves, but now he held your hand in his bare ones.  Strong, thick fingers turn your hand gently as he examines the chemical damage again.

 

With a sharp jerk you try to pull your hand from his grasp but he catches you by the wrist, his eyes lifting to your face with a questioning tilt of the helmet.

 

Pulses of energy from his touch sweep into you, warm and carrying a mix of emotions. The strongest feels like it clutches at you though: guilt. It leaves you breathless, your heartrate spiking.

 

You try again to pull from his strong grasp and force yourself to look up from his hands, searching the dark visor desperately. “Please…” you beg softly, “…let go.”

 

That soft plea cuts through Mando's resolve and confusion, his brow knit behind the visor, and he releases your hand. He watches your hands curl together and you clutch them firmly to your heaving chest. 

 

Your eyes close tightly and you lean forward at the waist, over your clenched hands.  You force yourself to take several deep breaths,  although the last one is just as shaky as the first.   That overwhelming feeling of remorse seems to be latched on to you, like talons digging into your brain. You can't shake it for many long moments.

 

Achingly slowly, the guilt starts to melt away from your mind and just leaves you shaken,  your breaths shallow. 

 

When you finally open your eyes, you gasp softly to find yourself face to faceplate with the Mandalorian's reflective helmet.   He's crouched in front of the crate, one hand braced on the edge of it next to your thigh, so he can look up at you after you'd curled up over your lap.  You can feel his eyes searching your face.

 

He's holding the kid, who he knew would have tried to climb on you as soon as you doubled over, in his other hand.  The big ears are flattened out and tilted down as the child also looks up at you with concern. 

 

"What just happened?" Mando asks, gently but firmly. "I didn't put anything on your hands yet."

 

You bite your lower lip hard as you straighten up a little.   Mando stays crouched in front of you though,  balanced on the balls of his feet.  It's like he's worried you'll leap up and run away like a brush-mouse at the slightest movement from him. 

 

You swallow hard looking away from his concerned attention as you try to figure out how to explain. 

 

"I… I don't like… sk-skin to skin contact," you say softly, "The…um… energy and-and emotional draw is too much."

 

He straightens sharply at that like you had struck him in the chest, leaning back from you slightly, though he doesn't stand.  "You're using your… Force ability?"

 

You turn back to him, surprised by the touch of accusation in his voice.   Okay, granted, you wouldn't care for someone probing around in your mind or emotions without warning either.   But still…

 

"I'm not USING it!" you reply, a bit snappy.   "I can't… I can't figure out how to turn the kr-kriffing thing off again!"

 

When there doesn't seem to be a response forthcoming,  you give a trembling sigh, and then drop your face into your hands, elbows propped on your knees.  

 

You're both quiet for several moments.  

 

"I'm sorry," you whisper,  sounding exhausted.  "I don't… I didn't mean to intrude on you like that."

 

Mando lets go of a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.  Pushing up to stand, he sets the child down in its floating egg crib.  The big eyes and ears peek up over the edge, watching the two of you intently.   Then Mando reaches over to the other side of you,  where he'd set his gloves, and he pulls them back on. 

 

With hands safely covered,  he takes a hold of your wrists and pulls your hands from your face.   You flinch at first, but then relax a little when you realize he's wearing his gloves again. Your eyes raise up to that T-shaped visor. 

 

"Has it always been like that?" he asks.

 

You shake your head softly.   "No, it's a fairly recent…annoyance," you answer with a thin laugh.   That word doesn't come close to being accurate. 

 

He nods slightly.  "Makes sense."  At your confused look,  he shrugs.  "It didn't seem to be an issue last year, when you… questioned me."

 

Your tongue darts across your lips before you press them together softly, looking down at your hands.   "Oh, right."

 

His fingers rub at the back of his neck and he shrugs a little.   "Give it time.  You'll figure it out."

 

You blink up at him, his confidence in you surprising you a bit.   After a moment, you give a barely perceptible nod and soft smile. 

 

Reaching over next to you, he picks up a bacta strip and some gauze and holds them out to you.  "In the meantime,  you need to wrap your hands.   Then get some more rest."

 

You nod,  accepting the items and setting them in your lap.   "Okay.   That…that sounds good actually."  You pause.  "That reminds me.  Thank you… for the bed."

 

He nods a little, after a moment.  "You're welcome."  Then, he turns to head back to the cockpit, picking up the kid on his way.   At the base of the ladder he stops, looking down at the kid for a moment before turning back to you.   "Oh,  by the way…"

 

You look up at him curiously from the bacta strip you're unwrapping.  A concerned expression crosses your face for a moment, as he tugs off one of his gloves again.   

 

He holds up the tan hand in front of him, wiggling his fingers slightly.   

 

"Five fingers.  Not green.  No resemblance," he says, deadpan.  

 

Then he promptly turns to climb the ladder,  leaving you in a pile of giggles. 

Chapter 7

Summary:

Trigger warnings: Violence and strong sexual content

Chapter Text

The trip to Dantooine feels like it passes in slow motion, the week creeping along. After the chaos of working in the factory, you would think that the slowness would be welcome. It is, somewhat. At least at first. 

 

You fall into a bit of a routine.  You sleep, enjoy a shower, eat. You say "Good Morning!" mockingly to the carbonite frozen Kwolan, who startled the hell out of you once you finally noticed him the second morning you were aboard the ship.  Sometimes you sit up in the second jumpseat in the cockpit, just watching the lights, or watching Mando as he's making flight adjustments.

 

The little one is a bundle of energy, most of the time, bouncing back and forth between you and the Mandalorian whenever you join them in the cockpit. A few times you manage to convince the very protective guardian, when he's showing signs of falling asleep in his chair, to allow you to take the foundling with you to the cargo hold so he can get some rest.  For some reason, he generally refuses to go down and sleep in the  sleeping rack. 

 

At those times, you take the little goblin down below and let him just run circles around you until he finally wears out and sets himself down on your bedroll. Then you sit quietly with him, sometimes telling him stories from Sardecia, sometimes listening to his little babbles about Maker-knows-what. Eventually he'll snuggle up to your lap, always against your thighs whether you're sitting up or laying down, and drift to sleep.

 

A few times over those days, you reach out to the little one's face when he's asleep and lightly touch the tip of your finger to his cheek. Tentative. Each time you feel the same tiny pulses of warmth that you felt the day you met him, like gentle overlapping ripples. You close your eyes and enjoy the quiet that descends on your mind. After a few moments though, you draw back guiltily, sighing. You're not sure how the kid is doing that, but you feel awkward seeking that calmness from him. You can't explain it to the child. So, is it right to take it? How is it different from taking the emotions from Mando, whether you meant to or not?

 

Pushing those contemplations aside, you curl up with the kid to rest.

 

As the days pass, you also try to strike up conversations here and there with Mando, and you manage to get him talking a little, but not much. You get a couple of brief hunting stories out of him, when you ask about places he's visited. It takes some coaxing, but you are also able to get a general story of how the kid came to be with him. As he tells the story, (an abridged version, no doubt) you keep looking over at the child sadly.

 

He's so small. Why aren't his own kind even looking for him?

 

Eventually during these conversations, Mando grows quiet again, usually fairly quickly. So, you fall into a companionable silence for a while, broken up by the child jabbering at one of you.

 

Now and then you think you catch him watching you in the reflection off the viewport. His gaze is intense, like he wants to say something in those moments but can't find the words. Sometimes you pretend not to notice. Other times you quirk an eyebrow at him and the tiniest movement of the helmet tells you that you were right about his eyes on you. 

 

Other times, you get the distinct feeling that he is uncomfortable with you up there after too long, like he doesn't know what to do with you. To be fair, from the looks of it, he usually only travels with the kid. That pairing doesn't exactly strike you as ideal for long conversations, from either side.

 

So, when the silence becomes a bit uncomfortable, you unfurl yourself from the seat and retreat back down to the cargo hold again, to stretch out on the comfy bedroll and rest some more.

 

 

On the sixth or seventh morning, (you've kind of lost track) you wake up feeling dynamic! For the first time in many months, you're practically charged with energy.

 

I feel SO good!

 

You throw off the blanket and jump up, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you give your wry, morning greeting to the carbonite statue with a grin.

 

Your eyes flit around the quiet hold as you hop a little from one foot to the other. An undeniable urge to DO something is building moment by moment in your limbs, like electricity.

 

Okay, okay, okay! Kriff! Calm down! It's not like you can run a mile inside this ship!

 

With a little laugh at yourself, you take a few slow deep breaths, shaking out each of your limbs. You slowly tip your head to one side and then the other, stretching your neck as you listen to the sounds of the ship.

 

It’s quiet. Very quiet. The other occupants must still be asleep.

 

All right. I’ll get in a quick workout before they wake up.

 

After brief consideration, you decide to change into your old tank top shirt and trousers, which are more like shorts now. You had cut away the worst of the tattered portions after washing them a few days ago and now they fall above your knees. Sure, they are practically threadbare, but they should be easier to maneuver in than the clothes you’ve been wearing. Mando’s clothes are just too big for you to workout in comfortably.

 

You go through some easy maneuvers first that you haven’t tried in many months, testing the strength of your muscles, your balance,  and your flexibility: deep lunges with your arms stretched out forward and back, bending your body in half and hugging your ankles, simple splits horizontally on the deck and standing with your toes pointed to the ceiling. It’s been so long since you’ve gone through these movements, you weren’t sure if you still could. You’re almost giddy to find that you are still able to do the moves and stretches, though you can't hold them as long as you could back on Sardecia. You decide to make this a normal routine. Another way to regain more of your strength.

 

After several minutes, you decide to try one of the more complicated moves you used to love and do with ease. 

 

Laying on your back, you bend your knees and place the soles of your feet flat on the deck. Your hands twist backwards, elbows up and palms flat on the deck beside your head. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, falling into a place of calm.  Then you push your pelvis up towards the ceiling slowly, lifting your entire body off the floor and arching until you are up on your toes and the pads of your fingers.

 

You inhale deeply as you hold the position, your body shaking just a bit. The scent of leather and spice is in the air and you smile softly. It’s become a familiar scent around here.

 

Tightening your abs, you lift one leg upward slowly and then push off with the other foot, pointing your toes towards the ceiling in a handstand and holding it for a moment or two. Then, as slowly as your trembling muscles will let you, and with a gradual exhale, you lower one foot at a time in the opposite direction to rest flat on the deck. You end up in a dramatic triangular stretch, face down with your head near your hands on the floor and your hips pushed high towards the ceiling.

 

Once again you inhale deeply as you hold the position.  But then you gasp, your eyes flying open. There are other scents mixed in with the ever present leather and spice that you didn't notice with your last breath: soap and aftershave.

 

Kriffing Hell, did the fresher door just open?!

 

 

Mando knows that he should have turned away immediately. 

 

You obviously didn’t know he was there.

 

But Maker, the sight of you is mesmerizing. 

 

The fresher door had opened several moments before you noticed, while you were still in the first portion of the maneuver. He has been rooted to the spot ever since, his mouth going dry and his cock stirring as he stands half in and half out of the fresher in just his helmet and armorweave pants and shirt. He can’t take his eyes off of you as you lift out of that deliciously provocative arch. By the time you finish the maneuver, leaving him with an amazing view of the perfect curve of your ass, he is biting back a groan. 

 

When you suddenly realize he is there, you push up fast from your bent over position, straightening and spinning on him. You move quickly enough to catch him as his helmet rises, his attention obviously lifting from where your ass had just been.

 

You look at one another in awkward silence for a split second, before you are suddenly overwhelmed with dizziness.

 

Eyes closing, you teeter on your feet and would have fallen if not for his quick reaction. He closes the distance to you in an instant and catches you around the waist, pulling you flush against him.

 

“Are you all right?” he asks softly after a moment, his voice husky through the helmet’s modulator. He swallows hard and clears his throat.

 

The tip of your tongue darts out across your lips and you blink a couple of times to push away the dizziness, slowly looking back up at him. He’s holding you so close that the dark visor completely fills your vision and you're overwhelmed with the spiced, musky scent of him. “Ye… yeah. I’m okay. Just...stood up too quick,” you stammer with a little laugh. 

 

He nods, taking a slow breath. “Sorry if… I startled you," he responds, his voice so quiet that it almost doesn't make it through the modulator. 

 

You return the nod, but just barely. It's like you're afraid any larger movement will break the tenuous control you are holding over yourself, to keep your body from shifting against him.  To not bring direct attention to the erection pressed against the curve of your hip that you both seem determined to pretend not to notice.  Your body positively thrums at the delightful pressure though,  warmth pooling at your core and making you bite your lip to keep from moaning. 

 

It's made all the more difficult when you suddenly realize your hand is resting on his unarmored chest.  Only a layer of armorweave lies between your palm and his skin and you can feel the muscle beneath it, and the rapid beat of his heart.  Your fingers spread flat against his chest as if with a mind of their own and his chest rises against your hand as he inhales shakily. 

 

The spell holding your both enthralled is suddenly broken by the proximity alarm's harsh blare.

 

You jump a little and he steps back, clearing his throat. 

 

"Uh, that's Dantooine," he says awkwardly as he steps back to the corner of the bay, and picks up the pile of Beskar armor laying on the deck below the rolling door to the sleeping rack. 

 

How did I not notice that? you screech at yourself in your head.  

 

He walks to the ladder and tosses the armor up into the alcove before climbing up, moving quickly now, like he needs to get away.  "We'll be landing in about two hours," he says as he disappears.   Then he hollers down, like an afterthought,  "Can you take care of the kid?"

 

"Su…sure!" you call back, and then you hear the cockpit door close up above.   

 

With a heavy, shaking sigh, you step towards the sleeping rack.  You pause outside it, resting your head against the cool metal of the bulkhead, crossing your ankles and pressing your thighs together in an attempt to relieve some of the ache in your core.  A failed attempt.

 

Grumbling, you press the button to open the rack and then put on a smile as big brown eyes peek over the edge of a tiny hammock at you. "Hi, Little Man!  Want to come out and provide some desperately needed distraction?" you ask with forced cheerfulness. 

 

The wing-like ears flatten and tilt downward.   Yeah, he's not buying your bantha-shit.

 

 

Mando can't remember the last time he'd been so glad to go on a hunt.  He just needs to escape you for a while. 

 

You are everywhere, even when you aren't next to him, filling the spaces around him.   When you speak to the child in the cargo hold, your voice drifts up to the cockpit.  He can't always pick out the exact words, but the lilt of your voice is so sweet, especially with the kid.  And when he occasionally removes the helmet (in the cockpit, in the fresher, or in the very rare case when he catches a couple hours of sleep in his closed rack) your aroma assaults his senses.  You are everywhere, permeating every bit of his ship, like the haze of smoke from incense at a temple. And having your body pulled up against him, even briefly?  

 

You are like a kriffing drug. 

 

He sets the Crest down in an open field, after stroking himself off in the closed cockpit…again.  He couldn't exactly go after a quarry with a raging hard-on.

 

What the hell are you doing to him?

 

His fingers rake through his hair as he sighs heavily.  Grabbing up his helmet again and putting it on, he makes sure everything else is tucked back where it belongs before he opens the door. 

 

Fuck, he needs this hunt, and honestly hopes the guy gives him a good fight.  Although a supposedly clumsy, but so far lucky, thief doesn't sound like a very good challenge. 

 

Avoiding looking at you as he gathers his weapons and gear, he gives a few curt instructions before leaving quickly. 

 

"Stay with the ship.  Keep an eye on the kid.  I'll be back in a few hours." 

 

 

A few hours turns into almost twenty when Mando finally gets back, pulling a rather large Zabrak in manacles behind him. His armor and clothing are splattered with a bit of mud but that would really be the only sign he'd even gone on the hunt, if not for his captive.  The quarry had given him a decent chase but that was about it.  When he'd seen the size of the Zabrak, he had been expecting some kind of actual brawl, but the guy had bolted and kept running through the small settlement.   

 

Mando had finally just used his fiber cord whip to catch his prey when the Zabrak ran across an open courtyard.

 

Pulling the quarry across the field to the Crest, Mando stops short when he sees the open boarding ramp.  He watches for several moments, snapping at the Zabrak to shut up when he questions the sudden halt.

 

There's no movement in the ship. 

 

Dank Farrik. 

 

Moving closer slowly, tugging the Zabrak along, Mando draws his pistol from its holster and holds it out ahead of him at the ready. What if something happened to you, to the kid? His eyes dart around the dark interior as he stops at the end of the ramp.  

 

Where are you two?

 

With a snarl, he yanks the Zabrak up the ramp and to one side of the cargo hold.   He secures the manacles to a tie down loop at the base of the bulkhead wall.  Then he sprints to the ladder, going up it just enough to see that neither you or the kid are in the cockpit.  Dropping back down, he checks the fresher and the sleeping rack too.

 

"Dank Farrik!" he growls, charging back down the boarding ramp, ignoring the Zabrak's complaining, and stalking around the outside of the ship. 

 

By the nose of the ship, he comes to a halt again, nearly doubling over with a sigh of relief when he hears the undeniable babbling of the small green child. Holstering his pistol, he follows the sound, towards two lone trees growing up out of the rolling field of tall, purple grass, a short ways away. 

 

His steps pause a bit as he draws nearer, his head tilting slowly to one side as he hears your voice and finally sees you.

 

Are you…singing?

 

"Don't worry, sweet little darling,

I'll be here to catch you if you fall. 

But you won't need me, I just know it, 

You're gonna rise above it all.

 

You'll dance along the moonbeams, 

Swap stories with the sun, 

Tell secrets to the twinkling stars,

And make the whole galaxy a lot more fun."

 

You're laying on the grass beneath the trees, your back flat with your knees lifted toward your chest.  Your shins are parallel to the ground and pressed together with the foundling laying on top of them on his belly.  Sleepy eyes look down at you over your knees, big ears drooping slowly.   His little clawed hands hold onto your index fingers as you gently tilt your hips, swaying him side to side. You smile up at his little wrinkled face softly as the lullaby, and the careful rocking, lull him into a sleep that he's been fighting for the last couple of hours. 

 

The sound of grass crunching softly underfoot catches your attention.  You go very still for a moment, listening and trying not to wake the kid.  Very slowly, you tilt your head back against the ground to search for the source of the sound and you find a looming statue of beskar, upside down. 

 

"Oh!" you say in a whisper, blushing a little to have been caught singing, but smiling up at him softly anyway.  "You're back."

 

Mando stares down at you for a few more moments, his mouth curved into a soft smile behind his visor.  Fuck, could you be any cuter? he wonders.  His voice catches a little as he tries to keep it low, to not bother the kid.  "Ye…yeah.  Just got back.  Was worried when you weren't on the ship."

 

Your nose scrunches up a bit, contemplating.   Okay, apparently you can get cuter, he thinks. 

 

"Oh, sorry," you whisper, "I didn't think of how that might look."  Your lower lip catches between your teeth for a moment in thought.  "I'll… leave a note… next time."

 

"That would be good."  Pause.  "Need some help?"

 

You laugh softly and nod, looking back up at the sleeping foundling.  "Yeah, I'm kind of stuck."

 

With a chuckle, Mando walks over and gently lifts the child off your shins, cradling the little muslin bundle in the crook of his arm as you get to your feet.  You take the kid back with a quiet thank you and the little one snuggles into your shoulder as you and Mando walk back to the ship. 

 

As you round the corner to the boarding ramp, Mando suddenly stops, his arm reaching out across your chest to stop you too.

 

The Zabrak is standing just inside the cargo hold, leveling one of the pistols from the weapons cabinet at the Mandalorian’s chest.   The manacles are hanging from one of his wrists.  "Don't come any closer!" he yells, his eyes and his aim darting back and forth wildly between Mando and you. 

 

Mando stays rooted in place, but his hand moves towards the pistol at his hip.   Meanwhile,  you carefully and slowly move your feet,  turning your body gradually so you can shield the child with your arm and a curved shoulder. 

 

"I'm…I'm…I'm taking this ship!" the quarry stammers.

 

"Not happening," Mando replies, flatly. 

 

"Ye…yes, yes I…"

 

Suddenly, a high pitched little squeak interrupts him, coming from the child in your arms as he yawns and stretches. 

 

The nervous Zabrak yelps in surprise and whirls on you, squeezing the trigger. 

 

"NO!" Mando bellows, his pistol appearing in his hand. He lets off two shots in rapid succession.  The first hits the Zabrak in the right shoulder, staggering him.  The second takes off the top third of his skull with a burning hiss. 

 

The body crumples to the deck. 

 

Mando pivots to you and falters for an instant, seeing you on the ground.  You're on your knees, hunched over and facing away from him.  His stomach clenches and he lurches forward.  Boots skid over the grass as he drops to his knees in front of you and reaches out desperately to grasp your shoulders.  Voice cracking through the modulator, he calls your name. 

 

Your eyes snap up to meet his visor, impossibly wide, before they dart past him and around, trying to find the Zabrak.  Your breaths are rapid and shallow.   Mando's hands catch the sides of your face and he forces you to look up at him.  

 

"Are you hurt?" he demands through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched painfully. 

 

Swallowing hard, it takes you a moment to find your voice, but you shake your head hastily in his hands.   "No-no-no," you rattle out, trying desperately to catch your breath.  "No," you finally manage to say more steadily, "I'm fine."

 

You look down sharply then at the little one clutched to your breast.  He looks back up at you with those big brown eyes, ears switching between perked and drooped.   A shaky breath escapes you in a relieved sigh. 

 

"We're both fine," you whisper. 

 

His eyes drag over the both of you for a moment and then Mando sags beside you, his hands dropping from your face to brace on the ground.  The top of his helmet rests against your shoulder and he lets out a low string of expletives as he catches his breath. 

 

You tilt your head to the side a bit and look around.   Your eyes widen again as you finally spot the Zabrak's body. 

 

"Holy Maker, that was fast," you whisper in awe, replaying the events in your head and realizing how quickly he must have reacted.

 

His head lifts slightly to regard you and then he follows your eyes to the body.   He pushes to his feet and catches you by the elbows to help you stand as he growls softly,  "Not fast enough."

 

You scowl up at him. After a moment of consideration, your hand snaps up to grasp the bottom edge of his helmet and tug his head down to look at you.  He goes very still, looking at you with surprise from behind the visor.  

 

"Stop. It." you say, enunciation each word as you stare into his eyes.  "Don't you dare take any of the blame for this off of him."  You pause, exasperated.  "He shot at a child! Because it yawned!" You take a deep breath, releasing the Beskar.   "He doesn't deserve you taking any of his blame…and neither do you."

 

With that you turn and walk determinedly up the ramp, stepping over the dead bounty.  "Let's get this cleaned up and get off this kriffing planet."

 

Mando watches you for several breaths and then gives a thin, wry laugh,  shaking his head as he follows you onto the ship. 

 

About fifteen minutes later, the Zabrak's body is frozen in carbonite and the ship is in the air,  leaving Dantooine behind. You watch out the viewport as the blue of the atmosphere shifts into the black of space.

 

"Mando?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"That night, on Sardecia," you start slowly, seeing him go still.  "How many guards did it take to catch you?"

 

He's quiet for several moments, making adjustments to the controls.   Then, he flips on the autopilot and slowly swivels the seat to face you. 

 

"Why?"

 

You cant your head at him a little.  "Because…you were so fast today.   And, well, you're Mandalorian."  With a little laugh, you shrug one shoulder.  "I've always wondered.  I find it really hard to believe it was just those three."

 

The helmet tilts some as he considers you for a moment.   "Ten."

 

"'Ten,'" you repeat, and then your eyebrows arch sharply.  "Ten?!  Seriously?"  

 

He nods. 

 

As you start to laugh,  Mando leans back in his chair and regards you curiously. "Yes, ten.  Why is that funny?"

 

"Because they were the King's Guards," you continue to laugh softly,  shaking your head.  "Supposedly our best… and it took ten of them to capture one warrior?  If we ever actually went to war, we'd be doomed!"   

 

The modulator chuffs with his light laugh. 

 

Then, with a soft sigh, you rest your chin on your bent knees and look at him.  "There was no way my father was going to let you go alive.  No matter what I or anyone else said."

 

His head jerks slightly at that.   "What?"

 

You uncurl yourself from the jumpseat, stretching a little as you explain.   "He had too much to lose; too much pride.  There he was, spouting about war coming, and his elite guards can't handle one skilled fighter without huge losses?"  You look down at him with a sad little smile and shake your head again. "He'd probably decided what to do with you before they even finished pulling you into that throne room."

 

Turning, you walk into the alcove and stop to look back at him.  "Please…" you clear your throat and start again.  "Please, stop condemning yourself for what happened that night…for what happened to me.  My father was already set on a road that I was going to clash with, sooner or later.  You…just happened to be the catalyst."  You shrug a little, giving him another soft, sad smile before heading down the ladder. 

 

Mando watches you go, swallowing hard against the dryness in his throat, his mind reeling. 

 

 

You gasp sharply, eyes flying open as strong arms encircle you.  They pull your body backwards into the hard lines of his on the bedroll.  

 

Large hands spread across the soft curve of your hip and belly, fingers pressing into your warm flesh and you can feel the hard outline of his cock pressing against your ass.

 

"Man…Mando?" you stammer in surprise, looking around.   It's pitch black though.   You can't see a thing.  Why is it so dark in here?  Your lips part in a soft pant and your tongue darts across them nervously.  A tremble races down your spine, heat pooling between your thighs, as his hand slides up from your hip to slip under the hem of your shirt. 

 

 

"Yes," his voice is deeper than usual, heated and breathless in your ear.  "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I just wanted… needed to touch.."  He groans softly, "Should I stop?"

 

You bite your lip, only taking a moment to decide before your hand moves over his and guides it up.  "No," you whimper, "don't stop." A moan escapes you as he palms the swell of one breast, and you arch into his hand.

 

Suddenly, you're on your back, not even sure how you got there, eyes searching the impenetrable darkness above you for him. 

 

Your wrists are pinned next to your head as his thigh presses between yours.  He pushes his knee up against your blazing core, and you mewl softly at the delicious friction, lifting your hips, desperately seeking more. 

 

"Tell me what you want, Darling," he growls lowly in your ear and for a moment you swear you can feel a stubbled cheek brush against your jaw.  Is he not wearing his helmet?!  But that can't be right.   His voice still sounds modulated.

 

You're gasping for breath, unable to think.  His calloused hands seem to be everywhere: your hips, your ass, your breasts, your face, your hair, your wrists. Everywhere except where you want them. Need them. 

 

"Plea…please, t-touch me," you beg, your fingers digging into the blankets beneath you. "I need.. need to feel your fingers on…on me.   In me…"

 

The words barely tumble from your lips before his hand has dipped under the waistband of your panties.  A thick finger slips through the slick folds of your pussy and your hips buck, a cry ripping from you. 

 

And suddenly you're sitting up sharply on the bedroll, alone, the well lit cargo hold empty around you.

 

You gasp for breath, breasts rising and falling rapidly as you look down at yourself, gathering your blanket up to your chest.  A soft sheen of sweat covers your fiery skin and the neglected flesh of your core aches.

 

Holy Maker, fucking hell, what was that…?!

 

There's a bit of a clatter from above the hold and a moment later Mando drops down from the cockpit without bothering to use the ladder. He moves into the hold quickly, his eyes darting around before settling on you.

 

"Are you all right?" he asks worriedly. 

 

You swallow hard as you look up at him, your mouth feeling bone dry and your breasts still heaving.  Pulling your knees up to your chest,  you wrap your arms around them and press your thighs together in a vain attempt to ease your arousal.  You nod, just barely, chin resting on your knees and eyes down on the blanket. 

 

"Yeah. Fine. Why?" you say, too rapidly. 

 

His helmeted head tilts.  "You screamed."

 

Your eyes widen and you can feel a flush leap up into your cheeks so quickly that you're genuinely surprised it didn't make an audible woosh sound.   You don't dare look up at him. 

 

"Oh.  Umm… just a dream.  I'm…I'm fine. Sorry if I woke you," you stammer out.  

 

"Oh.  Okay..."  He hesitates but then shrugs a little.  "Good night."  Turning, he goes back to the ladder and climbs back up to the cockpit. 

 

You moan quietly, twisting and dropping down to lay on your side,  burying your face into your blanket.

 

Fuuuucccckkkk……

 

 

Chapter 8

Summary:

Trigger warnings: Lots of sexual tension, some violence/ assault, angst and man handling

Chapter Text

You avoid Mando over the next few days like the Candorian plague.  

 

You feel a little bad about it.  He's been treating you well, after all.  You've just been at a loss how to act around him now and it's frustrating.  Your traitorous mind simply refuses to let go of the images from that dream. They come back to your consciousness at the most inopportune times!

 

As a result, the flight from Dantooine is dull for the most part.  Having regained some of your strength and no longer fighting the fatigue of hard labor and the lack of sleep, you often find yourself bored, but you do settle somewhat into a routine. 

 

Wake up.  Exercise (after being damn sure of where Mando is).  Maybe play with the kid for a bit if he's not up in the cockpit with Mando.  Maybe exercise some more.  Eat from the simple, but filling, rations that Mando has on board.  Drop off some rations and a water canteen for Mando in the cockpit (he doesn't seem to eat unless you do).  Otherwise avoid Mando.  Read to the child, or make up some fanciful story for him, or sing to him softly if he won't sleep.  Sleep.  Repeat. 

 

Despite your attempts to avoid him, you do bump into Mando now and then and it leaves you flustered.   Avoiding him completely is a bit difficult on this small ship though. 

 

One afternoon, Mando slips past you on the way into the fresher, just after you leave it. Why he couldn't wait until you were completely out of the way, as if there wasn't enough room to maneuver, you don't know. But he doesn't. Instead, he skims close by behind you through the doorway, his hand briefly resting on the small of your back.

 

You nearly melt at that light touch, and you desperately hope that the tiny whimper that escapes you is drowned out by the sound of the fresher door closing. That brief contact leaves you so flushed that he notices it when he comes back out, tilting his head curiously at you as you sit on a crate.  

 

You are fiddling with the small silver ring you had retrieved from the hem of your mother's dress.   It only fits to just barely above the second knuckle of your pinky finger.  You twist it on that finger,  biting your lip as your mind replays bits of that kriffing dream and you absently stare down at the deck.

 

You suddenly notice him standing there,  looking at you, and jump a bit. "What?!" you ask a little too quickly. 

 

"Why are you blushing?"

 

"I'm not," you lie, poorly.

 

"Yes, you are."

 

You just shake your head no, defiantly. 

 

He points at his visor.  "I can see it in thermals."

 

You look up at him, jaw dropping a bit in disbelief. "So… we don't get to see your face… but you get to read my body temperature?"  Pause.  "Could you not?"

 

When he doesn’t respond at first, you huff a little and scowl up at him.  He just shrugs and, you're almost certain, smiles behind that inscrutable visor.   Rolling your eyes, you turn away from him, pulling your legs up onto the other crate and crossing them as you lean your shoulder on the bulkhead. 

 

Maker, I hope he didn't look lower than my face with those thermals on.  Ugh.  I'm like a schoolgirl with a crush and it's getting really, kriffing annoying!

 

 

After a few more days of avoiding him,  somewhat successfully, you finally venture up into the cockpit, after the ship drops out of hyperspace and slows for descent. 

 

"So, what’s on Nevarro?” you ask as you settle into the jumpseat, pulling your bare feet up and resting your chin on your knees as you look at Mando’s reflection in the viewport.

 

The Mandalorian doesn't answer at first as he continues making adjustments to the Crest’s landing sequence. Your eyes drift away from his reflection and you look out through the transparisteel, over the craggy landscape and ramshackle town of the unfamiliar planet as the ship touches down.

 

“The Bounty Hunter Guild’s home base.”

 

“Oh… So, this is where you drop off the popsicles and get new pucks?”

 

He goes still for a moment. Then, very slowly, he looks back at you over his left shoulder with his best incredulous visor stare. “Popsicles?”

 

You give him a wide-eyed, innocent look for a moment before smirking a little and shrugging one shoulder, unapologetically.

 

Mando shakes his head with a soft chuckle and turns back to finish the ship’s shut down sequences. "Yes."

 

You glance over at the kid, who's in his floating egg, hovering to Mando's right.  "Are we going with you?" you ask softly.

 

He looks up at your reflection, watching you for a moment as he considers. You’re looking out at the planet again rather than at him, nibbling nervously on your lower lip as you wait.

 

You’ve been different since Dantooine and, well, he does not like it. You haven’t done anything wrong though, so he’s not sure what to do about it. You’re still civil, if no longer exactly friendly. You’re still attentive to the foundling, who’s well being is still his main priority. You still listen on the rare occasion he needs to give you any kind of instruction. But on the trip to Dantooine he could barely keep you out of the cockpit. Since leaving the purple planet behind, you've barely stepped foot in it. Also, when he's gone down into the cargo hold, he's fairly sure you've been avoiding him, pretending to be busy with the kid or that old book of yours. You’ve definitely been acting differently. In fact, this is probably the longest you've chosen to stay anywhere near him in the last few days.

 

His attention shifts back to the ship's controls as he sighs, and he hits one more sequence before the Crest goes quiet.

 

"No.  The kid is." he finally replies and your eyes dart to him. "You're staying with the ship this time."

 

Your brows knit together softly.  The exclusion hurts more than you would have expected.  After a moment though you give a little sigh of resignation, your chin plopping back down on your knees. 

 

"All right," you concede softly.

 

He stands and grabs the egg, pushing it to float down to the hold.   Before he follows it down, he stops to look at you.   "You okay?"

 

You look up at him and start a little when you realize how close he is, his hip nearly touching your shoulder.   Leaning away from him, making it look like you're doing so to be able to look up at him, you nod a little.  You feel a short lived moment of pride, realizing you aren't fighting a blush… which immediately causes you to have to fight a blush. 

 

"I'm fine.  Just… a little restless."

 

He nods a little in understanding.  "We should only be gone for two hours.  Maybe."  Then he turns to head down to the hold. 

 

You stand up after the ramp below closes behind them, muttering softly to yourself,  and move up next to the control console.  Leaning a hip against it, you watch Mando walk away from the ship and through the huge archway that leads into the town with the kid's egg following behind.  He's met just inside the arch by a boisterous looking, well dressed fellow who greets Mando with a firm handshake and then picks up the kid.   The trio walk down the town's main road and then disappear into a building. 

 

With a soft huff, you lean closer to the transparisteel, looking out at the town eagerly.   There's sections of the town that have vendors' booths opening up for the day, unfurling brightly colored blankets and awnings to draw attention.  Many of the buildings are run down,  but it's obvious that they've been trying to fix up the town. 

 

Oh, you just want to talk to random people again!  You haven't really had that chance since leaving Sardecia.  To hold a conversation over nothing in particular: the weather, childrens' names and ages that you'll never remember, the fabric used in a shirt.   Anything!  You just needed fresh air. 

 

You bite your lip, your eyes drifting to the building far into town that Mando and his friend disappeared into. 

 

Would it really be so bad if you just popped out, just inside that arch for a minute, and said hello to a couple of people?  The last time Mando wanted you to stay with the ship he hadn't been upset that you left the ship, since you'd stayed close.   He'd just been worried when he couldn't find you.

 

This time, you could probably spot Mando before he even gets close to the arch.  That armor does stand out after all.  Then you could make it back to the ship and he wouldn't have to worry.   Right?

 

Taking a deep breath, you consider your idea for a moment and nod sharply. 

 

"I want to talk to people," you say to the empty air with a shrug, and scurry down the ladder to find your boots.  They've been moving around on you recently and you're pretty sure the foundling has been playing hide-and-seek with them, but of course failing to make you aware of the game.

 

Today, you find your boots behind the carbonite frames.   Tugging them on, you then take a few moments to adjust the oversized clothing you're wearing, rolling the pants at the waist and the sleeves of the shirt.  Combing your fingers through your hair, you pull it back into a messy tail and tie it with a cord. 

 

Satisfied, you hit the button to open the ramp and leave the ship behind,  heading for that arch with a bounce in your step. 

 

 

Karga and Cara stare incredulously at Mando as the armored man leans back comfortably in his seat. The child bounces on Karga's lap happily. 

 

"You bought… a slave?" Cara asks, her disbelief and disgust obvious in her voice. 

 

Mando sighs.   "Yes."

 

"To free her?" Karga follows up. 

 

"Yes," Mando says.  

 

They'd already discussed payment for the bounties that Mando had brought back and he had three new pucks to track down.  He'd also asked them both to discreetly inquire around regarding other Mandalorians, to help in his search for others like the kid. 

 

The next point of his business here was you. 

 

Mando points a leather clad finger at the big man. "I need your help with the legalities of her freedom."

 

Karga shakes his head, raising one hand from the kid, palm out.  "Mando, my friend.   You know I'll help you with whatever I can.   I can't help with this though.   I know Bounty Hunters guild law.   The slavers guilds are an entirely different game."

 

"Can you get me a contact somewhere at least?"

 

Karga thinks for a moment,  drumming a finger on his chin.  "I should be able to find someone," he finally says.  "I'll send you the information once I have it."

 

Mando gives a curt nod. 

 

A little Bothan comes up to the table then, nodding at the group and speaking rapidly to Karga in its native language. 

 

Karga's head tilts curiously at Mando. "They've finished unloading the bounties from your ship.  He says there wasn't anyone on board though, like you warned."

 

"Dank Farrik!" Mando curses, practically jumping up and over the back of the booth.  "Keep an eye on the kid!" he calls back as he heads to the door at a sprint. 

 

 

Well, this was a bad idea.

 

You lost sight of the ship and turned a couple too many corners while talking to random people.   They were all very nice.  You just got caught up in the atmosphere and got lost. 

 

Now, you've finally figured out the direction to get back.   You can see the top of the arch over the buildings.  But another wrong turn puts you into a dead-end alley.  The three men that follow you into the alley's entrance look anything but friendly, despite the smiles.   

 

In fact, the smiles make it worse. 

 

"Hey, sweetie," the human at the lead oozes. "You look lost."

 

Fear twists in your stomach as your eyes dart between him and the other two, another human and a trandoshan. But you pull up a look you haven't worn in over a year: your most confident, diplomatic smile with your hands placed casually on your hips and your shoulders back a notch. 

 

"Actually, yes," you admit, meeting his gaze.  "If you could direct me through this maze and back to the entry arch, I would appreciate it."

 

"I bet you would," he says, sickly sweet and making your stomach turn.  He has a decently handsome face and, under different circumstances, you might appreciate this attention.   However, not under these ones, with all three practically leering at you.  

 

He leans his head to one side, looking very pointedly at the tattoo on your neck.  "Where's your owner?"

 

Your stomach drops and that confident air falters a bit.  "He… has business in town.   I'm supposed to meet him at the arch," you lie and give your best frustrated expression, "but I got so turned around."

 

As you talk you inch towards one side of the alley entrance.  You know you stand no chance against them in strength, especially all three.  You're not a fighter.   But you've always been fairly quick.   Maybe you can dart past them and make a run back to the ship?  That is, if you don't get stuck in another dead end. 

 

"Sure, sure," he says, smirking as he shifts to mirror your movements.  "We'll help ya…"

 

"You know…." you say slowly, smiling to try and keep them off guard, "I think I'm okay actually."

 

Suddenly you dart forward, aiming for the gap between the two humans. You duck down to avoid their reaching hands.  Swerving around the second human, you turn sharply back down the side road. 

 

Then, you break into a run.

 

It only takes them a moment to orient themselves and take off after you. You can hear their heavy footfalls.  Fast.  Gaining. 

 

Kark-kark-kark-kark!

 

Your heart hammers in your chest.  Your lungs burn.  It's been too long since you've run.  You're not built for this anymore. 

 

A turn up ahead.  You're fairly certain it'll get you back to the main road.  Just a little further…

 

With a yelp of surprise you are yanked back by a pair of trandoshan hands, gripping your arms and pulling you to a stop.  You struggle and squirm, but they hold you in place.

 

The two humans skid to a stop in front of you, barely winded.  The leader chuckles at you as he steps close, his eyes dragging over you.

 

"You're feisty. Feisty is good."

 

Reaching around your head, he takes a hold of your ponytail and tugs your head to the left. You wince with a grunt.  He just grins at you as he pulls a small data pad from a pocket and holds it up to your neck.   The buzz of a scanner fills your ear for a moment before it beeps and he holds the data pad up to read it. 

 

"Ah, that's what I thought." He turns it to show you with a triumphant smile.  "You must be a runaway.  You're registered on Nar Shaddaa."

 

Your eyes widen as you read the display.  You knew there was a microchip embedded beneath your tattoo.  Anyone with the correct scanner could read it and see your designation.   But…it should have been updated. 

 

"No-no-no," you practically shriek.  "I was sold on Nar Shaddaa.  That's not right!"

 

"Sure you were," he replies with a condescending smile.  "You wouldn't just say that because you know anyone can register a runaway….  Would you?"

 

"No!  I am not a runaway!" you yell in his face, but he just laughs, gesturing for the trandoshan to bring you along as he turns to walk away.  

 

You dig your heels in and shove back against the lizard-esque humanoid. It barely moves him but the elbow you jam into his abdomen loosens his grip a little and he gives a surprised oof.  You kick a heel back into his shin and yank out of his grip, spinning to try and get around him and run back the other way. 

 

You only make it about ten steps before a hand grabs your upper arm again and spins you. Your back slams into something hard and you gasp for a moment before beginning to struggle again, kicking at him. A strong arm slips around your ribs, pushing up your chest, as a gloved hand clamps over your mouth to cut off your cries. 

 

Cold, hard metal presses against the side of your head.  

 

"Stop."

 

You freeze, eyes widening at the familiar, modulated voice growling in your ear. 

 

Your mind and body clash in reaction to Mando's presence.  Relief washes through your mind and you heave a shaky breath through your nose, the scent of his leather glove filling your senses.  Your body trembles though; a mix of the adrenalin from the chase, nervousness from realizing he's caught you outside the ship, and arousal at his closeness, your core tightening and flooding with warmth.

 

His arm clamps firmly around you, securing you against the length of his body.  The gloved hand slips down from your mouth, knowing that you won't scream now that you realize it's him.  But his grip shifts to around your neck, fingertips and thumb pressing beneath the corners of your jaw, against the hammering thrum of your heartbeat.  It doesn't hurt, but it gives him control of your head, which he pushes up and back. 

 

You gasp softly but don't resist, letting your head rest back against his shoulder pauldron.

 

The beskar helmet shifts sharply over your shoulder to regard the trio that come to a faltering halt in front of you, surprised by a Mandalorian's interference in their chase. 

 

The lead human clears his throat and puts on his best, disarming smile.  "Oh, Mandalorian! Good catch! She's been trying to give us the slip.  Quick little thing…" He chuckles a little.  "Thank you for the help! Please, hand her back to us.   I promise we'll keep better track of her this time so she isn't a bother to anyone."

 

Mando just stares at the man for several moments, until the trio start to shift nervously. 

 

"What makes you think you have a right to touch what's mine?" he finally responds, his voice a low snarl from his chest.  A shiver runs up your spine. 

 

The leader's eyes widen a little and he takes half a step back.  "You..yours?  She's yours?"

 

The only answer is Mando's withering stare and a single sharp nod. 

 

The leader studies the two of you for a few moments but seems to come to the conclusion that you do belong to the bounty hunter.  The fact that you aren't struggling at all probably lends credence to the Mandalorian's claim on you. 

 

The other two of your would-be slavers are quickly backpedaling now and the leader begins to do the same.  He holds up his hands in front of him,  patting the empty air. 

 

"Sorry for the misunderstanding."

 

The trio disappear around a corner, leaving the two of you alone on the quiet side street. 

 

You remain deathly still, waiting, your breath coming shallow.  He continues to hold you in that same controlled position for a few minutes.  His only noticeable movement is the rise and fall of his own chest against your back with his breaths. 

 

Finally, the helmet turns towards you slowly, the visor barely touching the rise of your cheekbone. 

 

His voice is such a low growl, you almost don't hear it, despite how close his mouth must be to your ear.  "I told you to stay... On. The. Ship."

 

Your jaw clenches and your eyes close as your breath hitches. Barely able to move, you nod just slightly in acknowledgement. 

 

"Why?" he asks, the word drawn out slowly. 

 

You shake your head, minisculely. His grip on your jaw lessens, just a bit, and your swallow hard.   "I was… I was anxious… restless," you whisper, your voice shaking slightly. 

 

Mando's head tilts so the faceplate of his helmet rests on your shoulder for a moment.   Shifting his grip,  his thumb roughly traces the line of your jaw to your chin and then back to that spot where he can feel your heartbeat through the leather.  He takes a deep, slow breath, his cuirass lifting against your back.

 

His voice is still a growl when he speaks again after several moments pass, "Fuck, sweetling, do you have any idea what they could…would have done to you?"

 

Licking your lips, you bite the lower one softly as you let out a shaky breath and nod.   "But…" You stop yourself short, biting harder on that lip.

 

"What?" he demands, lifting his head to train that intimidating visor on your profile. 

 

"Why…why isn't my registration complete?" you ask softly.   "They would have…left me alone if it was."

 

He tenses behind you, frustration coming off him in waves. "That doesn't make a difference," he huffs, and then growls lowly again.  "But why do you think I didn't want you in town?  I don't have a slavers guild contact yet." There's a long pause.  "I've never owned a slave before to need one."

 

You blink a few times rapidly, pressing your lips together.  Tears well in your eyes as the depth of your fuck up really sinks in.  He'd been trying to protect you, not exclude you, and you practically threw it in his face by disregarding one of the few instructions he's given you. 

 

With a shaky breath, holding back the tears, your eyes close as you will yourself to relax a little and lean back into him. Your voice shakes softly, your tone pleading, "I'm…I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  It…won't happen again."

 

He sighs heavily,  his arm tightening around you again as the helmet's faceplate presses against your hair.  He inhales deeply,  shakily, as if he could take in your scent despite the helmet's filters.  

 

"It cannot happen again," he states, each word enunciated sharply. 

 

You nod rapidly in assurance. 

 

With another sigh he relaxes, though barely.  

 

As his feet shift, stance widening slightly behind you, your rear naturally presses back into the hard lines of his pelvis.  The tiniest, involuntary whimper passes your lips, surprising you as much as him, and you both suddenly go still.  

 

Part of you hopes he didn't hear.  The other part of you thrills, knowing that he did.  That knowledge leaves you trembling in his arms again.  

 

His breath hitches beside your ear and several seconds pass before he breaks the silence. 

 

"Get back to the ship," he says, the words clipped but no longer quite a growl.  "Sit on one of the crates… and do not move from that spot."  He pauses.  "Understood?"

 

You nod.  "Yes."

 

His grip on your neck tightens again, just a touch.  "Yes…?" he prompts, lowly.

 

Your lip catches between your teeth, your mind reeling.  He hasn't shown this control before and your mind and body are at war with how to react.   It scares you… and thrills you, all at once.

 

You're coming to the realization that in the last few weeks you have become almost too comfortable, while he's let you regain your strength and heal.  It's allowed your mind to slip back into the comfortable place it was before your sentencing.  You're not that person anymore, and you'd almost forgotten that. 

 

Mando hasn't.

 

"Yes, Sir," you reply softly. 

 

A brief pause.   

 

"Good girl," he says gently, sending an unexpected shiver through you.  Finally releasing you, he gives a soft push to your hips, urging you towards the main road.  "Now go."

 

Your legs wobble a bit from your trembling once you don't have his support, but you take a deep breath and move forward.  With each step you move more steadily and finally make it to the main thoroughfare, turning towards the arch and the town entrance. 

 

Damn, I was so close. 

 

 

Mando follows you to the main road and watches, making sure you are safely heading back to the ship. His fists clench repeatedly at his sides as he does, his mind leaping back and forth between raging at you and wanting to consume you. 

 

He licks his lips behind that visor, watching as you exit under the arch. 

 

"You were restless?" he says softly, to himself.  "Dank Farrik, sweet girl, so am I."  He grumbles softly.  "Now how do we fix that?"

 

A few ideas come to mind and he chuckles thinly to himself, despite his frustration. With a shake of his head, he turns to walk back to the cantina where he left the child with Karga and Cara. 

 

First things first.   Get the kid.  Get in flight to the next quarry. 

 

Then, well… he'd have to see how things go. 

Chapter 9

Summary:

Trigger warnings:

Drama, angst, use of honorific, smut, explicit sexual content, dom/sub elements, mutual masturbation.

I think that's everything.

I hope you enjoy as we finally get into some serious smut territory!

Chapter Text

It's about half an hour before Mando returns to the ship, with the kid's floating egg in tow behind him.  He stalks up the ramp and inside, hitting the control panel buttons with a closed fist to shut the ramp behind them.

 

He walks right past you, where you sit on one of the crates as instructed.  Without a word or a glance, as far as you can tell, he heads to the ladder and up into the cockpit. 

 

You let out a shaky breath you hadn't realized you were holding. 

 

Now what?

 

Stay put. That's what. 

 

The engines come on with a roar and you jump a little. A nervous laugh escapes you, your eyes closing as you rub your hands over your face.  You listen, the minutes ticking by, as the ship's different systems come back to life. 

 

The floating egg, which had stopped about halfway through the cargo hold, hovers nearby.   A pair of big ears and big eyes poke up over the edge and the kid peers at you cautiously.  He can sense the tension in the air.

 

You give him a small smile.  "It's okay,  buddy," you say softly.   "It'll…. It'll be okay,  anyway."

 

Well, you certainly hope so. 

 

His little arms stretch towards you then, asking to be picked up.   You laugh a bit.   He's so cute. 

 

Leaning forward, you try to reach the edge of the egg but it's just outside your reach.   You sigh, sitting back again on the crate and shake your head at the little, wrinkled face. 

 

"Sorry, sweetie, I can't reach you right now."

 

You will not take the chance of standing up now, even to pick up the kid.  With your luck,  Mando would drop down into the hold at exactly that moment. 

 

The foundling's ears dip down to his shoulders and you give him a sad little smile.   "Oh, don't look at me like that. I can't."  You sigh at him softly.

 

His little face scrunches up a bit and you smirk.   That's his determined expression and you know that adorable little goblin is plotting something. 

 

A few moments later he is clambering over the edge of the egg and plopping down onto the deck, with nothing even remotely resembling grace.   You press your lips together to keep from laughing out loud as he totters up to his feet and then over to the side of the crate to reach up again. 

 

Smiling, you lean down and pick him up.  Your legs are criss-crossed in front of you on top of the crate and you settle him into the cradle of your lap.  Just in time too, as you feel gravity shift and the ship lifts off the planet to head out of the atmosphere. 

 

Nibbling your lower lip, you glance towards the ladder to the cockpit but Mando isn't coming back down yet.  

 

Probably planning to get us into hyperspace first. 

 

A little hand reaches up and the child's little claws softly prick your skin as he touches your cheek.   You look down at him, smiling softly at the calming effect his touch has on the back of your mind and you wonder, not for the first time, if he understands that. 

 

Taking a hold of that little hand, you pull his hand down from your face and just let him clutch your index finger as you rock him softly, his sweet, small voice babbling incoherently up at you. You close your eyes, leaning back against the bulkhead as you sit quietly with him, waiting. 

 

The ship lurches a bit and your stomach drops a little, lips pressing together nervously. 

 

You're in hyperspace. 

 

Several more minutes pass before you finally hear Mando's heavy footfalls coming down the ladder.   You keep your eyes closed, continuing to rock the kid as you hear him step further into the hold and stop a few feet from you.  You can feel his eyes on you and your heart hammers within your chest. 

 

Another couple of minutes pass in silence between you, only broken by an occasional soft and hesitant coo from the child in your lap, as those big eyes turn back and forth between the adults. Your eyes finally drift open, your head turning just a bit to look up at Mando from the corner of your eye through your lashes. 

 

He's standing with his shoulder leaning against the bulkhead, arms folded over his armored chest and his ankles crossed almost casually.  With his head tilted slightly forward, he studies you through that dark visor. 

 

"We have a problem," he states, simply.  

 

All traces of the anger from earlier are gone from his voice, but you can feel it.  It's still simmering somewhere below the surface of that calm-looking, beskar-coated exterior. 

 

Swallowing hard, you give the smallest of nods.

 

His shoulder pushes off the wall and he steps closer, just enough to reach out to the kid.   The little one coos up at you curiously but releases your finger and goes to the bounty hunter without a fuss.   Mando takes him over to the sleeping rack where the kid's small hammock hangs.

 

You can hear Mando talking quietly, reassuringly, to the child but you can't make out the words. 

 

If you weren't so nervous, it would be endearing. 

 

He puts the foundling in the little hammock, tucking the kid in.   Then the door to the rack snaps closed and you jump a bit, the clank of it resounding through the quiet ship like a gavel strike in your ears.

 

Turning back, he steps to the wall across from you beside the bedroll and leans back against it,  resuming a deceptively relaxed pose as he looks down at you. 

 

"It's good to see you can follow some instructions," he says, with a gesture at the crates you're sitting on.   

 

Your mouth opens to respond but then you snap it shut, looking down at your hands sheepishly, with a sigh. 

 

Yeah…you earned that. 

 

"I can't trust you," he says, and you wince.  "How can I now?  With my ship?  With my kid?"

 

Your eyes leap up to him at that, wide.  "I…would never put him in danger."

 

He closes the distance to you so fast you give an eep of surprise, leaning back sharply.  His gloved hands thump down onto the top of the crate, on either side of your hips and he's leaning in so close that you can smell his aftershave. 

 

"I don't know that anymore," he responds, his voice a low growl once again.   That unreadable helmet hovers within inches of your face. "You'll put yourself in danger.  What's to stop you from doing that to him?  To me?"

 

Sure, he knows there's not much you can do that would actually put him in danger, but that's not the point. 

 

Your lip trembles a little and you catch it between your teeth to stop it.   Eyes dropping from his, you focus on the bottom edge of his helmet. 

 

"I… I wasn't…thinking.  I swear it won't happen again," you say softly, but firmly. 

 

A heavy sigh comes through the helmet and he rolls his neck in irritation.   The visor levels on you again, his voice calmer, though still dangerously low.  " Why did it happen this time?" he demands.  "And I need more than 'you were restless'."

 

You blink a few times, your thoughts jumbled as you grasp for an answer.

 

"I'm not…accustomed to my life, my comings and goings, being in the hands of an individual other than myself," you say, taking a shaking breath.  "Even on Nar Shaddaa, where I could or couldn't be was only determined by the work I was tasked with at a given time, by a company."  You shrug slightly.  "Outside of that, there weren't many expectations. This is…" you bite your lip again, finally raising your eyes to meet his gaze, "... this is different.  And I got complacent."

 

Mando's silent for several moments, studying you, weighing your explanation.  Finally he nods. "I suppose that shouldn't surprise me, Princess," he responds.  "I watched you boss around a king and his guards, rather than the other way around."

 

Your lips press together.  You're a little thrown by the use of the title, even with the sarcasm.  Finally you nod, shrugging ever so slightly.

 

"I don't think it helps that…" he groans in irritation, "...we both seem to forget what…you are, when we're here."

 

You barely manage to keep your eyes from widening at that statement as you swallow back a lump that forms in your throat.   

 

"I don't like the idea of treating you like…a slave.  And the fact that I try not to, probably won't change much, day to day, on the ship," he continues,  "But, for the times the distinction is needed, we need to set some ground rules.   Right now. "  That hard edge comes back to his voice.

 

You nod rapidly. 

 

"When I tell you to do something, whether it's often or not, I expect it to be done.   Do you understand?"

 

"Yes."

 

His head cants to one side. 

 

"Yes, Sir," you correct. 

 

"Good."  He straightens a bit but doesn't step back from you.  "This life isn't an easy one.  And not listening can get one of us killed.  I won't accept that."

 

With a soft trembling exhale, you nod.  "I understand."

 

"I hope you do."  The helmet inclines down at you and, after a moment of consideration, he huffs a sigh.  "I don't… particularly like being called Sir.  But, for the time being, it's the only way I have to gauge that you're actually paying attention.  So, until I tell you otherwise, you'll use it when I give instructions, if a response is needed."

 

You nod again.  "Yes,  Sir."

 

He nods too and then falls silent for a bit, as he shifts so he's not standing directly in front of you.  Instead, he props his hip against the crate, just slightly to your right.   After a little time, his hand lifts to catch your chin and he raises it up to make you look at him. "I hope you know, I don't enjoy being hard on you like this," he says, his voice gentler than it's been since arriving at Nevarro. 

 

You shiver a bit at the touch and soft tone, wetting your lips a little. "I know," you reply. 

 

With another nod and sigh, he releases your chin. His hand lifts to rub idly at the side of his neck for a moment before his arms fold over his chest.

 

"There's still consequences for today to deal with."

 

You swallow hard again, waiting. 

 

He hesitates for a moment before giving a small shake of his head in resignation.   "Until I know I can trust you…to do as you're told… you won't be leaving the ship.  In fact, I'm seriously considering shackling you to the bulkhead when I leave."

 

Your eyes widen at that and then your brows knit together sharply.   Indignation wells up in your chest and your mouth works silently open and closed, as if to argue, for a moment.   Finally though, you clench your jaw closed instead and look down at your hands, scowling.

 

Mando watches you and smiles briefly behind that visor, glad to see you resist the urge to argue.   Then, placing a hand on the crate beside you, he leans in to make sure he has your full attention.

 

"We'll reach Kwenn in seven days.  You have until then to come up with a way to convince me that shackles won't be necessary."

 

Pushing off the crate, he moves past you then and heads back up to the cockpit.  

 

At the top of the ladder he calls down, "You can move now."

 

 

The next day you are on edge.  Very on edge. 

 

You have…an idea.  

 

After a lot of thought and self reflection on the problem at hand, you have an idea. 

 

It might be a terrible idea. 

 

Or…it might not. 

 

You've never been as bold as this will require, and you're not sure you have it in you.  It also requires you to admit to some things you've been avoiding. 

 

But hell, I've told off a king.   This shouldn't be as hard as that. 

 

Oh, but it is.  

 

The idea came to you early in the morning,  after waking from another dream about the Mandalorian.  This one was more disjointed, jumping back and forth between the moments from the previous dream and moments of yesterday's events. 

 

After that, it takes the majority of the day for you to work up the nerve.

 

To his credit,  Mando seems to recognize that you're working through something and gives you space, even keeping the kid up in the cockpit with him. 

 

You pace the cargo hold, on edge with every noise, no matter where it comes from. You spend the day rehashing details in your head.  You debate with yourself. 

 

Can you really do this?  Make such an audacious suggestion?

 

Finally, pressing your lips together with resolve, you head for the ladder. 

 

You enter the cockpit quietly, noting the foundling napping on his jumpseat.  Moving to the other one, you settle into it with one bare foot tucked under you and the other lifting to rest on the seat's edge.   Your arms wrap around that bent leg and your chin settles on your knee as you look at the pilot’s reflection in the transparisteel.

 

The only indication that he notices your entrance is a slight turn of his chin to glance at you from the edge of the visor.  Then he resumes whatever calculating and adjusting he was doing with the flight controls. 

 

After a couple of quiet minutes, he leans back in his seat and regards your reflection.  Glancing at the sleeping kid, he stands and gestures for you to follow him back down the ladder. 

 

In the cargo hold he takes a seat on the closest crate, leaning against the bulkhead.  He watches you for a moment.  

 

"You've been avoiding me."

 

You're not quite sure if that was a question or a statement, but you nod slightly.  "I've…had a lot to think about."

 

"Oh?"

 

How does one little syllable feel like such a weighted question?

 

With another nod and a little nibble of your lip, you move past him to sit on the third crate. Your back rests against the boarding ramp door and your feet settle onto the crate between you two, so you're fully facing him. 

 

"Yesterday you pointed out something that…well, I had never really thought about."

 

His head cants curiously. 

 

"You mentioned the night we met," you say, as you absently fiddle with a loose string from your sleeve.  "You said you'd watched me boss around a king."  You give a thin laugh.  "I'd never…thought about it like that. To me…he was just my father."  You shrug.  "Other than that night, he'd always encouraged me to challenge him.   To be a…moral compass, of sorts.  And, as a result, I was rarely told what to do."

 

You lean your head back against the door, raising your eyes from the string in your hands to him. 

 

"Now, I am seeing how…" You pause again, giving a little smirk and shrugging.  "How much of a …spoiled brat that seems to have made me."

 

There's a soft chuff from the helmet as he chuckles and nods.  "Yeah. The thought crossed my mind."

 

You softly laugh too, leaning a bit to one side and resting your head against the bulkhead wall as you look at him.  Over the last several days you'd been avoiding him for one reason or another and hadn't realized until now that you actually missed the sound of that modulated laugh. 

 

After a few moments of quiet, you sigh softly and continue. 

 

"You also talked about how hard this life is.  How dangerous."

 

He rests his head back against the bulkhead with a nod as he listens to you, his head turned slightly so he can see you out of the edge of the visor. 

 

"That's something I've never really had to worry about either," you say, the bridge of your nose crinkling up in thought.  "Sardecia was…is pretty mild compared to other planets, from my understanding. Not many big predators, not a common stop for dangerous people…"

 

The helmet nods slightly.   "That's why I chose it a year ago."

 

You consider that for a moment.  "That makes sense," you respond with realization.  "You were protecting him back then, weren't you?" You point up to the cockpit where the kid is sleeping.

 

He nods.   "Had him for about a week at that point."

 

"He would have liked Sardecia," you muse, softly. 

 

More silence.  It's not quite as tense as yesterday's.  Still, you're on edge.  You haven't gotten to the hardest part yet. 

 

Biting on a corner of your lip, you study him for a moment.   He looks so relaxed, despite the problems of the last couple days, and despite being covered in armor that looks anything but comfortable to you. 

 

He waits for you to break the silence, patiently. 

 

Taking a deep breath, you hold it for a moment and then let it out slowly as you work up your nerve again.

 

"So… I have an idea."

 

The helmet tilts just a bit.  

 

"I need…practice.  I need to learn how to…take your orders without questioning them every time.  So you'll be able to trust that I will listen in the future when it really counts."  You're looking down at your hands again as you speak now, your nervousness preventing you from looking up at him directly. "And…learning to do that here, on the ship, when it's not a life or death situation, makes the most sense… I think," you finish, your voice barely more than a whisper. 

 

He doesn't show any reaction at first as you try to explain your idea.  You can feel his eyes on you though, studying you, like he is trying to make sure he understands what you are suggesting. 

 

"Practice?" he responds, slowly.  When you nod, he adds, "With taking orders?"

 

You nod again. 

 

His voice is quieter with the next question.  "What kind of orders are you expecting here?"

 

And here's where this could go either very well or terribly wrong…

 

You barely look up at him then, through your lashes, the tip of your tongue darting over your lips. 

 

"Any kind."

 

He goes very still at that, but you can see that his breath shudders a bit from the rise and fall of his chest. 

 

"Fucking Maker, Sweetling," he says slowly, his voice low in his chest, after many agonizing seconds of silence, "Do you realize the fire you're playing with…just making that suggestion?"

 

Your lower lip catches between your teeth for a moment before slowly slipping free.  

 

To your own surprise, you're able to keep your eyes on his helmet.  You're not any less nervous, but now… now that you've gotten the words out, you're committed. You need eye contact, as it were.  Years of helping to negotiate with people over various subjects, one way or another, taught you one thing absolutely.   Eye contact can be the key to making a point, whether with a diplomatic politician…

 

Or with the man you've just basically propositioned.

 

"I think I do," you finally reply softly. 

 

With a slight shift of your weight, you take on a more casual position.  Far more casual than you actually feel.  One knee remains bent and your arm drapes over it.  Your other leg straightens out on the crate between you two, your bare foot coming to rest next to him, nearly touching his thigh. 

 

You hold up one finger to him, silently asking him to wait a moment before responding. 

 

"You've been…good to me,  Mando.  Far more than most people in my position could usually expect, I think," you say gently, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear as you let the words tumble out.  "And I believe that, if you were the type to… use me poorly…it would have already been an issue."

 

Mando takes a deep breath, holding it for several seconds before letting it out slowly, coming out as a soft hiss through the modulator.  Without really thinking about it, his hand moves to rest softly on top of the ankle of your extended foot, the pad of a leather clad thumb lightly brushing the protruding bone.  

 

You shiver, just barely, under that touch. 

 

His thumb stops as he realizes what he's doing, but he doesn't move his hand. 

 

"I've never taken advantage of a woman, Princess.  I don't intend to start with you," he says softly, a strained edge to his voice. 

 

You smile gently. "I'm not a princess," you counter with a soft shrug.  "And is it…really 'taking advantage', when I'm offering?" You ask with a slender eyebrow arched.  After another brief pause, you nibble at your lip.  "I…I trust you, Mando.  I want you to be able to trust me too."

 

The helmet stays leveled on you for several moments before he asks, "You trust me, but do you want this?"

 

Moment of truth. 

 

You look away from him for a moment, as if in thought, your eyes briefly falling on the bedroll just a couple of feet away.  The truth is you'd already given that question a lot of thought while you worked up the nerve to talk to him. 

 

With a shy little smile you look up at him from the corner of your eye, through the thin curtain of hair that fell across your face when you looked away. 

 

"Yes," you answer, softly. 

 

The faintest of groans escapes the helmet then, as his head drops a little and he looks down at your ankle beneath his hand.  With the tiniest pressure, he squeezes your ankle and you tremble again. 

 

He slowly looks back up at you. "Three things then."

 

Your head tilts to the right in a passable imitation of his curious look. 

 

"First… a safe word."

 

That makes your brows arch sharply. 

 

"I'm not doing this without a way for you to let me know if I'm going too far."  He licks his lips behind the visor, swallowing against a sudden dryness in his mouth. "This would… eventually require I push your boundaries…otherwise it won't be much of a challenge for you to do as you're told."

 

Nibbling your lip again, you nod a little. "Oh…okay.   That makes sense."

 

"So, a safe word.  If you use it, we'll at least discuss whatever issue you're having, before anything goes further."

 

You take a shaky breath at that and nod again.   "Okay, um… 'Mustafar'."

 

He regards you quietly for a moment and then chuckles a little.   "All right.   Mustafar."

 

Another silent moment passes, as you wait. 

 

"Second, is touch still an issue?"

 

Your eyes widen a bit and then drop quickly down to your hands.   Maker, how had that slipped your mind?!

 

"Yes.  Dank Farrik," you answer softly. "It's…I think it's getting better, but it's still there."

 

"Why do you say that?"

 

"Yesterday…a couple people brushed up against me and I felt their emotions.   But…it wasn't as overwhelming as before."

 

He nods.   "Okay.  That's…good.  And good enough for now.   I can be patient…and we can work around it for the time being."

 

You glance up at him through your lashes again, tucking your hair behind your ear and letting your lips press together anxiously. 

 

Maker, this could really come back to bite me. 

 

You barely resist the urge to giggle after a moment at that thought.

 

Maybe literally. 

 

"Lastly…you need to tell me why you've been avoiding me since Dantooine."

 

You go very still at that and for several seconds you just stare at him, wide eyed. Your mouth opens just barely and then closes several times as you try to figure out how to answer. This was not one of the possible scenarios you'd gone through in your head when preparing for this conversation. 

 

In fact, you're quiet for so long that eventually he sighs, shaking his head and pushing off the bulkhead to get up. 

 

He's almost standing when you finally manage to blurt out, "I had a dream!"

 

He stops, barely leaning on the crate still, his feet on the deck.  His head turns to look at you over his shoulder. 

 

You can feel the heat rising rapidly across your chest and up your neck, into your cheeks.  Your eyes close tightly in embarrassment.  "I had a dream…about you," you finally admit, biting your lip.  "And no…kriffing…clue how to deal with it."

 

The helmet tilts down, like he's looking at the decking near his feet in contemplation. 

 

"That suggests either a really good dream or a really bad one…" he says lowly.

 

You clear your throat nervously, refusing to look up at him and cringing a little inwardly. 

 

Then, you swear you can hear him smirking.  "... but a woman doesn't usually scream a man's name like that for a bad one."

 

Your eyes pop open and you gape at him for several breaths.  "I…I…did not…" you whisper, mortified. 

 

There's something about the way he turns his head towards you, just barely.  You can feel him looking at you out of the corner of his eye, and you know he's not just messing with you. 

 

Brows pinching tightly together, you close your eyes again and rake your fingers through your hair with a humiliated groan.  You know you're probably blushing the brightest shade of red you ever have in your life. 

 

"Excuse me,  I think I'll go find a hole to crawl into…" you say as you slip off of the crate and to your feet. 

 

His deep laugh echoes through the quiet hold. 

 

You huff a little, arms crossing.  The look you level on him is half-glare, half-pout.  "Why didn't you say something?"

 

A single shoulder lifts in a shrug and you can hear the grin in his voice.  "I was hoping you would."

 

Still blushing fiercely, you press your lips into a thin line again.  Finally, you laugh lightly, shaking your head ruefully and dropping your heated face into your hands. 

 

He chuckles a little, giving you a few moments to recover.  Then his helmet cants towards you a bit, a more serious set coming over his shoulders. 

 

"Are you sure about this?"

 

Your breath stutters at the low tone of his voice; at the fact that he's giving you another chance to back out of this, very possibly, insane idea of yours. 

 

Blowing out a slow breath, and licking your lips, you nod.  "I am."

 

His next words come out just a touch lower in his chest then, and husky.   They send a quiver down your spine as he crooks a finger at you. 

 

"Then come here."

 

 

Mando was half expecting you to change your mind with that first command.

 

He is pleasantly surprised when, instead, you bite that full lower lip of yours and take two steps closer to him. 

 

His gloved hands reach out to grasp your waist as soon as you are within arm's length and he tugs you closer.  He surprises you though, spinning you at the last moment.  You give a little yelp, your hands flying backwards to find purchase in the armorweave on his outer thighs.  Chuckling, he pulls your back firmly against his armored chest and the contour of your rear into the flat lines of his pelvis.

 

The hard edges of his helmet press against your hair, throaty words barely coming through the modulator.   

 

"Good girl."

 

You tremble again, a soft moan passing your lips as you feel the rigid outline of his cock pressing against the top of your ass.  Your back arches to just barely push against him, as your fingers curl to grip the edges of his beskar thigh guards. 

 

One arm slips around your waist, holding you taut against him.  His other hand skims up from your waist, lightly brushing against your ribs and between your breasts before continuing up to your neck.  He catches under the corners of your jaw again, like in that side street yesterday, and tips your head back against his shoulder.  With a groan, he grinds his hips against your rear, savoring the feel of your soft body pressed against his, finally.

 

Fuck, what did I just agree to? he wonders.  Letting you "practice" taking orders, but not being able to feel your skin?  

 

He must be out of his kriffing mind. 

 

Your eyes close as a tremble and a wave of delicious heat runs from the hold he has on your jaw, down your spine, to pool at your core.  His other hand caresses your hip before dragging across your tummy to press his fingers into the softness of the other hip. 

 

The hand at your neck shifts.  His thumb remains firmly pressed below the curve of your jaw, against the thrumming pulse of your lifeblood and making sure your head remains exactly where he wants it.   The other leather clad fingers dance across your cheek and to the corner of your mouth.   He traces the bow of your upper lip and then the fullness of the lower one.

 

"Tell me…after you had the dream," he says against your hair, his voice such a soft growl that it's almost a purr, "did you touch yourself?"

 

Your teeth clamp down on your lip at that question and your breaths turn ragged. His fingertips gently pull your lip from your teeth as he nudges your cheek with the edge of his helmet's 'cheek'.

 

"Did you?"

 

As you try to steady your breaths, your head barely turns to look at him, as much as he'll let you with his grip on your jaw. His dark visor fills your vision and you wish that you could read his eyes behind it. 

 

"Yes," you whimper softly. 

 

He groans and you can feel his cock pulse against you in response.  Your fingers flex against his armor.

 

"Uggghh, Maker," he hisses out, "Right here…in the hold of my ship?"

 

"Mmhhmmm.  Right on the…bed…you bought for me," you purr softly.   

 

A strained growl fills your ears "Oh, ffuuuckk," and both of his hands drop to your hips.  He tugs you back hard, lifting you up on your toes to grind his erection into the cleft of your covered pussy and you gasp sharply. Your fingers dig into the armorweave over his outer thighs as you arch your body, pressing your blossoming arousal against his hard length. 

 

"Uuggghh… dammit. Sweetling… this is not…not going to be as easy…as I thought."  He groans as you push back against him again, rocking your hips, and his hands suddenly grip your hips so tightly that you know you're going to have a few bruises.  "Stop!  Dank Farrik, stop!"

 

Your entire body goes still at the demanding words and you bite down on your lip, hard.   You can feel him pulsing against you and you just know your cunt is already soaked.

 

He rests the faceplate of his helmet against the curve of your neck, his chest shuddering against your back with ragged breaths as he works to calm them.  Several moments pass and he doesn't move, or let you.

 

Finally, he pushes your hips away from his and turns you to face him.   His fingers catch your chin and he leans in so his voice growls softly in your ear again. 

 

"Get on the bed… and show me how you touch yourself."

 

You whimper softly.  Immediately you can feel a flush sweeping across your skin again, over every inch of you. 

 

No one's ever watched you before. 

 

It takes a moment for your mind to wrap around the command, to paint an image in your head of him watching you play with yourself.  It sends a thrill through you, a spike of searing heat through your chest and between your thighs. 

 

You slowly step back from him, the tip of your tongue tracing your lower lip as you meet his intense gaze.   Your bare feet bump the soft foam of the bedroll and then you step onto it.  Fingertips glide along the waistband of your pants.

 

"Yes, Sir," you coo, prettily.

 

He groans at that, leaning back against the crate again as he watches your hands dance across your hips.  The outline of his hard cock pushes prominently against the front of his pants. 

 

Your thumbs hook the edge of your pants and you slide them down your legs teasingly slow, a tiny smile pulling up the corners of your lips as you keep your eyes locked on his helmet's visor. With the pants discarded, leaving you in his oversized shirt and your panties, you sink down to your knees. You swing your feet around in front of you and lean back against the bulkhead, nibbling at your lip. 

 

You can barely hear the sound of his breath hitching within the helmet as you dip your fingers down between your closed thighs, fingertips finding your clit through your panties.  The cloth is even damper than you expected and you bite down on your lip hard as you begin tracing tiny circles over the sensitive bud.  

 

"Oh, stars," you moan softly, your breasts rising and falling rapidly. 

 

Your eyes remain firmly on his visor, resisting the urge to watch as his hand reaches down to squeeze his erection through his pants. But you do whimper softly as he does. 

 

"Mmm…uughh, fuck, sweet girl, open up.   I want to see," he rasps out as he strokes himself through the fabric. 

 

A soft mewling sound escapes you as you let your knees fall open, exposing your damp, cloth-covered cunt to his greedy eyes.   

 

He growls low in his chest.  "Maker, you're wet," he moans, licking his lips behind the visor.  Kriff, she probably tastes amazing, he thinks.

 

The helmet ticks up a bit and you know he's meeting your eyes for a moment.  "Did you…"  He clears his throat, swallowing against the dryness in his mouth, and starts again. "Did you cum the last time?"

 

A strangled sound comes from somewhere and it takes you a moment to realize it was you.   Panting, your fingertips press harder over your swollen clit as you rub. Full lips fall open and you choke out a strained, "Yes… uuhhh…I di..did."

 

Mando shudders, his chest heaving as he watches you and continues to firmly squeeze his cock.  His eyes drag back down from your flushed face to your splayed thighs and soaked panties. 

 

"Take…uuughhh… take the rest off," he demands through clenched teeth. 

 

You freeze for a moment, licking your lips slowly.  Fresh heat washes over you in a wave at the husky tone of his voice.  Dammit, you're not sure you can get any more aroused, and seeing how hard you've made him is such a heady feeling. You feel fuzzy and light-headed with wanton desire.  Have you ever wanted anyone so badly?  Or is it just because you can't have him right now?

 

Groaning softly, you push those contemplations aside.  

 

"Yes, Sir," you purr again softly and you're rewarded with a stuttered moan from that Beskar helmet, which makes you give him a coy little smile. 

 

Your fingers flit up to the waistband of your panties and you lean forward to peel them off. Your shirt quickly follows and then you take your time, dragging your bralette up over the swells of your breasts before pulling it the rest of the way off and tossing it on to the pile.  Laying back against the bulkhead again, you can feel the flush warming the flesh of your cheeks, your breasts and your thighs, as you let them fall open again for him.  A shiver laces down your body as cool air dances over your heated, bare skin.

 

"Good girl," he breathes.  "Maker… good, sweet girl.  You're beautiful," he moans.  

 

Watching you is like a drug.   He's intoxicated with the sounds you make, the way your body shudders and the way your hooded eyes keep meeting his, so intensely. He's never wanted to bury himself in a woman, to completely devour her, this badly before. Especially one that he knows he can't have.  

 

Fuck, this is going to be torture if it's like this for long, he thinks. 

 

Nibbling your lip, breaths labored, you wait several moments before moving again.   One hand slides up your tummy and over one heaving breast.  You palm your tit firmly, squeezing and massaging.   Your other hand slips between your legs again.   You drag your fingertips through your swollen pussy lips for a moment. Then,  mewling wantonly with eyes drifting closed, you push a single finger into your dripping depths as your thumb rubs over your clit.  

 

The tension in your core rises quickly now with each stroke of that finger.  You feel like you're plunging to a finish line that you didn't even realize you were racing towards.  Your orgasm is drawing so close, you can almost taste it. 

 

A strained grunt escapes Mando as he releases his erection long enough to tug off his glove. His other hand then drops to the edge of the crate behind him and he grips it so tightly he'd almost swear that the metal whines. With a groan from deep in his chest, he pushes his bare hand into his pants to firmly fist his cock as he watches you finger yourself.

 

You gasp out, murmuring incoherently with pleasure.  That single finger strokes rapidly, the pressure almost unbearable. 

 

When your eyes flutter open to see Mando's strained motions, his fist steadily stroking an almost languid pace beneath his pants, you moan loudly.  The sight of him like that is enough to push you over the edge.

 

Your hips arch up sharply from the bedroll as your orgasm rocks into you.  Shockwaves of pleasure buffet your trembling body as you stroke that digit in and out rapidly, riding the waves as starlight dances across your vision. It wracks through you in pulses, a long, frantic keen ripping past your lips as your entire body quivers. 

 

Uncertain if several moments or several minutes pass, you finally manage to open your eyes again and look up at him, shuddering.

 

Mando's standing in the same spot, both hands now braced on the crate.  His cock is still rock hard and straining against his pants. Ragged breaths escape him as he watches you descend back into your body. 

 

"Fuu…fucking Maker, that was gorgeous," he groans, raggedly. Pushing off the crate, he holds a hand out to you, but he pauses at the last moment to switch to his gloved hand. 

 

You mewl softly and smile up at him, noting the thoughtful switch.  You place your hand in his and moan gently as he pulls you to your feet. At first you can't seem to hold yourself up and end up leaning into him, his cock pressing into your belly and that gloved hand resting on your hip, fingertips sitting on the curve of your rear.

 

With a pointed glance down at his erection, you give a soft little pout up at him.   "What about you?" you purr softly. 

 

He gives a strained little chuckle,  his gloved hand raising up to brush the pad of the thumb firmly over your lower lip. "I'll take care of it," he says, roughly.  "I just wanted to watch you."

 

You give a soft whimper at that and he chuckles again, leaning his head down to press the helmet's visor close to your ear.   "Don't worry, Sweetling.  I know you'll make it up to me…as soon as you can." He pauses for a moment and then you can hear his grin.  "I'm not sure if I want you to rack up quite the debt or not, at this point."

 

A tiny giggle escapes you at that. 

 

"You did good, sweetheart," he praises you with a ragged breath, helmet still close to your ear. The praise and the endearment send a fresh shiver down your spine.  "Next time though…you need to ask permission before you cum."

 

That makes you gasp and whimper softly.  He straightens up to look down at you, head canted expectantly. 

 

It takes you a moment to realize what he's waiting for,  but you finally squeak out a breathy,  "Yes, Sir."

 

Smiling behind the visor, he moves his gloved hand back down to your hip.   He gives you a gentle push away from him. 

 

"Go get cleaned up," he says as he picks up his discarded glove and pulls it back on.  "That little womp rat is going to wake up anytime, if he hasn't already.  You get to deal with him then.  I'll need the cockpit for a while.   Plus he's been driving me up the fucking walls up there."

 

You burst into giggles at that, turning on your toes to head to the fresher with a flippant, "Yes, Sir."

 

He growls after you and you laugh, darting into the shower. 

 

Mando groans a little, adjusting his still hardened dick within his pants.   But he grins behind that visor as he looks at the closed fresher door. 

 

"I think I could get used to being called Sir," he mumbles to himself. 

Chapter 10

Summary:

Warnings: Some self-doubt/depreciation, angst, some fluff, lots of smut, orgasm delay/denial, sex toys, masturbation.

Chapter Text

Well, your plan hasn't quite gone how you hoped. At least, not after that first night.

 

For the next two days Mando barely talks to you or comes near you, only barely touching your shoulder or your back if he needs to move past you. He hardly comes down the ladder either day and his only instruction of any kind is to keep an eye on the foundling, in the hold, while he's in the cockpit.

 

The one time each day that you try to go up to the cockpit, the door is closed. So, you leave food and a canteen of water for Mando outside the door and go back down to the kid in the hold.

 

You spend the day entertaining the little one, making sure he's fed, giving him a bath after he makes a mess of the food, singing softly to him, etc. Pretty much, you spend the days as a nanny. You don't mind. He's a pretty easy kid.

 

By the end of the third day out from Nevarro though, you're feeling more than a little anxious. Your mind jumps all over the place wondering what happened, what went wrong?

 

It was a stupid idea. That's what went wrong. Dank Farrik. Obviously "practice" isn't enough to fix my fuck up. How could I possibly think that was a good idea?

 

You sit on the deck of the hold late that night, watching the child totter around you. He's doing little somersaults, kind of, on the bedroll, giggling and babbling happily as you quietly mope. You pull your knees up under your chin and wrap your arms tightly around them.

 

Especially since I can't even touch him?! How could I forget that? What man would want a proposition that includes that kind of limitation?!

 

Your head drops and you bury your face against your arms, forcing yourself to take slow, steadying breaths. Your lower lip pulls in between your teeth as you hold back tears, more scared than you're willing to admit to yourself.

 

If he's unhappy with you now, what does that mean for your future?

 

He controls it.

 

And I've made him unhappy. Dumb, dumb, kriffing idiot!

 

There's a brush of soft cloth against your legs and you look up, surprised to find the foundling leaning against your shins. His little arms reach to rest his hands on your forearms and he leans his little cheek against your arm, soothing warmth pulsing from each point of connection. His ears fold down towards his shoulders and he coos up at you gently.

 

You give a sad little laugh, a tear spilling over your lashes and down your cheek. "Oh, you sweet little thing!" you murmur, recognizing his adorable attempt to comfort you. Gathering him up in your arms, you cradle him against you as you lay down on the bedroll and snuggle the both of you under the blanket.

 

It doesn't take him long to fall asleep, cocooned in your arms. You follow soon after, managing to only shed a couple more tears as you desperately try to figure out how to fix what you've broken.

 

 

Early the next morning, shortly after you've fed the little goblin, Mando calls down from the cockpit for you and the kid to come up.

 

He's been so quiet the last couple of days that you jump a little at the sound of his voice. You take a moment to steady your shaking breath, and your hammering heart. Then you scoop up the child and climb up the ladder, trying not to let your uncertainty show.

 

As soon as you step into the cockpit from the alcove Mando glances back at the two of you and then resumes his piloting. "Get you both strapped in," he says. "We're dropping out of hyperspace in five minutes."

 

Your eyes widen a little at that news but you move quickly, putting the child in his chair behind Mando's right shoulder. You secure the straps around him before rushing over to the chair on the left and doing the same to yourself.

 

Once secure, you watch Mando's quick movements over the ship's controls, your brows knit together. As far as you knew, there should have been two or three more days of travel to get to Kwenn. Why is he taking the ship out of hyperspace already?

 

"Is…there something wrong with the ship?" you ask softly.

 

"What?…. No." he answers, continuing his flight protocols to take the ship into sub-light.

 

His answer sounded curt to you. Well, the curtness could have been your imagination because you're nervous. Either way, you decide to press your lips together and shut up. You pull your eyes away from him and just watch the hyperspace lights, until they sharpen, then disappear and transform into stars as the ship drops out of hyperspace with a lurch.

 

Several silent moments pass, interrupted only by the clicking of buttons and switches as Mando makes flight adjustments. In the distance of the viewport, you can see a small planet of a dull reddish-yellow color with splotches of white and black. It doesn't look very inviting even from here.

 

Finally, he flips the autopilot on to let it finish bringing the ship closer to the planet.

 

"That's Charros IV," he says, groaning slightly as he stretches his neck with a hard lean of his head from one side to the other. "We're making a quick stop. Supplies run. They have pretty decent…"

 

He stops short, finally looking at you in the reflection off the transparisteel. His brow creases behind the visor.

 

You're not looking at him. That's not necessarily odd but it's the way you're doing it. You're chewing on your bottom lip nervously and just staring out one corner of the viewport, like you're purposely avoiding eye contact with him.

 

The pilot’s seat creaks a little in the quiet space as he turns ninety degrees to look at you.

 

"What's going on?" he asks.

 

It takes you a moment to finally meet his gaze and Mando feels as if a fist squeezes in his gut at the uncertainty in your eyes. Hell, maybe even fear.

 

You lick your lips nervously and finally just shake your head a little. "Nothing."

 

There's a long, silent pause.

 

"Oh, like hell, 'nothing'," he mutters. He unsnaps his harness with a quick flick of his hands and closes the distance between you in an instant. He's kneeling in front of you then, which barely puts his helmet below your eye level, and catches your chin in his hand. He says your name softly. "Have you been crying, Sweetling?"

 

You swallow hard and then bite your lip again, to keep it from shaking. "I…I…" you stumble over the words, unable to settle on any. Heaving a heavy sigh, you seem to curl into yourself, pulling your chin out of his fingers as you try to keep yourself calm.

 

Mando studies your face for a brief moment before mumbling a low, "Fuck." He reaches for the straps of your harness, unsnapping them before you can react. Then he's grasping your hands. He stands, only enough to step back and sit in the pilot’s seat again and pull you to him.

 

With a startled yelp, you stumble out of your seat and towards his. He spins you at the edge of his seat and tugs you down onto his lap sideways, pulling your legs up over the arm of the seat. Then, with one arm wrapped around your back, his other hand lifts to tenderly brush a leather covered thumb over your cheek.

 

"Sweetling, you're trembling... Please, talk to me."

 

Gritting your teeth for a moment, you take a couple of deep breaths, exhaling each slowly as you try to calm the shaking. When you finally raise your eyes to him, you know they're probably shining with moisture, but you're doing your damnedest to keep tears from falling.

 

"Did I…did I do something wrong?" you whisper, and then clarify with, "Something else wrong?"

 

His helmet cants to one side in confusion. "No. Why would you think that?"

 

A single tear catches on your lashes but you wipe it away hurriedly. "Because…you've been ignoring me…barely said ten words to me in the last two days. Ever since… since we…since I…." You bite your lip again, dropping your eyes, your hands clutching together at your chest.

 

Mando's head turns away from you slightly,  for a few seconds, his mind reeling as he thinks over the last couple of days. His shoulders sag just a touch with realization and another murmured curse before he looks back down at you.

 

"No-no-no," he says softly, urgently. He pushes several locks of your hair back from your face and then catches your chin once more, coaxing you to look up at him again. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just…I've been focused on other things that have come up, and lost track of how much time was passing." He shrugs a little. "Days tend to blend together out here for me, sometimes."

 

You bite your bottom lip hard, giving him an incredulous look.

 

His thumb brushes across your cheek and then gently pulls that misused lip from between your teeth. "You haven't done anything wrong."

 

"I…I didn't…disappoint you?" you ask in a whisper. Before he can answer, words are suddenly tumbling out of you on a nerve ridden mass. "I didn't mean…to be a tease...the other night. I know I can't…can't really touch you right now. And…and I should ha-have thought of that before I e-even suggested that kind o-"

 

A gloved hand cuts off the flood of your words as he firmly but gently clamps a hand over your mouth.

 

"Maker, sweet girl, let me get a word in," he demands, with a thin chuckle.

 

You look up at him, eyes a little wide over the glove. Behind it, you press your lips together and give him a minuscule nod.

 

He lowers his hand very slowly, like he’s concerned he might have to put it right back in place if your words start tumbling out again. Then he rests that hand on your waist, bracketing you in his arms.

 

“The other night? Sweetling, you were perfect the other night.”

 

That skeptical look comes to your face again and he gives your waist a squeeze in response, as if he can pull you any closer to his body.

 

“Seriously. Perfect. You did everything I asked of you… and you did it beautifully,” he says softly, his voice taking on a bit of a husky note at the delicious memory. Leaning his head forward, he lightly rests the top of the helmet’s faceplate against your forehead, his visor filling your field of view. “And if I couldn’t handle not being able to touch your skin, I wouldn’t have gone along with your… idea.”

 

You nibble at the corner of your lip for a moment, your eyes darting across his visor before settling again where you’re certain his eyes are hidden. “Really?” you whisper.

 

“Really.”

 

After a moment, you take a slow breath, much steadier now, and let a tiny smile tug up the corners of your mouth. “Okay.”

 

Mando smiles behind the visor, lifting his head from yours and letting his thumb dance across your lips for a brief moment. “There’s a good girl.” He pauses for a moment. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m not used to having someone around here that I need to keep updated on changes.” He hooks a thumb over his right shoulder to the child. “He’s never seemed to care.”

 

You smile a little brighter at the unexpected apology and then laugh softly, tilting your head to look past his shoulder at the kid. The little one is contentedly playing with the silver ball he always steals from one of the ship’s controls, not paying the adults any mind and still securely strapped in his jumpseat.

 

Shifting in Mando’s arms, you lean your head against his other shoulder, nuzzling just a bit into the cowl at his neck.

 

Mando closes his eyes for several moments, just enjoying the feel of you in his arms, the warmth of your body sneaking past the beskar and armorweave. His gloved fingertips find the edge of your shirt and slip under the hem, just barely, tracing small indistinguishable shapes over the skin at your hips. You shiver and give a tiny little sigh of delight as your fingers curl at the edge of his cuirass.

 

After a few minutes of sitting like that, both of you quietly enjoying the closeness, Mando leans his head away from you a bit so he can look down at you and says your name softly.

 

Your eyes flutter open and you look back up at him through your lashes with a soft “Hm?”

 

“I do have a… thought… about the other night.”

 

You lift your head from his shoulder, that concern dancing into your eyes again, but he’s quick to try and dispel it. “Nothing’s wrong. Like I said, you were amazing. But… yes, I would like to be more involved next time.”

 

Your brows pinch together nervously. “But…”

 

A leather fingertip briefly touches your lips to stop your coming protest. “I know. No skin contact right now. There are… other options though. If you trust me.”

 

The tip of your tongue traces over your lower lip nervously, the earthy taste of leather lingering from his glove. “I do trust you,” you say softly, your eyes still questioning though.

 

“Good.” He jerks his chin slightly towards the approaching planet. The ship isn’t far from it now. You turn your head to look out the viewport at it as he continues. “Like I was saying earlier, this is Charros IV. It’s a good supply stop. We’ll get more rations and fuel. There’s also quite a few good shops in the city we’re landing in. We’ll find you some clothes that actually fit you.” That makes you giggle a little. “And… there’s another shop I’d like to take you to.”

 

The hesitancy in his voice makes you look up at his dark visor again. There’s a pause before he returns your look.

 

“It’s a store that sells… things… tools, you could say, that can help me to be more involved… the next time.”

 

It takes a couple moments but you finally catch on to what he is meaning but having a hard time saying. A warmth creeps up your cheeks and you giggle once more, your lip caught between your teeth again. “You want to… take me to a...sex shop?” you whisper.

 

He chuckles lightly but nods. “Yes.”

 

Your nose crinkles up a bit as you snicker, leaning into him. You put your cheek on his shoulder again, nuzzling the cloth at his neck. “Okay,” you whisper.

 

Mando grins behind the visor.

 

---

 

You know that your eyes are very wide as you look around the shop, but you can’t help it. You’ve never seen so much erotic paraphernalia in one place. And it’s not even a very big shop!

 

Granted, you did grow up very sheltered, so your surprise shouldn’t be… well, a surprise.

 

Mando stands behind you, just inside the door, waiting patiently as you take in the space, with a large bag slung over his shoulder.

 

The bag is filled with his newest purchases for you: a few sets of plain brown or grey pants and shirts, both long and short sleeved. There’s also a few sets of undergarments. You’d even managed to sneak in a cute lace set with the help of a discreet Twi’lek shop keeper, who had given you a playful wink. Between those and whatever he buys for you here, you are already feeling a little bit of nervous excitement for getting back to the ship and into space.

 

You spend a couple of minutes nervously looking around, certain you are blushing as bright as a red star.  Eventually, Mando steps closer behind you and gives a little nudge to your thigh with his knee.

 

“Do you want to leave?” he asks you quietly.

 

You shake your head negatively.

 

“Okay,” he says quietly, “In that case,” he nudges you forward. You bite back a giggle and step closer to the display case. “Pick out something.”

 

Glancing back at him for just a moment, you go back to perusing the display of toys. Meanwhile, the shop keeper, a tall male Pantoran, maintains some distance, lingering near a corner behind the counter. You’re grateful. He’s obviously good at reading what makes customers comfortable.

 

“Um…” Biting your lip, you half turn to look up at Mando. “I’d rather you did,” you say softly.

 

His head cants at you curiously.

 

You’re not sure, but you might blush a little brighter. That may not be possible though. Swallowing hard, you let your eyes drift down his beskar clad frame until they stop pointedly at his groin. After a moment you lift your eyes back up to his visor. “I still don’t have a… size comparison,” you say softly with a giggle. “So…” your shoulders raise in a slight shrug. “...you’d know better than me.”

 

Mando chuckles a little at that, shifting the bag from one shoulder to the other as he leans closer to you. “Okay, Sweetling, fair enough.” He looks over the options for a second before looking down at you again. “Similar size or…?”

 

You bite that lower lip again. “Um…smaller,” you quietly suggest, "decently smaller."

 

Stars, my face feels like it is on fire.

 

He tips his head curiously at you again but then gives a single nod and looks back to the options. After a moment he points a finger at one near the end of the display case.

 

You follow the point of that finger and freeze, all heat and expression draining from your face. Your eyes go impossibly wide and you swallow back against a painful dryness in your throat.

 

Maker, he’s going to literally split me in two!

 

The toy he has pointed out is a dildo at least twelve inches in length and nearly as thick as your wrist. You’re certain you’re turning pale just looking at the ridiculously huge thing.

 

“That’s… smaller?” you squeak out.

 

You finally manage to tear your eyes away from the monstrous toy and look up at him.

 

That beskar helmet is leveled on you and as expressionless as ever, but it only takes you a moment to notice the faint shake of his shoulders.

 

He’s laughing at you!

 

“You… you…. Maker-damned, bastard son of a bantha!” you snap at him.

 

A barking laugh escapes the helmet finally and then you notice it’s joined by a snort from the shopkeeper in the corner.

 

You cross your arms indignantly and scowl up at Mando, and then over at the shopkeeper. The poor Pantoran holds up his hands, palms out, in surrender. “I’m staying out of it!” he says, biting back any more laughter. 

 

Your glare snaps back up to the Mandalorian as he speaks and you can hear his grin. “Yeah, sorry to disappoint you, Sweetling. I’m doing pretty good, but not quite that good. I’m not part wookiee.”

 

You point a finger up at the center of his visor. “I was damn near ready to come up with any excuse in the galaxy to keep you from ever touching me!”

 

Mando reaches out with his free hand to grab you around the waist and pull you in close to him, still laughing. “Oh, come on…”

 

Heaving a dramatic sigh, you finally give in to the laughter and hide your face against his chest plate, shaking your head. “You’re an ass,” you say, your voice a little muffled against the beskar.

 

Still grinning behind the helmet, Mando releases you long enough to point out a couple of items to the shopkeeper and to toss some credits onto the counter. You’re happy to see that the toy he actually chooses is quite a bit smaller than the other one. The second item he chooses is significantly smaller still and you’re not entirely sure what it’s for. You decide against asking him right now, feeling a little insecure about your lack of experience with this sort of thing.

 

The shopkeeper gathers the toys and places them in a discreet box for you, which Mando adds into the bag he’s carrying.

 

“Ready to head back?” he asks and you can tell he’s still rather pleased with himself.

 

“Absolutely,” you reply with a roll of your eyes and quickly exit the small shop.

 

You can hear the shopkeeper finally letting himself laugh after you’re out of the building.

 

---

 

More supplies are waiting at the dock when you get back to the ship.   Mando had ordered them as soon as you landed.   He hands you the bag and ushers you inside as he begins to load up the supplies.

 

Inside the Crest's hold, you set the bag against the wall by the sleeping rack.  Then, you hit the button to open the rack. The foundling is inside, right where you left him,  and smiles up at you. 

 

Picking the kid up, you bounce him lightly on your hip as you both watch Mando finish restocking the crate of rations and then heading down to the dock crew to pay them.  Stalking back up the ramp, he punches the button to close it behind him.   

 

He steps near to you and the child, reaching out to gently rub one big, wing-like ear.   The kid coos at him happily and you laugh softly at the sweetness of it all.

 

Then, Mando leans past you, reaching into the bag.  He pulls out the box. As he straightens, he pauses just long enough to whisper into your ear, "When he's asleep, come up to the cockpit." 

 

Your breath hitches and your knees feel like they almost give out as Mando turns away from you and heads up the ladder.

 

Shuddering, butterflies twisting up your stomach, your look down at the kid on your hip as you hear the engines roar to life. 

 

"You're not the slightest bit tired, are you?" you ask the little goblin in a somewhat hoarse, slightly accusatory voice. 

 

He gives you a big grin and an energetic trill.

 

 

Two hours later, you finally climb the rungs of the ladder.   You're shivering a little with anticipation and it takes you a few moments longer than it should have to pull yourself up into the alcove. 

 

Mando is in his seat, facing the ship's controls but not doing anything with them.  He appears to just be watching the hyperspace lights dance over the viewport. 

 

Something about him seems different and it takes you a moment to recognize it, since he's facing away from you. The only piece of armor he's wearing is his helmet.  The rest is neatly piled onto the first jumpseat, leaving him in his armorweave pants and shirt. 

 

For once, to you at least, he actually looks comfortable,  leaning back in that seat.   In fact, you wonder for a moment if he fell asleep, waiting for you. 

 

That is until you step over the cockpit threshold and his modulated voice carries to your ears. 

 

"Stop."

 

You do, right inside the door, your hands still resting on the frame of it. 

 

The pilot’s chair spins and comes to a halt when he's facing you directly.  The helmet slants to one side as he looks at you.   

 

Before coming up, you had changed out of the old clothing and into a set of the newer ones which actually fit you.   The pants sit nicely on your hips without having to be rolled at the waist and the top accentuates your breasts without being overly lewd.   Both pieces are practical and complimentary.  While he had often thought you looked adorable drowning in his clothes, Mando takes a moment now to truly appreciate just how nicely the well fitted clothes accentuate the lines of your body.  

 

After a few moments of that appreciation though, he points a leather clad finger at each piece and just says, "Off."

 

Well, someone's feeling monosyllabic, you muse.

 

You grasp the waistband of your pants and shimmy your hips a little as you lean down to slide them down your legs, stepping smoothly out of them and dropping them onto the floor of the alcove. As you straighten, your fingertips glide up your thighs and hips, until they catch the hem of your shirt and you peel it up and off.  Before the shirt has even cleared your head though, you hear his breath hitching in surprise and you hold back a knowing smile as your top drops to the floor too.

 

"Maker… where did those come from?" he asks, voice thick. 

 

You can feel his eyes raking over you from behind that visor, taking in the way pale purple lace, trimmed with black, hugs your hips, the soft mound at the apex of your thighs and the swells of your breasts.   With light movements you let your fingertips dance up your hips and then the sides of your breasts, over the flimsy material.

 

A coquettish smile tugs at your lips.  "The little Twi'lek from the store.  She was so grateful for the big sale…she slipped these into the pile for me."

 

He groans softly, watching your hands dance over the lace that hides, well, basically nothing. "If we ever make it back there, remind me to thank her."

 

You laugh softly at that.  "I will."

 

He twirls a finger in the air.   "Turn.  Slowly."

 

Nibbling your lip and still smiling coyly, you spin slowly on your bare toes for him, giving him a generous view of the lace hugging over your ass and wiggling your hips at him just a bit. 

 

A faint growl escapes the helmet and he pushes to his feet as you finish the turn.  His gloved hands grasp your hips and he pulls you to him, pressing your nearly naked body close to his as his hands slip around your hips to cup the curve of your ass.

 

You whimper softly at the pressure of his semi-hard dick against your belly.  Your hands rest on his chest, fingers splayed open.  You can feel the corded muscle through the armorweave and the beat of his heart beneath your palm. 

 

One gloved hand raises up and he traces your lips, his breath stuttering.  "You're so beautiful, Sweetling," he says softly. 

 

A soft flush colors your cheeks as you smile up at him shyly.  Your tongue darts across your lips, the tip of it catching the leather pad of his thumb.  It tastes earthy and almost woodsy, a mix of the natural taste of the leather and the oil he uses to maintain the gloves.  

 

Then, he begins to move you.  The hand still on your ass holds you to him firmly and he turns the both of you to switch positions, so his back is to the doorway and yours is to the pilot’s chair.   Stepping forward, he crowds you towards that chair, until the back of your knees bump into it. 

 

"Sit," he says, as his hand slips off your rear. 

 

With a little mewl, you lower yourself down onto the seat.  Your eyes drag down his body and settle on the stretch of his pants over his erection, teasingly close to your face from this position. Your fingers flex at your sides, resting on the arms of the chair, and your tongue darts over your lips again as your breath hitches. 

 

Maker, you want to touch him… taste him.

 

Kriffing, stupid Force sensitivity!

 

His hand catches your chin and tilts your head back to lift your eyes back to his helmet.   

 

"You're forgetting your affirmations," he admonishes, softly. 

 

Your eyes widen a little and your breath hitches.  "Yes, Sir," you whisper. 

 

"Good girl." You can hear his smile in that simple phrase and it sends a shiver of delight down your spine. 

 

Mando lowers himself then to kneel in front of you and you swallow hard as you watch him.  Your heart hammers in your chest as leather clad fingertips draw over the bare skin of your thighs and up over your hips and ribs, leaving tiny raised bumps in their wake as you shudder.

 

Your eyes flutter closed and your head rests back against the seat, moaning softly as he cups the mounds of your breasts and kneads gently for a moment over the lace.

 

With a groan of his own,  Mando's hands slide back down from those delightful swells and down your body.  

 

He pauses at your tummy, his head canting curiously.   The tip of one finger lightly traces over a faint scar that he hadn't noticed on you before.  It's right at the base of your belly, a pale slash across the soft flesh, a few inches long but very thin and surgically precise. It's so faded that he couldn't possibly have seen it from farther away. 

 

Your eyes open at the paused movements and then the gentle tracing.   A stuttered breath escapes you and you catch his hand, pulling it away from the scar.  Biting your lip, you just barely shake your head at him, silently asking him to leave it alone. 

 

He studies you for a moment, looking down at the thin pale line and then up at your eyes again.   He nods a bit, letting the questions go, as he lifts your hand to press your palm against his faceplate, as if he could press his lips to your skin through it. 

 

You smile up at him softly, thankfully, letting your fingertips trace the hard lines of his helmet.

 

His hands move back to your hips then and Mando brings his focus back to admiring the whole of your body.  He grips your hips and gives them a sharp tug, pulling your rear to the edge of the seat and leaving you slightly slumped back in the seat.  A little squeak of surprise escapes you, but you giggle softly.  His fingers tap against the inside of your knee and you give a little purr as you let your thighs part for him.   He shifts to settle between your spread legs, leather touches teasing up and down your inner thighs. 

 

One hand leaves you and he reaches over by the pile of his armor, picking up the box from the shop.  Your breasts begin to rise and fall more shallowly as you watch him.  He sets it on the floor below where you can see,  but you can hear him open it.  Your hips shift on the seat as a spear of anticipation shoots through you, heat and wet pooling at your lace covered pussy. 

 

His other hand moves to press gently down on your pelvis, stilling your movements as he chuckles softly.

 

He leans into you then,  his hips pressing into your inner thighs and even though he's kneeling,  he still seems to tower over you. 

 

Palm up, he holds out the smaller of the two objects he had bought for you.   It's only about three inches long and thin, a simple cylinder shape made of chrome like metal, flat on one end and a blunted tip on the other. 

 

"You looked confused by this one earlier, Sweetling," he says with that rich, husky voice.   "Do you know what it is?"

 

Nibbling your lower lip again,  you blush as you shake your head no. 

 

He turns it in his large hands to hold it by the flat end.   Then he presses a small button on it that you hadn't noticed.   The toy buzzes to life and realization lights your eyes. 

 

"Oohh," you say softly with a little laugh. 

 

He chuckles too.  "There you go."

 

Lifting it up, he lets the end of the small vibrator rest on the outer curve of your shoulder.  You gasp softly as he draws a line with it along your shoulder and slowly up the side of your neck.

 

Your eyes flutter and you moan softly at the delightful buzzing sensation.   He pauses with it pressed gently against your pulse, just below your jaw.  Then, he moves the toy to your other shoulder, tracing a mirrored path on that side.

 

Whimpering softly, you lean into that heavenly vibration.  The rounded tip of the toy continues up to trace your jaw then, and very lightly over your soft lips as you quiver. 

 

"Open up," he commands, huskily.

 

Your eyes flutter open and you meet his gaze as your lips part obediently.   He rests the vibrator against the flat of your tongue and then groans as you swirl your tongue over the little metal cylinder, wetting it. 

 

"Oh…good girl."  

 

You mew softly in delight.  

 

When did that phrase become so important to you?

 

Drawing the toy from your lips, his hand drops downward.  His fingers lightly graze from the hollow of your throat, down your sternum.   One hooks onto the material of your lace bralette and he pulls it down.

 

A soft gasp escapes you as cool air dances over your bared breasts, goosebumps rising all across your torso.  The blunt tip of the vibrator traces your left breast in slow circles, gradually moving inward.  Agonizingly slow, until you're squirming on the seat by the time the metal finally circles the hardened nub of your nipple.  With a low moan, your back arches, pressing towards the delicious sensation.

 

Mando's other hand presses down on your sternum to push you back into the seat.  You level a pout at his visor. 

 

In response he shifts over to your other breast, beginning to circle that one just as slowly.   

 

You whimper at him and he chuckles softly, leaning close to murmur in your ear,  "Patience, Sweetling."

 

You still pout a bit at him, but that disappears a moment later when he rolls the toy over your hardened nipple and you mewl loudly, trying to arch closer again. 

 

Mando growls softly from that helmet, dragging the toy down over your ribs. "Dank Farrik…the sounds you make, sweet girl… could drive a man crazy."

 

Lips barely parted, you look up at him through your lashes. Air comes in soft pants as you impatiently wait, the tip of the vibrator barely skimming over your skin as he moves it down your body, leaving more goosebumps in its wake. 

 

"Please," you whimper, "please…I need…more."

 

With another growl he leans into you, the cold helmet pressing into your hair and against your cheek. "Fuuuck…you're gorgeous when you beg," he rasps, and dips his hand between your splayed thighs.   

 

You keen as the vibrator presses against your clitoris, through the lace panties. Jolts of pleasure lance from the swollen nub, through your pussy and up into your body in building waves. 

 

"Oh-fuck-oh-fuck-oh-fuck…" you babble almost incoherently, your hands snapping out to grasp his forearm as he strokes you.   "Ma-Mando," you gasp, "Can I…can I…?"

 

A small groan escapes the helmet and he pulls his hand from you.   You give a soft wail of disappointment, hips arching to try and follow the vibration.   

 

"No," he growls into your ear.  "Not yet."  

 

You hear a soft clicking sound and the buzzing stops.  A pout touches your lips with a whimper as you feel the looming orgasm slipping away from you, and you turn your head just a bit to level that pout on him again.   

 

Mando chuckles, dropping the smaller toy back into the box and then lifting his hand to your face.   Leather fingertips draw over your brows, your cheekbones and then that pouting lip.

 

"I've got another one for you, remember?"  It's obvious you do as you lick your lips, letting the pout fall away to a shy little smile.   "And good job remembering to ask, Sweetling."

 

You thrill at the praise, shivering. 

 

He nuzzles the faceplate against the side of your neck then,  inhaling deeply like he's trying to catch just a whiff of your scent through the helmet's filters.  Meanwhile, his fingers grasp the waistband of your panties and he tugs them down your hips and legs,  tossing them aside.   

 

Another tremble courses through you as he barely lets the back of his leather glove brush over the swollen folds of your pussy, a soft moan passing your lips.   You lift towards the faint touch but he pushes your hips back down with his other hand as he reaches to the box near your feet. 

 

Then you gasp softly as you feel the cool press of the second toy, a dildo that basically looks like a significantly longer version of the vibrator, against the flushed flesh of your damp sex.  The dildo is also about twice as thick as the vibrator was and it presses deliciously against the entrance to your cunt.  Your breath hitches, and you whimper sharply, your eyes locked on his visor.

 

His head tilts to the side, watching your expression as he presses the toy into your slick core.  Your lips part in a small 'o' shape as you moan.  One inch.  One more.   Another.  He pushes it deeper, his eyes raking down from your face to watch as your pussy envelopes the metal shaft.  Your wetness is already dripping down it, and he groans low in his chest at the sight. 

 

Your eyes close tightly, fingers curling over the arms of the seat.  Your knuckles whiten as you do your best to stay still through the delightful intrusion, his other hand still pressed against your belly to keep you in the seat. 

 

Finally, after what feels like forever and several inches later, he stops pressing the toy into you. He leans over you again, his breath ragged as he whispers, "How's that, my sweet girl?"  

 

Your response comes out in a whimper.  "Maker…that-that f-feels so good," you mew.

 

He grins behind the visor.   "Good.   Give me your hand."

 

You unfurl the fingers of one hand from the chair arm to hold it out to him. He guides your hand down between your legs, to the end of the dildo.   He wraps your fingers around it and growls softly into your ear, "Fuck yourself with it…for me, Sweetling."

 

Your eyes fly open and you look up at him, wide eyed, panting, with a fresh flush coloring your skin.   He's already moving though, standing.   He pulls off his gloves, dropping them to the floor, and then quickly works open his pants.   Pulling his cock free, he wraps one hand around his shaft, stroking hard as he looks down at you. 

 

With a hitching breath, you moan at your first sight of him, your cunt clenching around the toy buried in you and your tongue dancing across your lips.  The smooth head of his cock bounces with each firm stroke and you watch eagerly, swallowing against a dryness on your tongue. 

 

"Sweetling…" he groans, almost pleading, as he leans forward a bit and braces his free hand on the back of the seat by your shoulder. 

 

You realize you'd been frozen while you watched him and you give him an apologetic little smile and purr softly, "Yes, Sir."

 

He growls lowly, the pace of his strokes increasing as he watches you begin to work the dildo in and out of your drenched pussy.  Your breasts rise and fall with quick shallow breaths, your eyes darting from his visor, down to his pumping fist again. 

 

The orgasm he'd denied you earlier begins to build again rapidly and your moans start to blend together into one wavering keen as you push the toy in again and again.  Wet, lewd sounds fill the cockpit.  Your entire body trembles with the building pressure, your eyes locked on him as his pace matches yours. 

 

"Kri…kriffing hell, sweet…girl.   So fucking… perfect," he moans, the muscles in his shoulders and neck staining as he strokes himself, barreling towards his own orgasm as he leans over you. 

 

You cry out softly, your hips bucking up as you keep stroking the dildo deeply.  "Mmm…uuughh…stars, please, plea-please, can I…can I cum for you?" you beg him. 

 

" MakerKriffingStars, yes!  Good girl.  Yes, cum for me.  Give me a good one," he rasps out between jagged breaths.  Before he loses you completely though, he growls out,  "Where…can…I cum?"

 

You struggle for a moment to make sense of the question, your mind already cascading into the haze of your orgasm with his permission. But you finally pry the fingers of your other hand off the arm of the chair, and drag your fingertips across your belly and below your heaving breasts.   "Here…" you purr.

 

With a moan, he leans in a bit more, but then just barely stops himself short.  He'd almost leaned right into your belly and he gives a soft hissing breath as he pulls back, so his hand won't accidently stroke over your bare skin. 

 

With one, no two, more hard pumps of the toy into your core, your orgasm slams into you like a tidal wave.   Your cry echoes through the cockpit as it crashes through you again and again, your entire body lifting off the pilot’s seat and your mouth falling open with your cry.

 

Mando watches as the orgasm wracks your petite frame, his fingers digging into the cushion of the seat beside your shoulder.  He holds his own back for just another moment, until he watches your body arch deliciously.   

 

With a strangled sound, he lets his orgasm rush through him then, his balls pulling in tightly as streams of cum jet from him.  His body jerks above you, his grip on the chair jerking you too.  Semen spreads over your belly and the underside of your breasts with his spasms, a deep growling cry coming through the filters of that imperceptible helmet. 

 

You slump back in the chair, spent and trembling, shakily pull the dripping dildo from your sensitive sex.  You're so shaken though that you can't seem to keep a grip on it and it drops from your fingers to the floor by your feet. 

 

Mando leans down, the forehead of his faceplate resting against your forehead as he works to catch his shaking breath.   He's murmuring something, over and over again, and it takes your orgasm-addled brain a few clumsy tries to make sense of it. 

 

"Good-girl-good-girl-good-girl…," he whispers in a stream of praise, and you moan softly in delight.   

 

Your shaking hands raise up to the cowl around his neck and you bury your fingers into the top layer of the cloth, holding him there as you both ride the waves of orgasm back down. 

 

"Sweetling," he whispers after several quiet moments pass, and you give a soft Mhmm?   "Why didn't you escape with me that night?"

 

You blink up at him in surprise.  Nibbling at your lip as you try to form a coherent thought.  Your fingers absently rub at the back of his neck through the cowl's cloth, eliciting a soft moan from him.

 

"Duty," you finally say softly, with a little lift of your shoulders.  "I still had a responsibility to my people, to…try."

 

Mando sighs lightly, raising his hand to catch a lock of your hair.   He rubs the stands between the pads of his bare fingers, careful with each movement to not touch your skin. 

 

"This is the Way," he states softly. 

 

Your nose scrunches up a little.   "I have no idea what that means."

 

He chuckles, pulling back from you and straightening up.  

 

"It's the Mandalorian code.  Honor and duty are the Way," he explains as you both begin setting your clothing right.   Yours takes… quite a bit longer. 

 

You pause as you dress to look at him though and nod a little.   "Then yes, that's exactly it."  

 

After a moment of thought you giggle a bit.  "Plus…it would probably be the height of stupidity for me to just hop onto a ship with a man I'd met an hour before…treason or not."

 

He stops to just look at you for a second before laughing too.  "All right.  Fair."  

 

Reaching around you, he gives a light smack to your freshly covered ass and you give an eep in surprise, darting for the ladder.  The rich sound of his laughter follows you down well before he actually does. 

 

Maker, that is a good sound. 

Chapter 11

Summary:

Warnings: A little explicit smut, violence, wounds, lots of fluff. I think that's it.

Chapter Text

The next few days pass in a bit of a blur with a mix of vastly different moments: quiet and comfortable companionship with both of your traveling partners; sweet, silly and occasionally frustrating interactions with the impish foundling; personal triumphs as you continue to gain strength with your daily exercises; and many moments of pleasure-filled bliss.  The Mandalorian seems to have made it his current mission in life to coax every possible sound of delight out of you before the ship reaches its destination. 

 

You are definitely not complaining. 

 

That little vibrator quickly becomes your favorite material thing in the entire universe.  Sure, the larger toy is nice but, hell, it doesn't give that exquisite buzz.  Plus, you really hope the dildo can be replaced with the real thing, sooner rather than later, so you'd rather not get too attached. Mando laughs deeply when you, blushing profusely, admit to all of this after he questions what has you so lost in thought one afternoon. 

 

Most of the spine-tingling encounters do not include Mando cumming too, unfortunately.  You bemoan that fact a bit, to his amusement.  However,  he's quick to remind you that he will gladly let you make it up to him later.

 

Daydreams about ways to pay that debt,  once you're able, soon becomes a delightful pastime during the less active hours aboard the ship.  

 

The night before you're expected to arrive at Kwenn, Mando pulls you up into the cockpit with him again, once you have sung the foundling to sleep in the hold.  He tugs you down onto his lap, after ridding you of those pesky things called pants.

 

You're sitting with your back against his chest, armor pressed into you.  The fact that the armor isn't exactly comfortable only briefly flits through your mind.  He easily distracts you from it. 

 

He's holding you against him again in what you're beginning to believe is a prefered  position for him.  A covered hand is pressed on your neck, firm but gentle, stroking his thumb at the spot where your heartbeat hammers, under that small slave-mark tattoo.  He can barely feel your heartbeat through the leather, but he seeks it out anyway.  

 

At his instruction, your bare feet hook around the outside of his booted ankles, so your knees settle on the outside of his. 

 

You gasp sharply as he suddenly slides his feet farther apart, splaying your thighs open wide and pinning your legs between his and the arms of the chair.  Then, with an infuriating amount of patience, he holds you there as he plays with you for hours , his erection pressed against your ass teasingly the entire time.

 

He drags the buzzing toy over your pussy and clit, through your panties, until the material is soaked with your arousal.  Then, he finally pushes the cloth aside to trace directly over your blazing skin with the vibrator, teasing a variety of different moans out of you until even he loses count.   He brings you just to the edge of orgasm only to pull you back from the brink, so many times, that eventually you are stringing together creative and colorful curses with his name, making him chuckle huskily. 

 

Despite your frustration though, you listen to every instruction he gives you: holding back your orgasm, going still in his arms, wetting the toy with your tongue upon command. Everything.   Every order is followed as your body and mind shatter beneath the exquisite torture; until he finally gives you permission to cum, and showers you with delectable praises when you do. 

 

He turns you into a quivering wreck. 

 

 

"We're not landing on the planet?" you ask, the next morning. 

 

"No.  The quarry's on the station," Mando replies as he adjusts flight controls to manual and begins to guide the Crest into the Kwenn Space Station.

 

The orbiting structure is massive!  

 

It looks like three huge cities stacked together in the shape of a spinning top.   As the ship draws closer you can see that the "city" of the station is really only the top level.  The bottom level is built to store massive ships and the center level looks like docking for almost any other size and shape of ship. 

 

The Crest heads for the center level.  As the ship draws near, a dock worker sends a holowave and Mando accepts it.  A choppy image of an older Chiss comes up.  He's talking to someone you can't see off to one side in his native Cheunh language for a moment.  Then he suddenly looks right at Mando and  snaps off a few demanding sentences, still in that language, the words dense sounding and complex.

 

"Use Basic," Mando replies with a grumble.   

 

The Chiss rolls his red eyes and says "I said, 'provide your docking codes and ship's designation for landing approval'."

 

As Mando begins transmitting the data you lean over his shoulder to look at the Chiss' flickering holo.

 

With false cheer in your voice, you say to him brightly, "You forgot the first part."

 

Mando turns to look at you curiously and the Chiss scowls.  "What do you mean, woman?"

 

You give the holo image your sweetest smile.  "You forgot the part about 'Oh great, more Nerve Burner humans to fuck up my day'."  You wave your hand off to his right and then say in stilted Cheunh, "You probably didn't realize the holowave had started. Should be careful about that when you're talking to your friends."  Every word is said as sweetly as possible, as if you are just offering advice out of genuine concern. 

 

Mando studies you for a moment in silent surprise and then looks at the Chiss. The Chiss is staring at you, completely stunned.  Off to the right, behind you two, the child coos curiously from his seat. 

 

After a few awkward moments of dead air, the Chiss looks down at something in his hands and then there's a chiming beep within the cockpit.  

 

"You are approved," the Chiss says glumly in Basic, his brows knit, and the holowave disappears. 

 

As you settle back into your seat for the landing, Mando continues to stare at you for a few moments. 

 

"What?" you ask with a little laugh and shrug. 

 

"Did you have to piss off the dock crew?"

 

Your eyebrows arch at the annoyed edge to his voice. For a brief moment, worry claws at your mind, but then you shove it away and cross your arms lightly over your chest. 

 

"Chiss are arrogant asses. Sometimes they need reminding that they are not the Maker's gift to the universe.   And he's not going to do anything.  He was embarrassed to be caught, but that's all."

 

He scowls behind the visor.   "You seem awfully sure of that."

 

You nod sharply.   "I am.  That's why I was talking so sickly sweetly.  It pretty much guarantees that people don't take things too personally.   He probably feels like his kid sister caught him stealing from Mom and just made him feel guilty about it."  Your shoulders lift a little. "Plus, I'm pretty decent at reading people."

 

His head cants at you.   You wave a hand in a vague gesture at his helmet.  "Well, not you," you say with a smirk.  "I'm good at interpreting expressions.  You have a slight advantage there that most people don't.  And most people aren't as good at hiding their feelings as they think they are."

 

After a pause, he gives a dry chuckle and shakes his head.  He turns back to finish flying the ship into dock.  "I hope you're right."

 

About fifteen minutes later the Crest grows quiet, systems shutting down.  Flipping a few switches on the final sequence,  Mando then turns his seat to face you.   He cants his helmet again in the way you've come to recognize as curious. 

 

"Yes?" you ask, a delicate brow arched. 

 

"How many languages do you speak?"

 

"Oh, umm…" Your eyes move up towards the ceiling as you think about it, ticking off numbers on your fingertips.   "Four fluently, if you count Galactic Basic.  Two conversationally.  And… I know random phrases from quite a few more."

 

The tilt of his head has become rather harsh by the time you look at him again,  his surprise obvious for once. 

 

"What?" you ask with a nervous laugh. 

 

"You speak six languages? And phrases from others?" 

 

You nod slightly and shrug. "Well, some of us learn how to fight off ten elite guards…and some of us learn six languages," you respond with a cheeky smile. 

 

He just stares at you for a moment before finally laughing softly and shaking his head again.  "You're full of surprises."

 

Another shrug.    "Languages made sense for me.  I had a knack for it and I grew up in politics.  In fact, I was a diplomat, of sorts."

 

He nods slightly, rubbing absently at the side of his neck.  "Yeah, that does make sense.   You can't question people if you can't communicate with them."

 

"Exactly."

 

He pauses for a moment.  "Which six do you speak?"

 

Another pause in thought as you mentally sort them.  "Fluently, I speak Galactic Basic, Bothese, Rodese and Ryl. Conversational in Huttese and Cheunh."

 

He regards you quietly for a few moments and then nods slowly.  "That's impressive."

 

"Thank you."  You smile brightly at him.  Then, a mischievous glint comes to your eyes as you lift a single shoulder to shrug. "What can I say?"  

 

You pause, waiting as he starts to rise from his seat. 

 

"I have a talented tongue."

 

Mando goes deathly still at that, halfway out of his chair. 

 

His gloved hands, which had been lightly braced on the chair arms, now curl over them in a tight grip.  His knuckles probably turn white under the leather.   He takes a few drawn out, ragged breaths before slowly turning his head and leveling his visor on you. 

 

"Fucking. Maker. Woman," he snarls at you. 

 

For a moment you try to look at him innocently, but you can't hold it and end up doubled over your lap in a fit of giggles. 

 

He growls at you.   No words, just a growl.  Then, with a shake of his head, he finally finishes standing and stalks over to the alcove to drop down into the hold. 

 

Still laughing softly, you follow him, plucking the foundling out of his harness along the way.  

 

Once down the ladder, you move to the row of crates.  Settling yourself atop one, legs criss-crossed in front of you, you set the kid down in your lap.  The little one takes a few moments to decide what's comfortable, turning this way and that, before he finally settles with leaning back against your belly.   He trills happily as you gently rub his little tummy through the muslin robe, while you both watch Mando arming himself at the weapons cabinet. 

 

As you watch the Mandalorian go through his routine, you can't help but smile softly.  His movements are so fluid as he's handling the various weapons, as if each one is an extension of his body. The ones he decides to take along find their homes upon his person so easily that you know it's muscle memory for him.  It's almost graceful at times, not a word you'd usually use to describe an imposing man decked out in equally imposing armor. 

 

You nibble your lip in thought as you watch him, digging through your memories for something you hadn't thought about in a long time.

 

What was that phrase?

 

Finished with his gear selection,  Mando closes the cabinet.  He pauses for a moment to look at you and the foundling, both looking rather comfortable and waiting patiently.  He smiles within that helmet as he walks over to stand beside you, reaching out to lightly stroke the kid's ear. 

 

"I'm not sure how long I'll be.  Could be a few hours, or even a few days," he says, the visor rising from the child's face to yours.  "There's a lot of places to hide here."

 

You look surprised but nod a little in understanding.   Then, you press your lips together, looking like you want to say something.  Mando slants his head at you, waiting patiently. 

 

Darting your tongue across your lips nervously, you give him a soft smile and say softly, "K'oyacyi."

 

He goes still again in surprise, just staring for a few moments before asking, "You speak Mando'a?"

 

You shake your head emphatically with a little laugh.  "No.  I only learned a couple of phrases.  I hadn't really thought about it in a long time."  You nibble your lip and lean your head to one side.  "How's my pronunciation?"

 

He chuckles.  "A little off.  Koy-AH-shee," he says, emphasizing each syllable, "Not koy-ah-chee."

 

You repeat the farewell phrase softly. "If…if I'm remembering correctly, it means 'Come back safely,' right?'

 

He leans closer and very lightly bumps your head with his. "Yes.  You really are full of surprises, Sweetling.  Where did you learn that?"

 

You meet his gaze through the visor.  "I have to keep you on your toes somehow."  Then,  you lick your lips nervously, "And…how about you do get back safely and I'll tell you about it then?  It…it might take a while, and you have work to do."  A soft, uncertain smile plays over your lips as you look up at him. 

 

Smiling behind that visor, he lifts his gloved hand to catch your chin as he straightens. "Deal."  

 

His voice takes on a slightly more serious edge then, despite that hidden smile.  "Stay on the ship," he says, enunciating the first word carefully. 

 

You bite your lip and nod quickly. "Yes, Sir."

 

Mando gives your chin an affectionate little squeeze.  "Good girl."  Then he heads to the boarding ramp.

 

 

The second day away from the Crest has Mando in a foul mood.

 

This quarry, a blackmailer, is proving to be more difficult than Mando was expecting.  The credits the criminal had gotten with several successful blackmail schemes seem to be helping him make friends in low places and the bounty hunter keeps getting misdirected. 

 

The fact that Mando's goal for the day prior hadn't panned out like he'd hoped either hasn't helped his mood. 

 

A few days ago,  Karga had sent him word that there might be a helpful slavers guild contact on the Kwenn Space Station.  He hadn't said anything to you, because he wasn't sure how the meeting would go. 

 

It had not gone well.  

 

The guild representative was an obese male Weequay named Harrok, who had not been very tactful in his interactions with the Mandalorian. 

 

Like Leestun on Nar Shaddaa, Harrok had claimed that he did not have the authority to unwind the contract of a politically bonded slave.   He was also more emphatic than Leestun in his assertion that it probably wasn't even possible.  

 

Mando made it clear that 'impossible' wasn't an option for him.   

 

It took a hefty bribe before Mando was able to get the name of a higher ranking representative out of the Weequay: Carti Bruvell. A human woman on Tatooine in Mos Espa.

 

Good.  At least he was getting somewhere with this. 

 

Then, Harrok made some mistakes.

 

As part of the deal with the bribe, Mando had secured the Weequay's help in finishing your slave registration, since he couldn't get the contract unwound yet and he knew he couldn't keep you on the ship forever when he wasn't around.  Mando provided one of his aliases and an ident code to the slaver for the update. 

 

When he pulled up your file, Harrok had given a low and long whistle, with a lecherous grin splitting his leathery ridged face.  While he was updating your designation, he made several comments, oblivious to the anger building behind the Mandalorian's impassive helmet.

 

"Ooohh, my friend, why would you want to free that sweet, little piece of ass?  Surely you can find a good use for her!  Even an unskilled slave can be taught!" Harrok guffawed, with a lewd wink. 

 

Mando forced himself to take slow, steadying breaths.  He knew he couldn't throttle the slaver for his comments, not while he needed Harrok's help. 

 

Harrok turned the data pad he was working on towards the bounty hunter.  "Enter a security code of your choosing, to protect the asset's data."

 

Mando felt his nostrils flare in rage at hearing you described like that, but he held the emotion in check as he entered a code on the screen.   The screen changed back to the file with your image as the slaver turned the data pad back around to finish the update.

 

Harrok's comments continued then in a similar vein as he worked, the Weequay getting more perverse and more detailed with each lewd idea about you that popped into his ugly head.   Finally,  he handed Mando a data chip.  "Scan this to her tattoo microchip with a data pad and it will update her status."  

 

The Weequay paused and let his face break into a grotesque grin.  "You know, if you do not want her, Mandalorian, maybe I could take her off your hands?"

 

He seemed excited by the prospect, as if he thought it was a genuinely good idea. 

 

Mando seethed behind that opaque visor, teeth clenched.  He ignored the question, responding with one of his own as he held up the data chip.  "Can anyone make changes to this, now that she's registered to me?"

 

Harrok shook his head.   "No.  Any changes will require your ident and security codes, as well as a guild representative's."

 

Mando pushed to his feet, tucking the chip safely away into a pocket.

 

"Good," he snarled.

 

His fist connected with the Weequay's nose with a satisfying crunch. 

 

 

Mando stalks into another alleyway, behind yet another dance club, on his third day away.  The music that thumps out through the building's walls is aggravating at best and he momentarily fantasizes about putting a blaster bolt through every speaker.

 

He crouches down once he's deeper into the alley, flipping on the thermals option for his helmet.   He can see the heat signatures of two humanoids, further in the alley, talking animatedly in the dim light.

 

Finally.  He's caught up to the damn Bothan.

 

The quarry is yelling at the human he's talking to,  throwing up his hands and snarling through his muzzle, "What am I paying you for?!  That bounty hunter was just inside!  What if he spotted me?"

 

Too late,  Mando thinks, smirking. 

 

The human looks down at the Bothan, bored.  "You're imagining things!  No way he's found you down here.  We pay people too well for that."

 

"Well, I don't know who else it would have been. That armor kind of stands out!"

 

The human was actually almost right.  Mando had nearly lost track of the Bothan.  He'd lucked out though at the last club he'd been checking.   One of the servers had not liked the way the Bothan had talked to her, so she'd been all too happy to tell Mando where she'd seen them heading.  Besides, the furry humanoid had paid for her boss' silence, not hers. 

 

The bounty hunter waits a few moments to make sure the pair is alone, watching a side entrance to the alley from around another building as they argue. Satisfied, he stands and strides towards them, blaster pistol in hand. 

 

The human spots him first and sputters, spitting out a tabac cigarette from between his lips and snatching up a carbine blaster from his hip.  The Bothan follows the human's eyes to the approaching figure and squeaks in fear, trying to make a run for that side alley. 

 

A blaster bolt hits the side of the building in front of the Bothan and he skids to a stop, eyes widely staring at the charred gouge in the wall.

 

Meanwhile, the bodyguard starts firing his carbine and, after his initial fire to stop the Bothan, Mando leaps to the side away from the overly wide shots.  He levels his pistol at the human, but the man ducks behind the corner of the wall before Mando takes another shot.

 

Now, just Mando and the quarry stand in the main alleyway.  But the human is still there, peaking around the corner and trying to take pot shots at Mando.  

 

The Bothan looks like his feet are frozen in fear, eyes bulging as he darts his attention back and forth between the two larger humanoids. 

 

"I don't have any issue with you," Mando calls out to the human.  "Just want the Bothan."

 

"Fuck off, Bounty Hunter!" the human sneers, peaking around the corner and taking a shot directly over his ward's head.   

 

The shot doesn't go wide like the previous ones.  It actually hits Mando's chest straight on.  Of course, it ricochets off the beskar and into the side of another building.  However, it does get Mando to step behind some boxes piled in the alley and ticks up his respect for the human, just a notch. 

 

The Bothan yelps and ducks down, arms over his head. 

 

"Gorsk Trun'dul," Mando calls the quarry's name calmly.  "I can bring you in warm…or I can bring you in cold.  Your call."

 

The Bothan starts trying to crawl towards the human and that side alleyway.   "Kill him, already!" he screeches. 

 

"Cold it is," Mando states.

 

The human realizes the Bothan's mistake immediately: screaming that order while still out in the open. 

 

So, the bodyguard steps out at the same time Mando does, hollering like a wookiee with a war cry. 

 

Despite the attempt to distract him, Mando's first shot hits the Bothan squarely between the shoulder blades and the little humanoid slumps into the dirt.  His pistol barrel snaps to the human then and he lets off a second shot before the bodyguard has even squeezed the trigger to pepper the alleyway with a continual spray of blaster bolts.  

 

Mando jumps back behind the boxes as bolts streak down the alley.  A harsh "gah!" escapes him as one bolt catches his left side in a grazing hit, gouging and cauterizing it all at once. He thumps back against a wall with a pained hiss.

 

About a dozen bolts zip past within a couple of seconds and then they stop abruptly and the alley goes quiet.   Pushing off the wall, Mando slowly moves to the edge of the boxes and looks around them. 

 

The human is slumped against the back wall, a blaster hole straight through his heart.  It had just taken his brain a couple seconds longer to let his body know he was already dead.

 

With stuttered steps, a hand pressed to his side, Mando moves over to the pair.  He reaches down and easily hoists the dead Bothan up by the back of his shirt in his other hand. 

 

Well, I gave him a choice. 

 

 

Making his way back across the city and down into the docks takes Mando nearly another full day.  His side throbs but he pushes the pain to the back of his mind.  

 

He had removed the quarry's head and stuck it into a bag.  The bloody bag hangs off his belt now, mostly obscured by his cape as he walks.

 

When the Crest finally comes into view, he heaves a sigh of relief.   As he gets closer, he is about to press the button on his vebrace to open the ramp, but it suddenly lurches and starts to open before he can touch the controls. He stops short, watching it lower.

 

It barely reaches the floor before you're suddenly running down it and leaping into his arms. 

 

He catches you around the waist with a pained oof , but he quickly covers that with a bit of a laugh as your momentum carries the both of you into a short spin.  He winces within the helmet at the shift in his weight but then he ignores the pain.  

 

"Miss me, Sweetling?" he chuckles, leaning his head back to look down at you. 

 

You're trying to look him over as much as you can without having to actually pull back out of his arms, and you're not having much success. 

 

You level him with a very deadpan expression. "No.  I was starting to get worried I'd have to figure out how to fly the ship. So, I'm just glad I don't."

 

His head cocks at you and then he slips one hand down from your waist to your ass, and gives it a hard pinch. 

 

You yelp a little and arch away from the pinch and into his body.   With a soft laugh, your arms wrap around his shoulders and you bury your face into the cloth of his cape and cowl. 

 

"Are you okay?" you whisper against the thick material. 

 

He smiles softly, his arms firmly around your waist, as he picks you up off your feet.   Your feet dangle and you giggle softly as he carries you like that up into the ship. 

 

"I'm fine, Sweetling.  A few bumps and scratches," he says, as he puts you back on your feet and punches the button to close the ramp behind you. "Nothing to worry about.  Just a rough hunt."

 

 

"You call that a scratch?" you scowl up at him.  

 

Mando had tried to keep you from noticing the blaster wound while he put away his gear and froze the Bothan's head in carbonite.  But then you'd seen him jerk slightly in pain while climbing into the cockpit.  He'd brushed your concern aside long enough to get the ship off of the space station and back into hyperspace, en route to the next quarry.

 

Then, going back down to the hold and sitting on a crate, he finally lets you take a look at the wound.  It is in an odd location for him to see properly anyway.  

 

To your credit, you manage to only barely notice the gorgeous tan of his skin, where it isn't marred, as he lifts the edge of his shirt just above the wound. There are, after all, more important things to focus on right now. 

 

The gouge is about four inches long across his left side, just above his waist and towards his back, and about half an inch thick with tapered ends.  The energy of the blaster bolt had cauterized the wound to begin with, but his walk across the city had opened part of it up.  Now it is an angry red and oozing a little. 

 

"I've had worse," he mumbles.

 

"Mhmm," you murmur, not paying his bravado much mind, whether it's warranted or not. Straightening, you meet his gaze.  "I'm sorry I jumped on you.   That…probably didn't help."

 

You can hear his smile as he lifts a hand to brush leather fingers against your cheek.  "Are you kidding? That's the best greeting I've ever gotten coming back to the Crest." 

 

You laugh softly,  tucking a lock of hair behind your ear and blushing a little.  Brushing his hand away, you return your focus to his side.  "It needs to be treated for the burn, and probably wrapped in becta and gauze."  Looking down at your hands for a moment, you sigh softly in frustration and give him an apologetic look.  "Are there any extra gloves around that I could use?"

 

"Oh, yeah," he thinks for a moment.  "Actually, there might be some medical ones in the medkit with the other stuff."

 

With a curt nod, you head over to the medkit on the wall across from the ladder.   You gather up medical tape, gauze, becta strips, burn ointment and, thankfully, a pair of white medical gloves.  

 

As you turn back to him you pause, and then you can't help but smile.

 

The foundling had tottered up to him while you gathered the supplies. Now the little gremlin has planted himself firmly onto the toe of one of Mando's boots and is hugging the attached calf, looking up at the man with big, concerned eyes while his ears dip downward.  Mando says something softly to the kid, reassuringly, that you can't quite hear and leans down slightly to rub the foundling's ear.

 

It is just about the most endearing thing you've ever seen, and it takes a few moments for you to realize your breath has completely caught in your throat.  

 

Forcing yourself to breathe again, and ignoring the warmth spreading across your chest, you move back to stand beside Mando and set the supplies on the crate next to him.  After pulling on the gloves, you get to work treating the wound.

 

Mando looks around the cargo hold slowly, sitting as still as he can and taking in a sharp hissing breath now and then. 

 

His brow creases.  "Did you…clean in here?"

 

He can feel your hands pause in their ministrations for a brief moment before continuing.  "Yes." 

 

The hold hasn't looked this clean in years and he's actually a bit surprised that some of the metal can still shine. 

 

"You didn't have to do that."

 

Another pause and your voice is so quiet that he almost doesn't hear your response.  "Well, I had to do something. "

 

He reaches across his body with the hand that isn't holding up his shirt and catches one of your hands.   When you look up at him, his helmet ticks to one side slightly, questioningly. 

 

You shake off his hand with a faint scowl up at him, so you can continue applying the burn ointment to his side.  But you do answer that questioning look as you work. 

 

"I needed something to do.  I don't do well with just…sitting.  Nearly four days is a long time to just sit,"  you say with a soft shrug. "I mean, the last time I got…restless, things went poorly."

 

A soft chuff comes from the helmet.  "True.  The kid's not keeping you busy?"

 

You switch from applying the ointment to unwrapping strips of becta and carefully arranging them over the wound.  A little scoff escapes you.  

 

"No, not nearly.  I swear, most of the time he's the easiest kid in the galaxy."

 

Mando smirks. "Lucky for me. I was handling him mostly on my own for a year."

 

You straighten up enough to peak around the edge of his helmet at him with a smirk of your own.  "What?  Parenting didn't come naturally to the intimidating warrior?"

 

A light tsk sound of annoyance comes through the modulator and you laugh softly, going back to taping the gauze on his side. 

 

"It seems to come naturally enough to you," he comments, twisting slightly to look down at his side as you finally step back, finished. 

 

You falter a bit as you pull the gloves off, your voice catching.  "Ye…yeah. It did."

 

Dropping his shirt back over the bandage, he tips his head. "'Did'?"

 

Blinking at him a couple times, a silent moment passes before you put on a smile.  "'Does'.  I meant 'does'."

 

Behind the visor he frowns slightly at the obvious lie. 

 

He studies you as you move over to the disposal unit by the fresher, to throw out the soiled gloves and the bandage wrappings. When you turn back, you avoid looking at him and instead move in front of him to scoop up the kid from his boot.  You set the little one easily on your hip, bouncing him gently, and Mando can't help noticing how you handle the child as naturally and easily as he handles a rifle.

 

He shrugs slightly to himself, letting the questions go, for now. 

 

The foundling suddenly lurches forward in your arms and you give a surprised gasp.  He's reaching desperately for Mando and, after a moment of struggle to keep from dropping him, you laugh thinly and hand him over.

 

"I see how it is," you tease the kid, poking him in the belly softly, "you little traitor."

 

Mando chuckles, shifting the kid in his arms.  The child coos up at him happily, tapping his little claws on the beskar armor. 

 

"Well, at least someone missed me," he quips, and you roll your eyes with a smirk. 

 

You watch the two of them for a few moments, smiling softly at how caring the dangerous man is with the kid. 

 

"What was so rough about this hunt?" you ask curiously.

 

The helmet raises to you and he just stares at you for a moment.   Then, with one arm holding the kid, he raises the edge of his shirt to bare the bandage again and points at it as if you haven't seen it. 

 

"I got shot.  Right here."

 

You return his stare for a moment with an incredulous one of your own.  Then you laugh, rolling your eyes again and throwing up your hands in defeat. 

 

He chuckles, dropping the shirt to reach that hand out and pull you into him.  You resist slightly at first, grumbling at him, but end up snuggled into his side, careful of the freshly wrapped wound.  Your head rests on his chest as his arm wraps around you, and the foundling imitates you in Mando's other arm.  You smile at that little green face, tapping his nose with a fingertip. 

 

Mando's modulated voice escapes the helmet above your head.  You smile softly.   With your cheek against his cuirass, you can also feel his voice rumbling in his chest. 

 

"It was rough because nothing went as smoothly as I'd have liked," he explains,  shrugging a little.   That also reminds him of something else.  "Oh, I…did manage to get your contract updated," he says, a strained edge to his voice. 

 

Your head raises in surprise to look at him, absently lifting your hand to brush your fingertips over the raised slave-mark tattoo on your neck. "You did?" 

 

He nods, releasing you to dig the data chip out of his pocket and hold it up.  "Yeah," he answers, "we just need to scan this onto that… kriffing chip in your neck."  With a sigh, he holds the kid out to you and, once you take the little one, he heads towards the ladder.  "Come on. There's a data pad up here that we can use."

 

About ten minutes later you are sitting in your normal jumpseat with the foundling bouncing on your lap.   You hold him steady with one hand as your other absently traces the raised lines of that small tattoo.  You know there's a microchip of some sort embedded in it, but you're not sure exactly where, or how.

 

You also know this new feeling is just in your head.  Nothing actually physically changed when he pressed that data pad against the tattoo. Still, somehow it feels different now, knowing it's Mando's ownership that is literally written into your skin. 

 

Licking your lips softly, you watch as he puts the data pad back down in a small cabinet beneath the control panel.  Then, he tucks your contract data chip into a small pocket on his utility belt, zipping it securely closed. 

 

"Thank you," you say softly. 

 

He turns to you and you're not sure if he's surprised or questioning you. 

 

A deep breath lifts your chest for a moment and then you exhale it in a slow sigh.  "I know you…don't like it: thinking about…what I am."  He shifts uncomfortably, and you know it's not the seat that is the problem.  "Still…I appreciate that you got that taken care of. It…it makes me feel safer. "

 

For a few moments he just watches you, and then he nods a little.  "I guess it's not such a bad thing, then."

 

You give him a soft smile at that. 

 

After a few moments, Mando stands and steps closer to you.  He leans down to the opposite side of your head from where the kid is sitting. His voice drops a little lower and takes on a husky note. 

 

"Think you can get him to go to sleep?" he asks.  "I've missed you, Sweetling."

 

It feels like fire courses through your veins at that and you have to take a slow, steadying breath.   As Mando straightens up next to you, you look down at the foundling, who quirks his ears up at you. 

 

"Okay, you womp rat.   Bed time!"

Chapter 12

Summary:

Not much to warn of. Fluff. Bit of drama. Grogu is cute.

Chapter Text

Several days pass on your trip from Kwenn to the planet that Mando’s next quarry is hiding on, Somos. During the trip, you find yourself keeping Mando’s exuberant attentions at bay somewhat. At least more often than either of you would really like. But you know the stubborn man needs to give himself time to rest and heal. After nearly four days of little to no sleep or food, and an injury, he needs time to recover whether or not he will actually admit it.

 

A few mornings of the trip you wake to the foundling snuggled into your arms, which always brings a smile to your face. His little body cuddles in close and he’s usually awake, resting his little cheek or hand on your sternum above the neckline of your shirt, warmth pulsing at the connection. Seeing you wake up, he usually starts trilling and cooing softly at you and you laugh gently, picking him up as you climb out of bed.

 

Other mornings, when you wake alone, you find yourself reaching out to the other side of the bed, feeling for the spot Mando had been in the night before, even though you know he won’t be there now.  He has always left the bed hours prior. He never stays long after you fall asleep. Last week he had usually gone back up to the cockpit. Since Kwenn though, he actually allows himself to rest in the sleeping rack, for a few hours each night, at least.

 

There had been one night, before the trip to the space station, that he had nearly fallen asleep beside you, loathed to move because you had been snuggled up against his side so sweetly. But in your sleep you had sought his warmth more directly and nearly slipped your hand under his shirt before he caught it.

 

So, he leaves the bedroll to sleep elsewhere, rather than chance an accidental contact that could cause you to wake up bombarded by whatever emotions he might be feeling.

 

You appreciate the thoughtfulness, but Maker this is getting harder to deal with.

 

---

 

On the sixth day of the trip, you wake once again to the adorable little green face of the foundling. This morning though, rather than snuggling close to you, he’s sitting next to your head with his little hand reaching out to softly pet your cheek. You start a little when you open your eyes, to see those big eyes so close to you.

 

As soon as you wake, he’s starts excitedly babbling at you, little hands gesturing wildly. He seems to come to some important point after a few moments and stops, looking at you expectantly with wide eyes. 

 

When you finally realize he’s done with... whatever that was, you laugh, shaking your head at him. “Sorry, Little One, I still don’t understand you.”

 

He certainly seems to understand you though as his big ears dip down a little and he heaves a tiny sigh.

 

“Awww… poor little thing,” you say as you sit up and scoop him into your lap. “I know, you’re trying so hard.” You try to comfort the child, letting him hold onto your hand with both of his tiny ones as he looks up at you with disappointment.

 

Mando climbs down the cockpit ladder at about that time and he stops to look down at you both, his head slowly tilting.

 

“Why doesn’t his touch affect your... ability?” he asks in confusion.

 

You look up at him and then back down at the child in your lap. You’re not surprised by the question. Actually, if anything, you’re surprised it hasn’t come up before.

 

With a soft shake of your head, you shrug. “I think it may be due to his own Force sensitivity. I don’t know for certain though.”

 

“How do you know he’s Force sensitive?”

 

You look up at him in surprise. “You told me…” You pause when the helmet moves slightly to shake negatively. Your face screws up in thought for a moment and then a look of realization crosses it. “Oh… okay, no. You didn’t say that specifically. But you told me about when you found him. The mudhorn?” With a shrug, you smile softly. “His being Force sensitive is the only thing that makes sense with that.”

 

After a moment he nods in acceptance. “Okay.” Then his head cocks slightly at the foundling as the little one snuggles into your chest, still holding your hand. One big ear presses against your chest and brushes your bare neck, as he looks up at Mando with those big eyes and a cherub grin. 

 

“Moving in on my territory there, Kid,” Mando grumbles at the child, although with an obviously lighthearted tone.

 

You snicker softly.

 

A chuffing laugh comes from the helmet as the visor lifts from the kid to your face and he shifts his weight to rest on one foot, the other boot kicking out absently as he speaks.

 

“We’ll be landing on Sonos in a couple of hours. This bounty shouldn’t take too long. Just a bail jumper that’s hiding out, either in a village or near it..”

 

You nod a little, listening with curiosity. He doesn’t usually share details of his hunting plans with you.

 

“I’d… like you to come with me on this one. At least for part of it.”

 

Your eyebrows shoot upward in surprise. “Really?”

 

He nods slightly. “Yeah… The village is mostly Rodian, I guess. If they don’t speak Basic, I’m kriffed.”

 

The surprise melts away from your face as you realize what he’s probably doing: trying to make you feel useful.

 

With a soft smile you shrug a little. “They probably speak Basic… or at least some of them will.”

 

He shrugs too. “Maybe. But the quarry is also Rodian and they might be hesitant to help me find him. I’ll trust your translation more than theirs.”

 

Your smile brightens a bit. Maybe he isn’t just trying to pacify you.

 

You nod excitedly. “Okay!” You pause then in thought, for a moment. “Although… I might have a better idea than just playing translator.”

 

“Oh?”

 

With a little nod you give him a mischievous smile. “I’ll tag along in the village, but I won’t speak anything but Basic. That is unless there really isn’t anyone there who speaks both. If there is someone else to translate though…” One shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “I just listen. After we’re away, I can let you know if the translator lied about anything or if I overhear anything from the other villagers.”

 

Behind the visor, Mando slowly smiles. “That sounds perfect.”

 

---

 

Mando lands the Crest in a lush valley on Somos. It is truly stunning with rich green grass and wild flowers everywhere, circled by dark mountains. 

 

Much of Somos is covered in mountains. There are numerous rivers and some plains, but mostly it is mountains and valleys. The valley he lands in is just on the other side of a smaller mountain range from a village on one of the only plains areas you saw while flying in.

 

After Mando grabs his gear and sets the kid’s floating egg to follow him, you all leave the Crest behind and begin walking towards a narrow pass in the mountain range. It will lead out to the plains and the village.

 

"About a four hour walk", Mando says. "Two hours southwest from the ship to go up the pass and two more down the other side, straight west."

 

It is a long trek but the valley is the easiest place to keep the Crest out of view, so the quarry won’t be scared off.

 

---

 

The village is not terribly inviting. The villagers, which are all Rodian from what you can see, are curious about your trio but most of them keep their distance. They all watch Mando carefully, which isn’t too surprising.

 

“A farming village is odd for Rodians,” you comment softly to Mando as you walk into the town, noting the shallow water paddies around the village for growing some sort of rice. “They’re usually more… volatile… than your typical farmers.”

 

A chuff comes from the helmet. “Maybe these are the exception to the rule.”

 

You smirk softly and shrug. “Here’s hoping.”

 

The younger Rodians are a little more friendly than their adult counterparts, and they are curious about the child. So, when one of them comes up to ask about the kid excitedly in Galactic Basic, Mando answers a few questions vaguely and then enlists the Rodian's help in questioning others about the bounty.

 

The Rodian, Arritz, is probably in his early teens, although you don’t trust your own ability to guess Rodian ages. Either way, you suspect from his enthusiasm that he will not be lying while translating. So, when Mando and Arritz are speaking to a few of the adults outside the village’s only bar, you only half listen to the conversation. None of the adults seem to recognize the fob holo and only give curt replies. They don’t seem to like a bounty hunter coming after one of their own, even if they don’t know the quarry. While listening, you crouch down to hold the child at the level of several Rodian children, who are keeping him entertained with funny faces.

 

That is until one of the older females makes a snarky comment.

 

You stand up sharply, scowling, holding the kid firmly on your hip.

 

Mando notices the movement and turns to you. He holds up a finger to Arritz to wait a moment and then steps over to you. The Rodian children scatter as he does. His voice drops into a whisper as he leans close. “What is it?”

 

Your eyes are darting around frantically, and Mando’s hand hovers near his blaster, but he doesn’t unclip it yet. He says your name firmly, questioningly.

 

“She said… something about bothersome humans getting washed away by the storm…” you say softly, eyes still searching as you turn slowly around.

 

You look to the south and stop, eyes widening.

 

On the distant horizon, huge black clouds are growing tall for as far along the horizon as you can see. They are moving towards the village, rolling, following along the mountain range. Lightening streaks across the clouds randomly and you are genuinely amazed that you can’t hear the thunder already.

 

Mando follows your eyes and pauses in surprise too, muttering some sort of expletive under his breath. He reaches over to Arritz and tugs on the teen’s sleeve. “What is that?” he asks the Rodian sharply.

 

You overhear a couple of sarcastic comments from others about how“He doesn’t know a storm when he sees one”.

 

The young Rodian shrugs. “It’s the first storm of rice season,” he says, as if it should be common knowledge. 

 

Mando jabs a finger towards the coming clouds. “That looks like more than just a storm,” he states,  a slight growl of annoyance in his voice. 

 

“It looks like a monsoon…” you comment softly, eyes still locked on the wall of clouds.

 

“Oh…” Arritz mutters, “Well, yeah. The monsoon season is starting. That’s rice season.”

 

You finally tear your eyes from the clouds and look over at Mando and the Rodian.

 

“Will we be able to get back over the pass if that thing gets here?”

 

The Rodian seems to consider that for a moment and then shakes his lizardy head a little. “No… not for a few days, at least, maybe a week or two. The pass basically turns into a river of mud on both sides.”

 

“Dank Farrik,” Mando snarls, looking at the clouds to the south and then the pass to the east.

 

He had considered bringing his rocket pack with today but had decided against it, since he’s still getting the hang of it and couldn’t have carried both you and the child with him anyway. Now he’s kicking himself for that decision.

 

Why doesn’t anything ever go as smoothly as it should? he wonders.

 

Sighing heavily, he looks back at you. “Guess we have to make a run for it,” he says. He looks back at Arritz. “How long do you think we have before the storm reaches the pass?”

 

The teen turns to the adult Rodians and repeats the question. A moment later he turns back to you both. “About two or three hours.”

 

Mando curses again, looking down at you. “Well, it took us four to get here, but we’ll move faster this time.”

 

You nod sharply, turning to put the child back into his floating egg. Tucking blankets around him, you smile down at him softly and hold his little hand for a moment reassuringly as he looks up at you with big curious eyes. That tiny hand squeezes your finger and he babbles something at you for a moment with the same intensity he had when he woke you up this morning.

 

You shake your head softly at him, patting his little head. “No time right now, sweetie.  Sorry.”

 

Pressing the button on the front of the egg, it snaps shut around him. You turn back to the Mandalorian and the Rodian.

 

“Well,” Arritz asks, “Is your ship north or south of the pass?”

 

“North,” Mando replies.

 

Arritz’s snout curves into a Rodian smile. “Okay! If you can at least get over the pass, you should be fine. The mud flows to the south, so you just need to get to that side.” He turns to one of the older male Rodians and asks him a few questions rapidly. The elder is hesitant to answer but finally does and the teen turns back. “If you get to that side of the pass but don’t quite make it to your ship before the storm hits, stick close to the mountain. There’s a cave a little ways north of the pass. You can wait out the worst of the storm there. Usually the worst is in the first few hours only… then it’s just steady rain instead of the downpour.”

 

A slight tick of Mando’s helmet tells you he’s looking to you to confirm the translation. You give a tiny nod.

 

“All right,” Mando’s modulated voice says, “Thank you, Arritz.” He holds an open-palmed hand across his chest to Arritz, a Rodian gesture of respect that you had seen diplomats use in the past with your father and other politicians.

 

The teen grins, at least that’s what you think that expression is. He seems very proud to have earned the Mandalorian’s respect and he returns the gesture.

 

Heaving a sigh, Mando looks down at you. “Let’s go,” he says.

 

You follow him at a run out of the village, straight towards the pass.

 

---

 

You both stumble into the cave about twenty minute after the first sheets of rain roll across the valley floor, the kid's egg gliding in behind you. The fat drops of water have trampled down the valley’s lush grass and flowers and immediately created countless rivulets of mud everywhere. You had almost missed the cave entirely due to the mist the rain kicked up, but the thermal view of Mando’s helmet had barely managed to pick up the slightly warmer air of the cave from the rain around it.

 

It was a little hike up over rocks to get to the cave, but it wasn’t too bad. You managed to only fall once onto your hands and knees. Mando had been surprised to find you laughing as he helped you get back to your feet, mud splashed across your soaked clothing. The rain was falling so heavily though that, by the time you got into the cave, most of the mud had washed away.

 

The entrance has a slight decline and water runs down it into a dip in the cavern floor. Then the floor rises up gradually for a few feet before leveling out until it reaches the back of the cave. So, the water doesn’t go in any further, thankfully. The cave is only about eight feet wide and fifteen feet long. But it is mostly dry, so it will suffice. Just like the Rodian had said.

 

Tugging off his sodden gloves, Mando pulls a small round drum-shaped item from a pocket of his utility belt and flips a switch on it. The item casts a soft yellow light from all sides of it and he sets it down on the ground near the back of the cave. It’s a dim light, but it’s better than the darkness.

 

Meanwhile, you open up the kid's floating egg to check on him. The child looks up at you both, bright eyed and cheerful. He starts up his babbles again almost immediately as he looks back and forth between you two. He mostly seems focused on you though, chattering away with little clawed hands waving at you excitedly. Then, he suddenly goes quiet, eyes bright and ears perked up expectantly once again.

 

You smile down at him. "I don't know what any of that means, darling boy," you say to him, voice raised a bit to be heard over the wind and rain. You glance up at Mando with a shrug. “I swear, he’s been trying to tell me something all day,” you say with a soft laugh, glancing back at the kid. “Poor little thing is trying so hard to communicate.”

 

The kid’s ears droop and you would swear he sighs at you. You and Mando both chuckle at him, Mando's hand rubbing the top of the foundling's head affectionately.

 

Then, all three of you look at the entrance sharply as a clap of thunder echoes through the cave. It makes you jump a little, but then you're laughing.

 

Mando levels a curious look at you. "What are you so pleased about?" he asks.

 

Running your fingers through your soaked hair, and beginning to wring the locks out, you give him a bright smile. "I love rain!"

 

The helmet cocks to one side. "You do? Why?"

 

Your shoulders lift again. "I always have! Running through it, playing in it… it was one of my favorite things as a child," you explain, still beaming as you turn towards the entrance to look out at the storm.

 

Thunder rolls through the cave and you can feel it in your chest, your heart hammering. Moving closer to the cave's entrance, you watch the deluge while you absently try to wring some of the water out of the hem of your shirt. Your chest rises in shallow, exhilarated breaths, as the wind and rain crash through the valley outside in deafening waves.

 

Mando watches you, smiling behind the visor. He's never seen you so animated. You're stunning. If that beaming smile had been for him, it would have been nearly enough for him to promise you any damned thing in the galaxy, if you just asked.

 

After a minute or two of just watching you enjoy the spectacle of the storm,  Mando looks down at himself and gives a groan.   He starts releasing the magnetic clips on his armor, dropping the pieces onto the ground near the kid’s egg.

 

When the first piece sends a vibrating clang through the cave, you turn to look at him curiously.

 

He pauses as he’s removing the shoulder guards. “I need to wring out my clothes,” he says with a shrug. His head tilts to one side as he looks you over. “You should probably do the same,” he comments with a smirk. “You look like a drowned womp rat.”

 

Your face screws up indignantly and you stick your tongue out at him.

 

He chuckles, continuing to remove his armor. “A cute drowned womp rat?”

 

Laughing, you roll your eyes at him.

 

Armor removed, except the helmet of course, he straightens up and kicks off his boots.  He releases the hooks at the back of his cowl and pulls it off, along with the cape.   Folding them up he begins wringing the heavy cloth out.

 

For a few moments, you watch him, your mouth going a little dry.   The sight of the bare skin at his neck brings you back to that first meeting, on Sardecia,  and your fingers clench and unclench absently as your remember how warm his skin had felt beneath your fingers. 

 

Biting your lip, you realize he’s about to be wearing less than you’ve ever seen him in before. As he grasps the bottom of his shirt, you take a deep breath and turn quickly back towards the cave entrance to watch the storm. However, your interest in the storm is significantly less than before.

 

Mando had seen you watching him and now his chuffing laugh reaches your ears as he peels off his shirt over the helmet. “Are you turning away to protect my delicate honor?” he asks teasingly.

 

You laugh softly in return, shaking your head slightly. Your head turns slightly over your shoulder, but you don’t actually look back at him. “No…” you respond, swallowing hard. “To… protect my sanity.”

 

Another chuff. “Your sanity?”

 

You nod a little, wrapping your arms around yourself as a shiver goes through you. You’re not sure if it’s from the cold water soaked clothing or if it’s from the thought that he might be partially undressed behind you by now. “Yes,” you respond, offering up no other explanation.  

 

He watches you for a few moments and smiles a little, thinking of all the times he’s seen your skin bared. “Okay… I get it.”

 

You smile back over your shoulder softly and then turn your eyes back towards the entrance.

 

Clearing his throat, he focuses on trying to wring water out of his shirt. “You… you really should try to get some of the water out of your clothes too. We could be in here for a while.”

 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you nod softly. “Yeah, okay.” Unwrapping your arms from around you, you pull your arms out of the long sleeves before pushing the garment up and over our head. You twist it up in your hands and try to get as much of the water out as you can.

 

Behind you, Mando lays out his shirt on top of the pile of Beskar. As he leans close to the floating crib, the founding leans over the lip of his egg and touches Mando’s shoulder with eager taps of his claws.

 

Straightening, Mando looks down at the little green face. The child starts babbling and trilling up at him then, gesturing with a small clawed hand at your back in earnest. His little face looks so excitedly up at Mando, that the man regrets it when he has to shake his head, reaching out to rub a finger over the kid’s ear. “Sorry, buddy. Wish we could understand you.”

 

The little hand drops down and the kid sighs again. Mando chuckles softly.

 

Looking over at you, Mando watches as you finish wringing out your shirt and find a dry spot on a rock to set it. His eyes slide over the soft curves of your bared shoulders and down your sides to where your hips disappear under the waist of your pants.  And with you leaning over to lay out the shirt, he takes a moment to appreciate the way those pants hug your rear. 

 

Suddenly,  you straighten up with a gasp and he can see the surprise on your face from the side, even though you’re barely turned towards him.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks curtly.

 

“I-I’m… not sure,” you stammer, your palm lifting to rest against your chest above your breasts. “Something feels… off. Like...there’s a pressure all around me…”

 

Mando scowls, moving to step closer to you. All of a suddenly he hears a sound like a blast of air rushing through the cave, but he doesn’t feel anything.

 

You give a shriek of surprise and are suddenly yanked backwards, as if by an invisible hand. Your feet scramble for purchase but land on one of the wet spots on the ground and you completely lose your balance, tripping backwards.

 

Leaping forward, Mando catches you around the waist. However, instead of stopping your fall, you both tumble back and onto the hard ground. Mando lands hard on his butt with a grunt and you land on his lap, the wind knocked out of both of you.

 

Then, as suddenly as that blast came through the cave, it is gone.

 

Wet hair tangled across your face, you huff a little and push it aside, looking towards the entrance in confusion.

 

A soft giggling sound echoes in the now quiet cave and your eyes dart over to the child. He’s looking extremely tired, but also quite pleased with himself, his little hand stretched out towards you.

 

“Did you just… Force pull me?” you ask the child in shock. As soon as you say it you know it sounds silly, but you’re not sure what else to call it.

 

He gives a bubbly little laugh and lowers his hand. Then he slowly closes his eyes and lays back in the crib.

 

“What in the…?"

 

Your question is cut off then by the sound of Mando’s low, modulated voice, right by your ear. He says your name, his voice earnest, and filled with uncertainty.

 

You blink a couple times, snapping out of your surprise at the child and slowly turning to look up at Mando’s very close visor. “Ye...yeah?”

 

He meets your gaze for a moment and then pointedly looks downward.

 

Following his eyes down you freeze, your breath catching in your throat.

 

His bare arm is pressed against your bare belly.  His equally bare hand is holding your opposite hip just above the waistline of your pants, fingers pressed firmly into your soft flesh. Your breath suddenly comes raggedly as you also recognize the feeling of his other hand splayed across the small of your back and the strong muscles of his naked chest pressed against your arm.

 

You start to tremble.

 

“Dank Farrik,” Mando mumbles when he feels your quivering.  He leans back quickly to bring his chest away from your arm and pulls his hands away from your body. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

 

“No!” you gasp, your hands snapping outward to catch the hand that pulls away from your belly. You stare at his hand in yours, your breath stuttering.

 

Mando freezes, watching you with uncertainty.

 

The silence stretches out and after what feels like forever,  he finally breaks it.  “What… what are you getting from me, Sweetling?” he asks, haltingly.

 

When you finally speak, he can barely hear you.

 

“No-nothing…” you whisper, your voice catching on a half-laugh and half-sob, as your own relief washes through you in a wave stronger than any emotion you’ve felt in a very long time.

 

Finally, you are able to peel your gaze away from your hands around his.  You look up at his dark visor slowly, your voice filled with awe and tears of relief in your eyes.

 

“I’m not getting...anything…”  

 

 

Chapter 13

Summary:

Warnings: fluff and lots of smut

 

Shout out to fellow AO3 author, PeetiesPetals!
Her work inspired me to start writing again and her story telling is amazing! She's recently finished part one of a series! It's also a Mando/Reader fic. Check her out if you haven't already. Link below!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34611619/chapters/86160976

 

If you'd like to reach out to me, I'm on Tumbler with the same user name as here.

Enjoy!

Chapter Text

"'Nothing'?" Mando's modulated voice breaks the silence again. 

 

Breath shaking, you look down at his hand again.   It dwarfs your smaller hands as you hold it.  Calloused, thick fingers are splayed open within the grip of your more delicate digits.  

 

Both of you keep your intertwined hands very still, as if you're each afraid that the slightest movement will break the spell.  Like the unexpected dam that is keeping your Force ability in check will suddenly burst again to overwhelm you. 

 

But, thank the Maker, when you close your eyes and reach inward, all that you feel is blissful calm, and silence, within the small sliver of the Force that you are connected to.  

 

Swallowing back a lump in your throat, your voice cracks slightly as you shake your head. 

 

"It's g-gone…it's off…" you stumble, trying to find the right words to explain.  "It's so…beautifully…quiet."  A single tear catches on your lashes before rolling down your cheek as a soft, serene smile tugs up the corners of your mouth.

 

Mando leans a bit closer, the top of his faceplate resting gently against your temple.  He watches you, caught up in the peaceful expression playing across the lines of your face, and savoring the feel of your soft hands wrapped around his rougher one.  

 

Lashes flutter as your eyes open slowly and you inhale a deep, steadying breath.  Then,  your eyes falls on the floating egg.  You can't see the child within it and your brow creases with concern. 

 

"The kid," you whisper worriedly, releasing Mando's hand  and shifting on his lap to get up. 

 

He drops his arm across your legs, his hand curling around your outer thigh.   He presses down firmly to hold you in place.  You look at him in surprise as one of your hands comes to rest over the back of his. 

 

"He's fine," he says softly.  "That's what he does, whenever he uses one of those…abilities."  His shoulders lift slightly.  "He'll be passed out for hours."

 

After a moment's pause, you nod slightly in understanding, looking back at the egg and biting your lip a little.  "I don't know how, but…he did this," you whisper, looking down at your hand again and marveling at the feeling of Mando's warm skin beneath your palm. "He…he fixed it.  Fixed me…"

 

Mando's gaze follows yours.  "I've seen him do unexplainable things... Even heal a fatal wound," he replies softly.  "I sure as hell don't understand how any of this Force stuff works, but if anyone could help, I'm not surprised he could."

 

A smile lifts the corners of your lips softly and you nod a little.  Your fingers curl around his wrist and you pull up, glancing up at him questioningly from the corner of your eye.  After a second, he lets you lift his arm away and doesn't stop you as you stand up to take a few steps over to the kid's crib.

 

The little foundling seems to be sleeping soundly, tiny snores coming from him that make you laugh softly.  You reach into the crib to pull a blanket up and around him, tucking him in.

 

"Thank you, little one," you say softly, leaning down to softly kiss the top of his fuzzy, green head.  "Sweet dreams."  As you straighten, you press the button on the front of the egg to close it. 

 

You inhale deeply then, eyes closed, and for a moment you just enjoy the stillness within your being.  It's been so long since you've felt so at ease within yourself and you can't help but savor it with a soft smile. You turn a little to look out the entrance of the cave, watching the storm and just soaking up the serene feeling that washes over you. 

 

After several moments, you finally turn back towards Mando, with that soft smile still touching your lips.  

 

Then, you stop short, your breath hitching. 

 

Mando is still sitting right where you'd left him, right where he'd fallen beneath you when the kid pulled his trick, leaning back on his hands as he watches you.  But you'd been so close to him before that you hadn't gotten a look at him.  Now, really seeing him in the soft, yellow lantern light, you're at a loss for words.

 

He is fucking gorgeous. 

 

Your eyes drift down from the hard lines of that familiar beskar helmet to the lithe muscles of his arms, chest and abdomen.  His skin is golden tan and you remember once wondering if it continued past the neckline of his shirt.  It definitely did, just peppered here and there with paler scars. Your fingers flex subconsciously as you imagine running them over those lean muscles, or lightly tracing over the scars.  Then, your eyes fall down to the V shaped lines that dip from his narrow hips to disappear beneath the waist of his black, armorweave pants. A tiny little mewl escapes you at the sight, heat searing through you.

 

His body's reaction to your perusal is obvious, his chest rising and falling a bit more shallowly and an erection starting to press against the armorweave cloth. But he doesn't move or say anything.   He just watches you. 

 

Your teeth catch your bottom lip as your eyes slide back up to his helmet.   

 

It is right then, as your eyes glide back up the length of his body, that you fully come to appreciate what the revelation of the last half hour means.  You no longer have to just imagine what tracing your fingers over him would feel like, because now you actually can.   

 

With that realization, a fresh wave of desire crashes through you, leaving you a little breathless and more than a little wet.  You can feel your heartbeat quicken and your lips just barely part as your tongue darts across them. 

 

At that moment, you are fairly certain you have never wanted anyone as badly as this.   

 

 

Mando revels beneath your appreciative gaze, his head tipped back a bit as he watches you devour him with your eyes and he smiles at the sound of that little mewl.  He keeps his attention on your face meanwhile, enjoying the tiny changes in your expression as you look him over.  

 

He shifts on his hands, leaning back on them a bit more as his legs stretch out and cross at the ankles.  

 

You seem to come to some sort of realization about then, or a decision. He's not sure which, but the immediate change in your demeanor is obvious.  You go from looking shy and uncertain to suddenly looking downright ravenous.

 

His brows arch sharply at the shift, his head tipping slightly to one side with a smirk hidden under the helmet. 

 

The way the tips of your fingers lightly graze down your sides then, over your hips and down your legs, makes him groan softly.  A tiny smile pulls at your lips at the sound that barely makes it through the modulator.  You lean over, never taking your eyes off of him, to unlace your boots just enough to kick them off.  

 

Then, you close the distance back to him, with just a few slow steps.  He tilts his head back to look up at you as you stop to stand beside him, your bare feet almost touching his thigh.  Otherwise, he still doesn't move, content to wait and see what you have in mind. 

 

You meet his eyes for a moment over the swells of your breasts, biting your lip.  Then he grins as you boldly let your eyes run over him once more, slowly, not even attempting to be subtle about it.  Your smile is coy as your gaze finally comes back up to rest on his visor.  Shifting your weight, you lift one foot up and over his lap, to set it on the other side of his legs.  Then you slowly sink down, until your calves are bracketing his thighs and knees. 

 

Mando's breath hitches slightly as he watches your graceful descent to straddle him, his chest rising shakily with each breath.   But still, he doesn't move as you settle onto his lower thighs, so tantalizingly close to his groin that he can feel the warmth coming off of you.  His fingers curl on the rock behind him where his hands brace, digging small furrows into the dirt.

 

Wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue, you slowly lean into him, your covered breasts barely brushing against him.  He can feel the heat of you through the cloth, against the labored rise and fall of his chest.  You take a slow breath, inhaling the spiced and leather scent that lingers on his skin, as you lean your head to one side of his helmet and he tilts his head away, giving you easy access to the side of his neck.  Your breath dances over his skin, before your lips follow in a feather light kiss.  At the same time, you lift a hand and lightly let your fingertips graze across his skin, just below his collarbones, before resting your hand flat against his chest. 

 

A strained growl comes from him then, from deep in his chest, and he trembles under those light touches.  He groans out a low curse, his jaw clenched so tight it's almost painful. 

 

In fact, the sound of it causes you to pause, and after a moment you slowly lean back from him so your eyes can meet that visor.   

 

"Is…is something wrong?" you ask softly.

 

"No, nothing" he rasps quickly, shaking his head and swallowing hard. 

 

You lick your lips nervously, obviously unconvinced.   Looking down for a moment, Mando can almost see the moment you notice how tense he is beneath the palm resting on his chest, the strain in his muscles. 

 

"Have I…overstepped here?"  you ask. 

 

"Fuck, no," he answers quickly, "but…can I…"  

 

At his hesitancy, you lift your eyes back up to that opaque visor and he can see the concern growing in them. 

 

"Can I touch you, Sweetling?" he finally gets out, the sharp edge of desire in his voice. 

 

 

You blink at that question.  Of anything he could have said or asked in this moment, that was absolutely not what you were expecting. 

 

The concern in your eyes is quickly replaced by confusion and your head cants to one side. You look pointedly down at your hand, resting on his chest, and then back up at him questioningly. 

 

"I…I'm confused," you admit with a soft, self-deprecating laugh. 

 

Mando swallows hard and then clears his throat.   His head tilts towards you a bit and you can feel his eyes on yours. 

 

"It's… the only limitation you asked of me, Sweetling," he explains softly.  Shaking his head slightly, he adds, "The reason for it may have just changed…but that doesn't automatically negate it."  His jaw clenches behind that visor.  "I'm not… about to do something that I said I wouldn't…just because it's suddenly possible.  Not until I hear you say that you want me to."

 

As he talks, the confusion gradually melts away from your face, replaced by surprise and then awe.  You are at a complete loss for a few moments as you just stare at him, your stomach feeling like it's twisted up with butterflies and your mind reeling.

 

This man has complete authority over your life.  If he were to choose to use that authority however he wanted, almost no one would question it.  In fact, slavery is common enough in the galaxy that most people probably wouldn't even blink.  And yet here he is, his desire for you obvious with a partial erection pressed against your inner thigh, sitting as calmly as he can while you straddle him, and he's waiting for your permission.

 

"Do you have any idea how… astoundingly… good you are to me?" you ask, so softly that he almost doesn't hear it. 

 

There's a pause, before a faint chuff escapes the helmet and his head tips downward slightly as he shakes it negatively.  "Nothing astounding about doing the right thing, Sweetling."

 

You nibble the corner of your lip and another smile tugs up your lips at that.  

 

You shouldn't be surprised.

 

Despite all of his skills, you've realized over the last several weeks that Mando is not a proud man.  He's quiet, steady, reliable, and more than capable, but he's not boastful even when he has every right to be. 

 

He is, however,  a man of action.  

 

So, following that example, you decide to simply show him your appreciation. 

 

Your second hand briefly joins the first one to rest on his chest.  His chin ticks upwards at that touch, bringing his eyes back up to your face. Slowly, you slide both hands up over his shoulders and around behind his neck.  Your nails drag softly across the nape of his neck, eliciting a small shiver from him. 

 

You bring your body in close to his again, rocking your hips forward just slightly in his lap.  You're rewarded with a soft, strangled sound from him as his body jumps back to attention, his erection pressing against your heated core. Then, your lips brush against the side of his helmet, near his hidden ear.   

 

"Yes, Mando, you can touch me," you whisper, your voice a purr, "Anytime you want."

 

There's a low growl from the helmet then that sends a spear of heat through you to settle at your pussy.  His hands are on you almost before you finish speaking, starting at your hips and sliding up behind you, spreading his fingers across your back to tug you into him.  

 

A soft whimper escapes you at the feel of those calloused hands over your skin, a quiver lacing up your spine.  Leaning your head to one side, your lips find the corded muscle along the side of his neck.  Teeth lightly bite at his skin before the tip of your tongue traces that muscle up to the edge of his jaw, just under the helmet.  

 

His fingers press into your soft flesh firmly as he rests the helmet's faceplate on your shoulder, breath hitching as you nip and lick along his neck. 

 

As you roll your hips forward again, rubbing your covered pussy against his hardening cock, you both moan.  You nuzzle you face just under the edge of his helmet, darting your tongue out to tease his jaw.

 

Suddenly,  Mando goes very still, his muscles tensing again.  His hands slip down from your shoulder blades to just rest softly on your hips.  A low snarl escapes the helmet, "Dank Farrik…"

 

You pull back a little to look at him curiously.   The sigh he gives makes you laugh softly in exasperation.  "What now?"

 

"I don't…"  Another sigh.  "I don't have anything here for… to prevent…" He pauses, uneasy, before grumbling, "It's on the kriffing ship."

 

It takes you a moment to decipher that but, once you do, you laugh softly and shake your head. "It's not an issue." His head ticks to one side and you shrug.  "I have an implant.  Still good for a couple years."

 

He takes a moment to process that before giving a curt nod and declaring, "Good enough."

 

You squeal in surprise as his arms suddenly wrap around your waist, hauling you off of his lap and over to one side.  He lays you back on the cave's floor, one hand moving to catch behind your head before it hits the hard rock.  Then he reaches over with his other hand to grab his discarded cape, slipping the bundled material under your head as a makeshift pillow.  All the while, you're giggling from the unexpected manhandling and he grins behind the visor as he leans over you. 

 

"Now, Sweetling," he says softly with amusement, his voice a low rumble that makes you tremble, "you need to keep your voice down, or you might wake the kid…"

 

There's a brief pause as you look up at him in uncertainty, eyes a little wide, wondering how the hell you are going to manage that.  Then the storm comes to your rescue with perfect timing, giving a clap of thunder so loud that you would swear it shakes the entire mountain. You burst into giggles again. 

 

Mando chuffs a laugh too, glancing up at the cave entrance and then at the floating egg for a moment.   When no sound comes from it he shrugs a bit, looking back down at your smiling face. 

 

"Well, if he can sleep through that, I suppose he'll probably sleep through your screams."

 

Your laugh cuts off as your eyebrows arch sharply, heat creeping into your cheeks even as you smirk up at him.  "Oh, you… you think there might be screaming?"

 

As he leans down towards you, you bite your lip a little to keep from moaning as the outline of his cock pushes against your hip again. 

 

That modulated voice is a low growl in your ear and you would swear it makes your pussy simply floods.  "Oh no… Sweet Girl… I know you will be screaming."

 

A ragged breath escapes you as a tremble races through your petite frame.  Your entire body feels like it is on fire as your skin flushes at that statement. 

 

As your hands raise to brush over his chest and shoulders, Mando shifts his weight and nudges a knee between your thighs.  Biting your lip, you let your knees open for him, and without hesitation he pushes his knee upward.  Your nails dig into his shoulders and your eyes close as you gasp and he grinds his thigh against you, the cloth of your panties slipping over your torrid cunt with the slick of your arousal. Hips arching to meet and increase that delicious friction, you mewl loudly. 

 

With a ragged inhale, he chuckles softly.  "Not quite…a scream, Sweetling, but we're getting you there."

 

Your eyes fly open to somehow meet his gaze through that visor.  How you always manage that he doesn't know.  Mando grins though as you do, at seeing that ravenous look in your eyes again. 

 

With a soft purr, you slide your hands down from his shoulders, fingertips dancing over his skin as your breath quickens. He stills briefly under your touch, before pushing a bit again with that knee.

 

You pant softly, lips barely parted.  As your hands slip lower on his body, you keep your eyes locked on his.  Your fingertips finally reach the waist of his pants and, after only the briefest pause, you push a hand down into his pants.  Slender fingers curl around his hard dick and you smile as his body jerks above you in reaction, a ragged groan coming from the helmet. 

 

"Holy…fffuuucking-stars!" he chokes out, his head dropping down, helmet resting against your bralette.  His hips jut forward slightly, pushing his cock into your grip as you begin to stroke him.  His arms, braced on either side of you, shake a bit as he resists the urge to simply fuck himself into your soft hand.  "Kr-kr-kriffing hell….Sw-sweet girl…that feels sofuckinggood!"

 

Smiling, you move your other hand to push down his pants and undergarments then, well past his narrow hips.  Then, as you continue to stroke him firmly with one hand, that second hand curls around just the swollen head of his cock.  Your thumb brushes over the sensitive tip, pausing to softly drag the pad of your thumb over his slit.  You gather a bit of his precum, as he jerks into your small fist again with a strained growl.  Then,  when your second hand leaves him, his head lifts sharply off your chest with a jagged breath, to look at you.  He's just in time to watch you slowly slip your thumb between your lips to suck the essence of him off of it, your eyes meeting his again wantonly. The sight draws a filthy string of expletives from him and you smile around that digit.

 

After a few more moments of you stroking him, he suddenly shifts his weight to one hand and the other snaps down between you to catch your wrist.  "Stop!  Fuck…" he growls, his entire body shuddering.  He is so close to cumming.  He clenches his jaw, eyes closed, as he forces himself back from that edge.  Not yet.  Not yet. 

 

You stop at the command, biting your lip as you watch him, both of you breathing raggedly.  After several long moments pass, he looks down at you again and rasps, "Let go."

 

A pout touches your lips but you release him with a pretty "Yes, Sir."  

 

He moans softly in relief.

 

Taking a moment to catch his breath, he lifts a hand to roughly brush his thumb across your lips as he murmurs, "Good girl."  You thrill at the praise and shiver, the tip of your tongue darting out to lick that thumb. 

 

He pushes back from you then and you whimper softly, your hand holding his arm until he's out of your reach.  Softly chuckling, he moves back only far enough to kick his clothes the rest of the way off.  Then, he moves back up your body, hands gliding up your legs to the waistband of your pants.  Your breath hitches as he tugs them down your hips, along with your panties, dragging both down your legs.  

 

Your shiver at the cool, damp air, panting softly as you watch him.  You take the opportunity to briefly sit up, peeling off your bralette and tossing it aside before laying back with your head on his cape again. 

 

He gives a soft growl as he watches you,  discarding your clothing with his.  Stretching out beside you again, he nudges your knees apart with his hands.  You take a shuddering breath as you open up to him, the cool air drawing a soft hiss from you as it hits your blazing sex.

 

The visor of his helmet presses against your hair and temple as his hand slips up from your knee, along your inner thigh.  You'd swear his fingers leave a trail of fire in their wake. 

 

"Tell me what you want, Sweetling," he husks into your ear, just as his fingers find their way to your slick folds.  One fingertip darts in tiny circles over your swollen clit and your hips buck sharply. 

 

You hands snap down to grip his forearm as he teases you with the lightest of touches, your mind a jumble.  "I wa…. uuuhhgghhhh…oh, Maker," your eyes close, neck arched back as you moan sharply, "I..I want y-you, Mando," you whimper, gasping for breath as his blunt fingertips trace the slit of your cunt. 

 

But then, he stops, his fingers just resting against your aching flesh.   It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with the change and your eyes flutter open to look up at him. 

 

His visor is leveled on your flushed face and he lifts his other hand to brush a few errant locks of hair from your cheek.  As he does, he shakes his head slightly.  "No," he says, softly. 

 

Your brows knit together in confusion.  "'No'?" you repeat in a whimper, biting your lip softly as you lift slightly, to press towards the warmth of the hand that rests between your thighs. 

 

He chuffs a little, realizing how that might sound.  "I mean…no, don't call me that."

 

Your brows lift at that and then you smirk, coyly.  "I want you…Sir?"

 

Another faint chuckle and he shakes his head negatively.

 

A soft laugh escapes you.  "I'll need you to narrow it down for me then," you suggest gently.

 

He's quiet for a few moments, his hand curling against your jaw and the pad of his thumb tracing your lower lip. 

 

"Din," he finally says, softly.

 

It takes a moment for you to realize what he's just told you and the coy amusement disappears from your face.   Your eyes search that inscrutable helmet in surprise, the corner of your lip caught between your teeth. 

 

He leans close, the top of the faceplate barely touching your forehead as his visor fills your vision. 

 

"Say it, Sweetling," he whispers, more a plea than a command. 

 

Releasing your lip from your teeth, a soft smile curls up your lips.   "Din…" you whisper softly.   

 

He's so close that you can hear his breath hitching as you say his name.  "Again…"

 

"Din…" you mewl tenderly. 

 

He shudders against you.

 

You smile brightly, lifting towards his hand as you repeat the simple, straight-forward sounding name again.  

 

A hard groan escapes him at the sound of his name on your lips and he leans into you again,  his erection pressed to your thigh.  His fingers begin to move again to your delight and you arch with a stuttering gasp.

 

"Tell me…again…what you want," he demands.

 

You groan loudly, unable to think at all for a moment as his finger briefly dips into your wet slit.

 

When those words do finally register to your brain, your eyes open to meet his visor again and he swallows hard.  Your pupils are dilated to almost consume your irises, voracious desire unmistakable. 

 

Licking your lips slowly, and feeling bolder than you think you ever have in your life, you slip one of your hands up over his shoulder and curl your fingers around the back of his neck.   You pull and he lets you guide his head down next to yours.  

 

Your mouth brushes against the cold beskar over his ear as you purr, hungrily, "I want you, Din…to fuck me, so… so well, and so hard…they'll hear me scream your name… back on Nar Shaddaa."

 

He freezes for a few seconds as your wanton words sink in, his breath stuttering.  "Fucking Ma-maker," he pants, "That sweet… perfect, filthy mouth..."

 

You smile against the hard lines of that helmet. 

 

With a loud growl coming through the helmet's modulator, he shoves his knee up against your puffy, slick folds, drawing a soft cry from you.  Calloused hands catch behind your knees and pull your thighs farther apart as he shifts to settle his pelvis into the cradle of your hips.  Then, he catches your hands in his, lifting them up to either side of your head and pinning your wrists to the cave's rock floor as he presses his helmet against your forehead again, his eyes locked on your flushed face. 

 

"Say it," he demands huskily, as his stiff cock presses against your cunt's eager slit. 

 

Somehow, your eyes find his through the visor again and you moan, pleadingly,  "Din…"

 

"Fuuckk," he groans as his hips flex and he pushes forward, his cockhead pressing against your entrance and slipping into you.  

 

Your body arches under his, fingers clawing at the rock beneath your pinned hands as you keen.  Full lips fall open in a pant a moment later as he pushes again, sinking further into your hot, tight tunnel.  

 

Din groans as you tremble and your pussy quivers around his thick cock.  Another flex of his pelvis stretches your sweet little cunt more for him and he sheaths himself further into your body. 

 

You're gasping for air as you moan, lifting your legs to hook them around the back of his hips and opening yourself to him more. You pull at your pinned wrists but he holds you there, his own breaths matching your ragged ones. 

 

"Al-almost there,  Sweetling," he groans.  With one more hard push, he buries his cock in  you to the hilt and his deep groan mixes with your mewling cry of "OhFuckingStars!"

 

Going still,  Mando opens his eyes again to look down at you, waiting for your body to adjust to the penetration.  Your own, beautiful eyes are closed, your brows peaked together as you whimper and pant softly. 

 

He releases one of your wrists and lifts his hand to brush the back of his fingers against your cheek. 

 

Your eyes flutter open at that soft touch, meeting his eyes as your freed hand snakes up under his arm to press against the back of his shoulder. 

 

After several moments pass, the discomfort melts away from your face, replaced with pleasure as you whimper his name again softly.  You arch your hips against his encouragingly, tightening your core muscles around him.

 

His hand slams down onto the rock again beside you, so hard you wouldn't be surprised if it cracked.  "Uuhhggg… kriff, fuck…Sweet girl," he growls as he begins to move within you, pulling back and thrusting hard into you over and over again. 

 

Clipped, sharp moans escape your lips as he sinks into your soft heat again and again.  Your nails dig into the back of his shoulder for purchase as you buck your hips up to meet each pounding thrust and you bury your face into his neck, biting at the corded muscles.

 

"Aahhh!  Oh,  fuck, yes!" you keen, arching hard under him.   "Uuhh, more,  Mand…Din… please… don't, don't stop!" you beg, delicious heat, and ecstacy building within you already.

 

He shifts above you, bracing on one hand instead of a forearm, to change the angle of his thrusts, to hit harder and deeper within your slick cunt.  His other hand slips up under your jaw, firm but without too much pressure against your soft throat.  His thumb and fingers press in to feel the hammering thrum of your heartbeat as he fucks into you. 

 

Whether it was the slow teasing foreplay, or more likely the weeks of anticipation, you don't know.  But you can feel your orgasm approaching already as Din shoves into you again and again, the rigid length of his cock dragging over your clit with each thrust from his new angle. 

 

His cock pulses within you as he grinds into you, breath hitching, his own orgasm building quickly too.

 

You claw at his back, moaning.  "Oh.. sweet, holy stars," you gasp out, huskily.  "Mando… Din, please…please can I… ca-" you words cut off as another strangled cry escapes you. 

 

Mando slams into you, grinding his pelvis into your hips,  as he growls into your ear, "You want…to cum for me, sweetheart?"

 

"Ye…yeeesss…please" you beg.

 

"Go ahead," he rasps out,  "I want to… feel you cum on me.  Sweet…good, girl."

 

As if his permission wasn't enough, that groaned praise sends you hurtling over the edge of your climax.  White light bursts behind your closed eyelids as tremor after tremor courses through you and your cunt clenches down on his driving cock.  

 

A scream rips past your lips, his name echoing off the cave walls and disappearing into the howling storm outside.  You feel like you are splintering into a million shards of light, bursting with another after tremor of your orgasm. 

 

As you scream his name,  Din buries himself into you once more before his own climax plows into him.   His entire body tenses, back and shoulder muscles straining under your hands.  His dick twitches and pulses within you as his cum pours into you, mixing with the slick fluids of your orgasm. 

 

He buries his helmet into the curve of your neck as a hoarse cry slips past his lips and through the helmet's modulator.  

 

Both of you pant for air as you come down from your orgasm high.  Your fingers finally uncurl from digging your nails into his back and he groans softly. 

 

Swallowing hard, Din leans back to look down at you, still breathing hard.   With his cock softening within you, he slowly pulls out.   You whimper softly at the sudden, empty feeling. 

 

He chuckles softly, lifting a hand to brush a lock of sweat dampened hair from your brow. "How do you feel, Sweetling?" he asks huskily. 

 

A soft smile plays across your lips, your eyes still closed.  You're still feeling blissful aftershocks of your orgasm and they make your quiver deliciously.

 

"Mmm... euphoric," you purr softly, happily. 

 

Din laughs lightly, his arms slipping around you.

 

You give a tiny eep of surprise as he rolls onto his back and pulls you in close. Then you're giggling softly. You curl up against his side, your cheek resting on his chest. 

 

Mando pulls his discarded cape over under his own head now and settles back on it, as his fingers trace light circles across your back. 

 

"Mmm…'Din'…" you coo.

 

He smiles a little.  "Yes?"

 

"Oh…nothing.  Just thinking it suits you," you muse, sleepily.

 

"Oh?  Why's that?"

 

"Hmm.. it's simple… straight to the point, but still has an edge to it with the hard consonant."  Licking your lips, you repeat it again. "'Din'."  Your soft smile is fading fast as sleepiness washes over you. 

 

He chuckles a little, wrapping an arm around you to hold you close as sleep starts to poke at his mind too.

 

"I like it…" you whisper, drifting off into blissful post-orgasm sleep, helped along by the steady sound of the rain. 

 

Din grins behind his visor. 

 

Chapter 14

Summary:

Another chapter of fluff and a big dose of smut.

We'll get back to the storyline eventually... if these two would just let me.

 

Link to my Tumblr: http://keeshya6.tumblr.com

Chapter Text

You're not sure what it was that wakes you but, whatever it was, at least it isn't jarring.   You come out of blissfully calm sleep gradually, slowly becoming aware of things around you: the cold rock floor, the warmth of the body you're snuggled up against, the cool air.  

 

The first thing you notice outside of your own body is the soft sound of the rain.  It's no longer raging outside the cave.   It's steady.  A soothing hum.  It almost makes you want to go back to sleep. 

 

The next thing you notice is that you seem to be the first to wake up.   That's surprising.   Mando… hm, Din… is usually awake before you.  At least, on the Crest he always is.  

 

Maybe you wore him out.

 

You smirk softly at that thought as you slowly lift your head from his chest, pausing when his shoulders shift a bit.  But he seems to settle again and you smile, propping your chin on your fist and just looking at him for several moments. 

 

Ah, that's what woke me , you think, as you hear a soft, inquisitive cooing sound coming from the floating egg on the other side of the cave. 

 

Slowly, you move away from Din, careful to touch him as little as possible so you won't disturb him, despite how tempting the idea of touching him is.   He just looks so peaceful though.   As you stand, you wince a little and press your lips together in a silent laugh.  Well, those are muscles that haven't ached in… a while. 

 

Walking on bare feet as quietly as possible, you gather your bralette and tug it on, biting back a gasp.  The cloth is still damp from the rain and now it's cold, making your nipples peak painfully.   Your palms press against your breasts to ease the discomfort as you locate the rest of your clothing. You tug on panties, pants and boots but decide against putting your wet shirt on for now. 

 

You walk over to the egg then and almost open it, but you stop just short with a silent giggle.  Glancing back at the still sleeping, and still very naked, Mandalorian, you admire the view for a moment with a smirk before taking a hold of the egg and guiding it to the cave entrance.   

 

Reaching a hand out into the morning rain, you smile softly as the drops fall on your skin.   The rain is surprisingly warm, given how cool the air in the cave is.  So, with a slight nod to yourself you pull the floating egg out of the cave with you, leaving Mando to his sleep. 

 

The raindrops pepper over you steadily and you're thoroughly damp again before you reach the valley floor a short ways down from the cave entrance. The rivers of rainwater from the night before have let up now that the rain isn't so torrential, and you just have to avoid some larger puddles. 

 

Stopping in an area of grass at the base of the mountain that isn't so soupy, you finally turn and open up the floating egg.

 

Big, brown eyes look up at you, blinking against the light and the drops of rain.  His wing-like ears flatten a bit before the child really sees you and then he giggles happily.  

 

Smiling brightly, you lift the little one out of the crib and then close it up so the blankets inside don't get wet.   Setting him on your hip, you tap his little nose. 

 

"Good Morning, little one!" you say cheerily but still softly, not sure how sound carries here.  You lightly bump your forehead against his.  

 

The foundling gives you a cherub smile and then blinks several times,  looking back and forth between you and the bright gray sky above, as raindrops hit his little face. 

 

You softly brush some of the water from his head and above his eyes,  smiling at him.   "I wonder, have you ever been in the rain,  sweetie?  Well…I think you'll love it in no time," you say with confidence, laughing softly as he holds up his little hands and tries to catch some of the droplets. 

 

 

It is too quiet.   Too cold.

 

Din wakes with a start, as soon as the haze of sleep slips away enough for the emptiness of the cave to register.  He sits up rapidly, looking around, searching.  It only takes a moment for him to realize that it's not just you that is gone, but the kid and the crib are too.

 

"Where…?" 

 

He pushes to his feet and grabs his clothes, yanking on boxers and armorweave pants.  Then he tugs on his boots.  He only briefly considers taking the time to don the rest of his clothes and armor before disregarding the idea for urgency. 

 

What if your were already in some kind of danger?

 

Instead, he just grabs his utility belt, strapping it on and unholstering his pistol.  Then he heads towards the mouth of the cave, mumbling to himself as he goes. 

 

What could have made you leave without a word, and what if something had happened to you or the kid? Or, had he done something… to push you away last night?  Fuck…had he pushed too hard for last night to happen?

 

He pauses for a moment at that thought and then shakes his head.  No.  You had initiated. In fact, he'd been careful to make sure he didn't.  His mind is just messing with him.  And sure, he knows he can be a bit…intense, at times, but you have never seemed afraid of that.   

 

Hell, if anything, you seem to like it. 

 

Shoving aside the doubts, he takes a deep breath and continues on to the entrance, keeping close to the side wall of the cave in case there is some sort of danger outside. 

 

When he finally reaches the edge of the entrance he stops and stares out into the valley.   After a few moments, he gives a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head as he lowers the pistol down to his side. 

 

"I'm getting paranoid…" he mumbles to himself.  

 

Down below, you are walking, very slowly, behind the tottering foundling.  You're the picture of absolute patience as the kid stops every few steps to examine something in the grass that is apparently fascinating.  The little one gestures wildly and looks up at you, squinting and blinking against the rain.  Din can see the way your shoulders shake as you laugh softly and he takes a moment to appreciate the view of you in just your pants and bralette.

 

Smirking, he chuckles and reholsters his blaster before he begins to pick his way down towards you. 

 

As he draws nearer, the little one suddenly lunges forward, and Din can finally see that the kid's trying to catch a six legged, frog type creature.  He smirks.   

 

That little womp rat really does love to eat frogs.

 

However, the child misses the animal and the creature disappears into a different puddle.   The kid ends up flat on his little green face and Din grins behind his visor. 

 

You half-laugh and half-groan as you step up behind the foundling.  Din can barely hear your mumble as he gets closer, "Maker, little one, take some pity on me…"  Then you crouch down to set the kid back on his feet.   As you push back to your feet, you noticeably grimace.

 

Din's grin vanishes in an instant and he quickly closes the last bit of distance to you. 

 

Your eyes lift to him in a bit of surprise but you smile, obviously appreciating his only partially dressed state like he did yours.   "Oh!  Good mor…"  Your greeting is cut off as Din catches your arm firmly but gently. 

 

"Are you hurt?" he asks sharply, the tilt of his head making it obvious he's looking you over carefully. 

 

 

For a moment you are distracted by the feel of his bare hand holding your arm.  Even after last night, you're a bit thrown off by the direct contact.  You are still half expecting to be bombarded by his emotions. 

 

At the sharp tone of his voice, you are definitely glad that the emotions transfer still seems to be turned off.

 

You blink up at the T-shaped visor in surprise and confusion, wiping rain out of your eyes.    "Hurt?  No.  I'm fine…"

 

His free hand raises to catch your chin, holding your gaze firmly to his through that visor.  "You looked like you were in pain," he states firmly. 

 

Your brows crease.  "When?"

 

" Just now ," he says, insistently, "when you were standing up.  What happened?  Did you fall on the way down here?  Maybe twist something?"

 

Realization dawns and your eyes widen just barely, lips pressing into a line.   You can feel a flush creeping into your cheeks but you mentally try to push it down.  Your head shakes negatively, just a bit.

 

"Nothing happened."

 

You can feel his scowl behind the visor as he keeps a hold of your chin, refusing to release you from his intense gaze. 

 

"Really," you try to insist.

 

He still won't release you. 

 

Stubborn man. 

 

Finally, giving in, you give an exasperated sigh with a soft laugh.  "Okay…fine.  You happened," you say, pointedly looking over his half-dressed body with a little smirk,  before looking up at his helmet again. 

 

He releases your chin quickly at that and his helmet jerks back slightly, like you'd struck him in the forehead.   For a moment he stares at you in silence and you can see the tension mounting in his shoulders. 

 

"I… I hurt you?" he chokes out. 

 

Oh, Dank Farrik. 

 

Your smirk disappears and you immediately regret your flippant tone, your stomach twisting up at the sound of self-disgust in his voice.  You quickly take a step to close the minute space between you two, slipping your arms around his torso. 

 

"No," your state, fiercely.   "No, Din, you absolutely did not hurt me."  

 

You can feel him go still when you use his name.  He doesn't return your embrace, but he doesn't pull away either.   The set of his shoulders suggest he's not sure he believes you though.  

 

"I'm just a little sore," you continue, looking up at him in earnest.  A small shrug lifts your shoulders and you smile softly.  "It had been… a long while, is all.  Really.  I'm fine.  Hell, I… I don't even mind it," you admit with a little bit of warmth coming up into your cheeks again.  

 

His head cants questioningly to one side. 

 

You laugh a little, trying to figure out how to explain.   "Have you ever…the day after exercising…been sore, and it aches, but it's a good ache? Because… it was a good workout and you… enjoyed it?"  A coy little smirk tugs at one corner of your mouth as you arch an eyebrow up at him. 

 

The tension finally melts off of him and his arms wrap around you as he sighs, which turns into a light chuffing laugh. "Oh.  Okay, yeah." You can practically hear the grin starting to form on his hidden face as understanding clicks. 

 

You giggle softly, pushing up on your toes and nudging his chin up with your nose, so you can lightly press a kiss against the underside of his hidden jaw.  "Don't let it go to your head too much,  Mandalorian," you purr softly. 

 

"Might be too late," he chuckles. 

 

Laughing, you plant your palms against his chest and shove.  Of course, he's solid as a tree and doesn't move an inch but you do end up pushing yourself backwards out of his arms.   That only makes you laugh more with a shake of your head as you turn on your toes, looking for the wandering toddler.

 

You spot him just in time to witness the poor frog's demise as it is gulped down the little goblin's throat. Your nose scrunches up.  "Ew…"

 

Din laughs, going over to pick the kid up and bringing him back over to you.  "He does seem to love eating frogs, no matter what type."

 

The exaggerated look of disgust you give to the little one makes him giggle up at you as Din hands him over to you. He affectionately rubs one of the kid's bat-wing ears, making the kid trill happily. 

 

"I'm going to go grab everything from the cave,  so we can get back to the Crest and get dry," he says after patting the kid's head and you nod.  He leans close to you and lightly bumps his helmet to your temple. "Stay here with the kid. I'll be right back.  Wouldn't want you to… make that ache worse, climbing back up there, after all."

 

Your eyes widen a bit at that quip, staring after him as he turns away with your jaw dropped open a bit.  He's sounding far too pleased with himself now and you gape at him.  Giving the back of that helmet a little glare,  you smirk mischievously.  You glance down at the kid on your hip and give him a wink.  Then,  you lean down and dig your fingers into the wet dirt at your feet. 

 

The glob of mud hits the back of his right shoulder with a wet smack, and he freezes in his steps. Clumps fall down his back to land in the mud at his feet, leaving a muddy streak down his tan skin.

 

Your eyes go wide. You hadn't really expected to hit him. 

 

The child in your arms burbles with laughter and you look down at him sharply. 

 

At the edge of your field of view, as you are looking at the kid, you can see Din turning to face you again, oh-so slowly.  Your stomach tightens up as you try not to laugh, instead putting on a shocked expression at the foundling. 

 

"Well that wasn't very nice of you!" you gasp at the kid, dramatically. 

 

"Oh, that's what you're going with?" Din's voice carries over to you through the rain, and you glance at him from the corner of your eye.   You can tell he's smirking behind that visor, but there's an unfamiliar edge to his voice that you haven't heard before and you're not sure what to make of it.  

 

You give your best look of indifference and shake your head at that unreadable helmet.  "I have no idea where he learned to do that."

 

"Uh huh…"

 

Silence looms between you for several moments, filled only with the rain pattering.  You do your best not to let amusement tug up the corners of your mouth. 

 

He doesn't move at all, just keeps that T-shaped visor level on you until you start to unconsciously fidget a bit under the intense attention.  Suddenly,  you are feeling a modicum of pity for his quarries, who experience that stare under far less lighthearted circumstances. 

 

The tip of your tongue darts across your lips and a tiny little, nervous laugh escapes you. 

 

Din moves then, and you actually jump a little.   He chuffs softly as he shifts to his right, just enough to grab the kid's floating crib from where you'd left it at the base of the mountain.   He gives it a light push, sending it floating towards you. 

 

"Put the kid in the crib," he says. 

 

Your eyes narrow a little as you catch the egg with one hand, your head turning as you look at him suspiciously. "Why…?" you ask, drawing the word out. 

 

The helmet cocks to the side slightly and he just repeats the command, enunciating slowly, "Put…the kid…in…the crib." 

 

You swallow hard, biting your lip a little at the lower tone his voice has taken on.   

 

Looking down at the kid, you give him a little shrug as you press the button to open the egg.   

 

As you're about to release the kid into the crib, you pause to look up at Din again.  He's standing in exactly the same spot he was before, maybe twenty feet from you.  To a passer-by, he would probably appear calm and relaxed.   But you know better instantly.   He's on edge, his muscles tensed like he's ready to leap forward at any moment.  And then, with a spear of heat coursing through your body, you realize he probably is. 

 

You glance down at the kid with a smirk and whisper,  "I think I might be in a little bit of trouble."

 

You're not entirely sure if you're worried or thrilled at the prospect.  Especially with Din standing there, looking at you like a hungry gurrcat might look at a brush-mouse, ready to pounce.

 

Lifting your eyes back to the intense Mandalorian, you notice the smallest shift of his booted feet as he waits for you to let go of the foundling.  

 

Oh, Maker…

 

And then you realize something.   

 

He had told you to put the kid down. 

 

He had not told you what to do next. 

 

 

Din can see the instant you decide to give him a chase and he can't help the somewhat feral grin that comes to his face. 

 

You whisper something to the child but he can't hear what it is. Then, you release the kid. 

 

In a surprisingly smooth movement, you hit the button to close the egg around the little one and then shove it directly in his path.  Spinning on the toes of your boots, you launch yourself away in the opposite direction, towards a nearby copse of trees, further into the valley. 

 

Din barely manages to sidestep the egg, his initial burst of energy stunted a bit as he pauses just long enough to catch the egg and stop its momentum towards the rocks.

 

Sure, the kid wouldn't have been hurt.  The crib wasn't moving that fast.  Still, his instinct to protect the foundling overrode that logic briefly. You'd probably counted on that, he realizes. 

 

"Clever little thing…" Din growls with a smile.

 

He shoves off on his right foot and charges after you.

 

 

There is not the slightest bit of doubt in your mind that he is going to catch you.   

 

You're not that quick.

 

You're still regaining strength after endless months of malnourishment and exhaustive labor.  And while you're significantly better now than you were when you first set foot on the Crest, you're guessing that even at your peak health you couldn't possibly outrun the man. 

 

Still, this is exhilarating!  

 

The sting of the rain against your skin as you run.  The splash of your boots hitting the water sodden ground.  The heavy beating of your heart as your legs and your arms pump.

 

Knowing he's behind you.  Somewhere. 

 

You don't dare look back.

 

Honestly, you're not entirely sure why you ran.  But at that moment, it seemed like the thing to do.  

 

It's not like you actually want to escape him. But still…

 

If I can just make it to the trees… maybe I can keep them between us for a bit. 

 

The grouping of tall trees isn't far.   Another fifty feet or so.

 

Come on…

 

You push yourself hard, your lungs burning as you sprint for the treeline with another burst of adrenaline. 

 

Almost there…

 

The thought barely crosses your mind before it's drowned out of your head by a new sound: heavy, splashing footfalls behind you.

 

Closing fast. 

 

"No-no-no-no-no!" you squeal with a laugh as you scramble, trying to make a hard right turn as you feel him come up behind you and as you pass the first tree trunk.   The mud betrays you though and you can't get enough purchase to make the change in direction.

 

His arm latches around your waist and hoists you off your feet as he barrels by you.  You give a cry, feeling decidedly like a rag doll, as you're pulled with him into a half spin. 

 

Then the ground turns against Din too, his boot slipping on the rain slicked grass, and the both of you go down to the sodden ground.   He manages to twist at the last moment, so that you land on top of him.  He lands on his back, your back pressed against his chest and his arms tight around you. 

 

You both have the air knocked out of you for a few moments, and you pause to catch your breath, just barely taking note of the canopy of tree branches above you, dripping water down on you both. 

 

Well… I made it…

 

Then you're giggling softly and start to move in his arms, as if you might actually be able to escape.  You wriggle against him, trying to squirm out of his grasp.   He grunts softly as one of your elbows pushes against his ribs but his hold on you doesn't loosen at all.  

 

After several moments of your squirming, Din chuckles lowly and presses his helmet against your hair.  A soft growl in your ear of "Stop," cuts off your movement.  You immediately go still, breath hitching.  And a tiny mewl escapes you as you finally notice the erection pressed against the small of your back. 

 

You're not entirely sure how, but somehow Din manages to maneuver you both and get back to his feet, hauling you up with him.   Then he spins you in his arms and crushes you up against his chest, his visor filling your field of view.

 

Wide eyed, you meet his gaze through that visor.  Your breaths come shallow, a mix of the exertion from the run and excited anticipation. 

 

Din takes a few short steps forward, crowding you backwards until you bump hard into the trunk of a tree.  You gasp softly as you're bent back slightly against it.  The trunk of the tree grows at a rather convenient, sloped angle away from you, so when he presses close to you he isn't having to awkwardly hold you up completely on his own.  You realize he'd probably chosen to push you back on this particular tree, from the nearly dozen or so around you, specifically for that reason. 

 

His hands catch yours and drag them up above your head, where he uses one large hand to pin both of your wrists against the smooth bark. The other hand then traces calloused fingertips down your arm slowly,  drawing a line of goosebumps in its wake.   

 

"Have fun?" he drawls softly into your ear, his body pressed flush against yours from knee to hip to chest.  

 

You whimper softly, heat flooding deliciously through you.  "Mhhhmmm…" you murmur in affirmation with a little mischievous smile, darting your tongue over your lips. 

 

"Good," he rasps, as his free hand moves to catch your jaw, thumb roughly brushing over your lips. "Now, the next time you decide to throw something at me… I don't give a damn if it's mud, a stick, a rag or even just a fucking pillow… anything … and there will be consequences."  He pauses as you shiver beneath him.  "Understood?"  His modulated, baritone voice is barely a whisper with the question. 

 

Breath hitching, you nod ever so slightly against the hold he has on you.   "Mhmm… yes, Sir," you croon, prettily.

 

"Good," he says again, huskily.  "Now, open up," he demands as his thumb rests against your lips. 

 

Your lips part obediently for him, your eyes seeking his past the dark transparisteel.  He presses his thumb into the warmth of your mouth, tracing it over the flat of your tongue for a moment.   Then your lips close around him, your tongue massaging along the underside of his thumb as you suck on the digit. 

 

A strangled groan comes through the modulator as he leans against you, watching you hungrily, with the rigid outline of his cock pressing against the soft mound at the apex of your thighs.  You arch your hips to push firmly against his hardness.  

 

That draws another groan from him and you can hear the smile in his voice.  "So…eager,  Sweetling?"

 

You give a tiny Mhhmm around his thumb as your tongue sweeps from one side to the other under it.  Tilting your chin up slightly, you pull your mouth off of the digit a bit, until only the end of his thumb at the knuckle remains past your lips.  Then the tip of your tongue circles the pad, slowly.  His cock pulses against you in response as his breath hitches near your ear. 

 

"You're not… too sore?" he asks roughly. 

 

Swirling your tongue over his thumb one more time, you pull back until it slips from your mouth with a soft, wet, and slightly lewd sound.  You lift your hips again to press against him with a soft moan of "Absolutely not," and a coy little smile. 

 

His hand slides down along your neck and over your collarbones as he mumbles something like Thank the Maker.  You giggle softly.  

 

The laugh catches in your throat though and you whimper as his fingers curl into the cloth of your bralette, tugging it down and freeing the soft mounds of your breasts.  He releases your wrists then, leaning his torso back from you and pinning you to the tree with his pelvis.  Each of his large hands move to cup the swell of a perfect tit, squeezing firmly.  

 

Your eyes close and your head drops back against the tree trunk as your lips part in a pant.  Your hands stay where he left them, above your head, and turn to grip at the tree as your body lifts a bit to press your breasts into those delightfully rough palms.  

 

Din takes his time with touching you, enjoying the feel and the weight of your soft, naked flesh in his hands. He kneads each breast slowly, his breaths shuddering huffs within his helmet as he watches you eagerly press into his palms.  All the while his erection pushes against the apex of your closed thighs, seeking the building heat at your core. 

 

When his hands shift on you, and his thumbs and forefingers catch the peaks of your nipples, your breath lodges in your throat with a gasp. Then, he pinches those peaks into tight nubs, twisting ever so slightly.  Your captured breath escapes you in a keen as your back arches sharply off of the tree trunk.  It feels like electricity shoots through your body from those tweaked points, arching through you to settle between your thighs in a pool of wet heat.  Your hands fly from above your head to grasp at his forearms, nails pressing into his tanned skin. 

 

He leans in to whisper heatedly into your ear, "Do you want me to stop?"

 

"N..n-n…no," you gasp, your breath stuttering and another soft cry escapes you as his fingertips squeeze just a little again.  Your drenched pussy blazes as you arch against him.

 

He watches in fascination as you come apart beneath his touch, each light pinch or soft tug sending a tremor of pleasure through you.  You seem overwhelmed by the sensations, moaning sharply but without anything coherent making its way past your lips other than his name occasionally. 

 

Those rough fingers finally release the peaks of your breasts after several minutes of torturous teasing.  Then his thumbs rub gently over them in slow circles, soothing the soft aching nubs.  You moan and quiver, your breaths shallow as your back slowly relaxes against that tree and your legs tremble.

 

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of the sounds you make,  Sweetling," Din husks into your ear, sending another shiver coursing down your spine and more heat to pool at your core, if that's even possible. 

 

You finally look up at him, eyes hooded and dilated with your arousal.  Biting your lip, you slide one of your hands up his arm and over his hand.   Then, after a moment, he lets you push his hand down from your chest, and down over your tummy as you whimper softly, "Please, Din… touch me."

 

A husky chuff escapes him.  "I am touching you, Sweetling."

 

You pout at him softly, breathing heavily.  "Y-You know…what I mean."

 

As he grins behind it, his helmet's faceplate presses against your temple and he rasps softly, "Yes, I do." That modulated voice rumbles in your ear, sending a jolt through you until the damp lips of your pussy throb with your aching need.  "But tell me anyway, sweet girl.  I want to hear you say it…"  You tremble at the gruff command, his breaths ragged near your ear.  "... Want to hear th-that beautiful mouth s… say the filthiest things…"  His hand stops just above the waistline of your pants, despite the urging of your smaller hand, and he waits. 

 

A hot flush rushes into your skin as you whimper softly, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze.   Licking your lips slowly you mewl, "Ple-please fing… finger my… my pussy,  Din.  I-I need to…to feel your touch, inside me."

 

A low growl comes from the helmet as Din breathes out hoarsely, "Good girl.  Fucking perfect." You thrill at the praise as his hand slips under the waistband of your panties and continues lower, your thighs parting for him, until his fingers slip easily through your slick folds.  Your gasp is sharp, and he groans, " Kriffing hell, you're soaked …"

 

A murmur of agreement starts to pass your lips but a soft shriek escapes you instead as he plunges two fingers into your tight slit.  Your fingers curl around his upper arms, nails digging in.  His fingers push into your feverish core in short, quick strokes as your hips rock up to press against his hand. 

 

Panting and mewling, you beg incoherently as he strums you like a harp, his fingers curling to hit a spot of blinding pleasure within your cunt.  You become a quivering wreck for him, gasping out his name as your pussy clenches around his pumping fingers, orgasm rapidly approaching. 

 

Then you suddenly feel a devastating emptiness as he rips his fingers out of you,  a sharp whine of disappointment slipping past your lips. Your hips lift, trying to chase after his departing fingers. That is until he lightly slaps his long fingers against your wet folds, one…two…three times. You gasp sharply, jerking back, though you don't make it far with his hand still in your pants.  Your core spasms as your mind and body clash in reaction to the mix of stinging pain and depraved delight.

 

"Not yet, Sweetling," he growls into your ear as his hand slowly pulls out of your pants.  "You don't cum yet.  Wait for me."

 

"Din…" you whimper his name softly in disappointment and he grins behind the helmet. 

 

He pushes back from you then, stepping back enough to loosen and drop his belt.  You watch him eagerly as he unfastens his pants, until he pauses and gestures to yours with a softly snarled, simple command.  "Off."

 

You swallow hard as you push off the tree and gasp out a soft "Yes, Sir."  Kicking off your boots, you quickly strip off your pants, panties, and the bralette that wasn't doing any good right now anyway. 

 

Meanwhile,  your smoldering eyes never leave him as he finishes removing his clothing.  A soft, appreciative purr escapes you at the sight of his naked body, his hard, turgid cock at attention for you.

 

He steps closer then, stopping you as you’re about to drop your pants to the ground.   Instead, he pushes his own armorweave pants into your hands and points over your shoulder to the tree.  "Use them.. to cover the bark," he instructs you through shallow breaths. 

 

Biting your lip, you nod rapidly and turn to follow the order, arranging the cloth of both pairs of pants over the trunk as best as you can.  They cover a decent length of the trunk and, satisfied, you turn back to him.

 

At least, you start to.   

 

But then he's suddenly close behind you, strong hands urging you up against the tree straight on.  Your hands brace against the cloth covered bark, on either side of your belly as you press against the angled trunk from pelvis to breasts. Instinctively your knees spread around the tree to bracket the curve of the trunk, opening your thighs to him before you've even fully registered the new position. 

 

With one hand firmly holding your hip, he slips the other arm around you and lifts his hand to your throat, to that place he loves to hold you by, just under your jaw.  He leans over you, his body covering yours as he turns your head so his helmet can press to your cheek. 

 

"I-I'm going to take…take you just like this, Sweetling," he husks.  "B-bury myself… in you."

 

As he groans into your ear, his hips press to the curve of your ass and he pushes his cock against your exposed pussy.  He drags the length of his shaft through your slick folds slowly, the glans of his cock bumping over your swollen clit. 

 

You moan and shiver beneath him, arching back and gasping, "Uuuhhh…yes, pl-please take me, Din!  I'm… fuck … I'm all yours!"

 

With a growl from low in his chest, Din straightens behind you.  He widens his stance a little on either side of that sloped tree trunk and angles his hips up against yours.  His hand slips from around your neck to trace down your spine, stopping to press his palm between your shoulder blades.  

 

A mewling whimper escapes you as he sinks halfway into you then with one torturously slow push, your pussy stretching around him. You shift your hips back towards him, adjusting to him as he pushes again.   With the last couple of inches he gives a hard shove, snapping his hips into yours and burying his cock in you to the root of it. 

 

Your back arches at the blissful intrusion, though that hand on your back holds you in place as you cry out.  "Oohhh… Maker … yes!"

 

Din bends over you, his chest against your back and his helmet resting on the back of your shoulder, eliciting a small hiss from you at the touch of the cold metal on your heated skin.  He chuckles roughly as he lingers there for a few moments.   He doesn't move.  Just savors the feeling of being inside you, pressed against you, of you wrapped tightly around his throbbing length. 

 

The helmet's faceplate presses against your shoulder, as if he could feel your skin beneath his lips through the transparisteel. For the first time that he can remember, Din loathes the barrier, wishing desperately that he could pepper your back with kisses and the soft nip of his teeth. 

 

Dank Farrik,  fucking helmet…

 

When he doesn’t move in what feels like forever, you finally do, whimpering softly.   Your hands brace against the tree and you rock your hips back against him, squeezing your core muscles down on him. 

 

A deep, strangled sound escapes that beskar helmet as his thick cock pulses within you in response.  You smile shamelessly with a wanton purr, delighted that you can pull such erotic sounds from the normally stoic man.

 

"Uuugggh… fuuuuck, dank farrik !" Din growls into your ear as he starts to move, pulling back until only the head of his cock is still inside you.  He pauses there for just a moment before he pounds back into the depths of your soaked cunt, your slick coating his shaft.   "Good… f-fucking eager, girl," he groans as he repeats the motion again and again. Each time he nearly pulls out of you completely before driving his hips back into the cradle of yours with a lewd, rhythmic clap of skin against skin. "So…uhhh, Maker … so kriffing perfect."

 

Your fingers claw frantically for purchase at the tree beneath you  as he pounds into you over and over, even lifting you up on your toes with the fiercer thrusts.  "Oh, yeeess… ahh!… fuck tha-that feels s-so gooood!" you keen, as you rock back to meet his hips. 

 

It feels like your mind and body are near to breaking under the onslaught of his driving thrusts.  Shards of exquisite pleasure lance through you as he impales you on his cock repeatedly, throbbing sinfully within you. 

 

Din groans raggedly as he strokes into you, his steady rhythm gaining speed.  His hands are everywhere on you: moving to your hips to tug you hard against him, or raking over your glistening, fevered skin.  He touches every inch of you that he can as he fucks you.

 

Suddenly he stills for a moment as he pushes the fingers of one hand into the locks of your hair, curling into them and tugging.   A sharp cry escapes you as you arch up partially from the tree truck, your hands bracing against it.  His other arm wraps around you, reaching across your torso to palm a heaving breast as he holds you in that arched position. 

 

"I…I knew you'd be p-perfect.  First ti-time I… laid eyes on you," he growls against your ear.  "But.. ffuuuck .. you take.. take my cock so well, Sweetling.  Like…like that sw-sweet little cunt was made t-to fit me."

 

You mewl at the filthy string of words as you arch and tremble against him. 

 

"Please… pl- please, mooore…" you croon softly. 

 

"More what?" he demands, huskily. 

 

"More…more of you," you gasp, breathlessly.  "More of yo-your cock… pleeease ."

 

He moans low, loving how you sound when you beg. His fingers uncurl from your hair and he moves that hand down to grip your hip as he murmurs, "As you wish…"

 

Then when he finally moves, when his cock drives into you again, he slams into something sublime and absolutely devastating inside of you. A frantic scream rips past your lips, your slick cunt fluttering around him.  He holds you in that arch, angling his cock into you to hit that spot again and again mercilessly, until you're clenching down on him hard and spasms start to rack your petite frame.  

 

"Din! Oh, fu-fuck… Diiiinnn , I-I ca…can't sto…uuugghhh… I'm going t-…ahhh!" your words dissolve into incoherence as your entire body quakes in his arms. 

 

You desperately try to hold back the orgasm that's suddenly crashing against the thin walls of your control.  Your nails digging little half moons into the arm that pins your torso to him as you mewl pathetically. 

 

With three small words,  growled from deep in his chest, Din lets the world around you shatter into a million pieces of bliss.  " Cum for me ."

 

The edges of your vision darkens as your climax roars through you like a wildfire. Your hips grind back against Din's continued hammering thrusts, tremor after tremor plowing through you as you drown his cock with the slick juices of your orgasm.  Your devastated scream echoes through the canopy of leaves and your nails rake lines of red over his golden skin as you reach back to grip at his thighs. 

 

Din holds back his own finish for as long as he can, riding the tidal wave of your orgasm with you as you coat his driving cock in your pleasure. He doesn't even slow his hard thrusts as you cum on him, instead reveling in the luscious wet sounds as your cunt clamps down on him. 

 

Finally, the rhythm of his thrusts starts to stutter as his body demands release and he lets loose his rigid control.   A loud, ragged howl rips from him as he arches over you and crams his cock once more into your soaked, spongy depths.   Then, with a strangled cry he pours himself into you, hips jerking as he cums. His breaths are jagged as his body slowly stills with yours and his helmet presses into the space between your shoulder blades. 

 

You tremble uncontrollably beneath him, your arms shakily moving to fold over one another against the tree so your head can rest on them.   Soft, mewling moans of delight slip past your lips as tiny aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you. 

 

Din leans heavily against you as he works to catch his breath, his body shuddering too, long after his own orgasm has passed.

 

Finally, after several minutes of quietly lingering together like that, Din moves to slowly draw his softened cock out of you.  You pout at him over your shoulder and he chuckles thickly, leaning his head down to press his visor against your cheek.

 

"Sweet girl…" he rumbles softly, his hand lifting to stroke a thumb gently along your jaw.  "I would stay with you like this all day, if I could."  That brings a soft,  whimsical smile to your lips, which he traces with that thumb. 

 

"But," he continues, "If we leave the kid stuck in that thing much longer… you know he's going to make our lives a living hell on the ship for the next week… just out of goblin spite."

 

That sends you into a fit of giggles and you nod in agreement,  slowly pushing up from the tree as he moves back from you. 

 

"Okay, okay," you grumble softly, though you're smiling.   "Bothersome, little, toad eating gremlin."

 

That draws a deep chuckle from Din as he reaches around you for his pants to pull them back on before snapping his belt back into place.   

 

His head cants as he watches you finish pulling on your clothes and your boots.  You keep pausing as you shiver again.   Then you lean heavily against that tree,  nibbling at your lip and letting your eyes close for a moment. 

 

He smiles slowly as you struggle for a moment to stand on shaky legs.  With a chuff, he steps up to you.  You look up at him in confusion and then gasp softly as he suddenly sweeps you up into his arms, cradling you against his bare chest.  

 

"Let's go,  Sweetling," he says with a grin as he softly bumps your head with his helmet.

 

You giggle softly, resting your head against his shoulder and letting your arms slip up around his neck, as he carries you out of the copse of trees and back into the misting rain.

Chapter 15

Summary:

Lots of fluff in this one. Very fluffy chapter. There's a little angst too, and a smutty finish.

Warnings: manhandling, mention of violence, explicit sexual content

Chapter Text

Once you're back at the mountain's base,  Din sets you on a relatively flat boulder and pulls the kid's crib over near you.  

 

He pauses then, catching your chin in his hand and tilting it up.

 

Still feeling a bit hazy, your eyes lift to that dark visor, at the level where you've become fairly certain that his eyes are hidden.  He just looks down at you for a few long moments, as silent and unreadable as usual.  But there's a tenderness in his hold on your chin, his thumb barely brushing along the edge of your bottom lip, like he doesn't even realize he's doing it.  A slow, languid smile tugs up the corners of your mouth as you quietly return his gaze. 

 

After a few moments, he gives your chin a little squeeze and then releases you. 

 

"Stay here.  I'll be right back."

 

You watch him climb back up to the mouth of the cave and disappear into it.   Your soft smile widens a bit as your mind replays flashes of last night's… activities… in that cave,  followed by the very recent activities in the grove of trees.

 

I may never look at caves or woods the same way again. 

 

Giggling softly, you turn and press the button on the egg.  It snaps open with an electronic hiss and the foundling's brown eyes look up at you swiftly. 

 

He starts chattering at you immediately, little three fingered hands waving.   His normally big brown eyes are narrowed at you slightly and there's an almost annoyed huff to his tiny, incoherent voice. The forehead of his wrinkly face has a few extra creases right now, as he gives you the most adorable scowl you've ever seen in your life. 

 

You start laughing and reach out to pick him up, close the egg, and hug him to your chest.

 

"Oh, darling boy!  I'm sure you're tired of that little space, aren't you?"

 

The child makes little grumbling noises at you as he snuggles himself into your chest.  You gently rub his back, your laughter shaking his little body against yours.

 

"Sorry, Little One," you say through the laughter, as you rest your cheek on top of his fuzzy head, "the grownups needed… adult time."

 

A little huff puffs out of him as he settles against you. 

 

A few minutes pass and Din comes back down the short climb from the cave, fully dressed and armored again.  You can hear him chuff in amusement as he steps up to you and you realize you had pouted and softly sighed at the sight of him all covered. 

 

His head cants as he looks down at the foundling, while holding your shirt out to you.   "Is he all right?"

 

Mumbling an Mhmm , it takes you several moments to get your shirt back on, because the little one seems bound and determined to not be let go, in the slightest bit.   You're giggling as you maneuver the shirt on and end up just tucking it around the kid rather than pulling it all the way down, much to Din's amusement. 

 

"He's fine.  Just feeling a little… ignored,  I think," you say with a smirk as you push wet locks of hair out of your face.

 

"Oh, boy." Din's chuffing laugh comes from the helmet as he reaches down to rub one of the kid's big ears.  The visor ticks upwards slightly as his attention lifts to your face.   "Can you walk?" he asks, smirking. 

 

A snarky comment is at the tip of your tongue when you hear that cocky smirk in his voice, but you bite it back and press your lips together.

 

Honestly, you're still feeling rather shaky, but you're positive that you don't want to admit to that if you don't have to. 

 

After a brief moment you just shrug, saying "Only one way to find out,"  as you slide off the boulder.

 

Nope!

 

Your legs still don't quite want to hold you up on their own and you teeter, thumping hard back against the rock for support.  A little snort escapes you as you laugh, defeated.

 

"I guess not…"

 

With a chuckle and shake of his head, Din scoops you up again, eliciting a little eep from you.  Then, carrying you, while you hold the kid and the empty crib trails behind, Din starts off to the north, towards the Crest. 

 

You look up at him with a half-smirk, half-glare as you settle in his arms. "You know, I might start to get a complex, if you keep treating me like a rag doll."

 

Din smirks behind that impassive helmet.  "Ooohh, trust me, Sweetling," he rumbles, "the things I do to you, are not things I'd do to a rag doll."

 

For several seconds you just stare at him, blinking in shock at the audacious statement.   Then, you press your lips together hard as you look away from him, heat flaring up into your cheeks as you do your best not to snicker. 

 

It takes a few more moments but you manage to get that urge to laugh under control before asking, "Why do you do that?"

 

"Do what?" he asks innocently. 

 

You look back up at him with a brow arched incredulously. 

 

He chuffs softly.   "Well…what can I say? You're pretty damn cute when you blush," he states,  without even turning his head from the path ahead to look at you. 

 

Of course, that sets off a whole new round of blushing.  You just end up looking out at the valley ahead of your little group, with a resigned sigh and rueful laugh. 

 

That's about when you notice the kid's movements out of the corner of your eye.  He keeps slowly looking back and forth between you and Din.  Every time he looks at you, he gives the same bright, cherub smile that you fell in love with several weeks ago.   But each time he looks up at the beskar helmet, the smile fades into a tiny little, brooding pout.  

 

You watch the transition several times without looking directly at the child.  Then, you fully turn your attention to him and his little green face lights up, his focus entirely on you. A laugh ripples out of you then as you give the kid a squeeze. 

 

Din looks down at the two of you curiously. 

 

A smirk quirks your lips as you barely glance up at him. "Your foundling is jealous," you say with a laugh, your eyes on the toddler's as you lean your head in to rub your nose against his.   He burbles happily at you.

 

There's a pause as the Mandalorian stops walking and watches you both.  "Why do you say that?"

 

Lifting your head, you keep your eyes on the little one and your tone light, though you're talking to Din.  "Focus your… visor towards me, then say my name.  Watch what he does when I turn my focus fully on you."

 

For a moment, Din just looks at you and the child, curiously.  The little goblin doesn't look unhappy.   In fact, he looks thrilled. 

 

Shrugging slightly, he levels his visor on you and says your name.   You immediately turn your head to look up at him, eyes bright and a beautiful smile lighting your face. 

 

Beautiful enough to make Din completely forget about what he was supposed to do next for a few moments. 

 

It's like you can sense he hasn't looked away and after a moment you laugh softly, still smiling bright, and remind him, "Look at the kid."

 

Blinking, Din finally does look over at the child from the corner of his eye. Then he turns his head sharply to the foundling in surprise, facing that little pout. 

 

You start giggling.  "Like I said…jealous."

 

As if to prove your point, the kid snuggles up to you more,  little hands curling into fists in the cloth of your shirt.  The shirt half hides his little face but he can still see Din and keeps frowning up at the dark visor. 

 

The helmet tilts to one side at the kid.  "I see that.  But why?"

 

You smile, looking down at the child and gently rubbing your hand over his back.   The kid gives you that cherub smile again,  making you laugh softly. 

 

"It's not… uncommon" you say, "for some children to grow attached to an adult figure, often of a different gender, in their life. And then… to get a little huffy at the adult of their same gender if they…steal any attention away."  You shrug a little, laughing softly as you look up at Din. 

 

Din chuffs a little.  "Haven't noticed him getting jealous before."

 

Biting your lip a little, you smirk up at him.  "He's been asleep every other time we've done…anything else." You shrug sheepishly.

 

Thinking about that for a moment, Din chuckles again with a nod.  "You're right."  

 

Then Din leans his head down, visor moving close to the little one's face.   The foundling lifts his head to look into that visor, still pouting softly.

 

"I warned you that you were moving in on my territory, you little womp rat," Din says, with a grin. 

 

The kid babbles something at him, very crossly, and you have to press your lips together to keep from giggling. 

 

The helmet cocks to one side for a moment, before Din gives a playful little growl at the kid.

 

When the little gremlin returns with a trill growl of his own, you would swear you might die of laughter. 

 

 

After about another half an hour of relatively quiet travel, Din points out that you should be able to walk now. 

 

You pause in thought before smirking and making an exaggerated, and obviously fake, snoring sound from where your head has been resting on his shoulder. The kid looks up at you and burbles a cherub giggle.   You give him a playful scowl and make a shushing sound at him. 

 

"I could always find the deepest, muddiest puddle possible and just drop you into it…ass first," Din says, his shoulders shaking in amusement. 

 

Glaring, your head pops up to look at him.  He stops walking and looks down at you, smiling behind the visor with his head slanted to one side. 

 

"Fine…" you say with a dramatic sigh, and a soft roll of your eyes.  Then you grumble softly, "Grumpy Mandalorian, taking away my comfy ride…"

 

Laughing, he sets you on your feet and gives your ass a smack.  You yelp, dancing away from him quickly and instinctively hugging the toddler to you as you do.  You stick your tongue out at him,  childishly. He grins behind the visor with another chuff as he watches you shift the toddler in your arms to set him on your hip.  

 

Then, you both continue the soggy trek towards the Crest, Din unconsciously shortening the length of his strides to match your pace along the way. 

 

 

A while later you glance over at your Beskar encased companion and arch your brows at catching him watching you.   He clears his throat a bit and looks back to the path ahead. 

 

You smile softly.   "Yes?" you prompt, gently. 

 

His shoulders lift in a slight shrug.  "Just…noticing you look comfortable here."  His head tips briefly towards the sky, tiny rivulets of rain running down the hard lines of his helmet.  "I don't understand why… kriffing rain… but you do."

 

A soft laugh shakes your shoulders and you shrug.  "Like I said last night, I love rain.   It… reminds me of home.  Especially warm rain, like this."  

 

That gives you an idea and you look down at the kid on your hip.  He looks back up at you attentively, big ears perked up.  You drop your jaw and arch your brows in an exaggerated look of excitement.   The child giggles and imitates you.   Then, you tilt your head far back, your tongue out in to catch the rain, while your eyes squint against the drops.  You can feel the kid lean back a little in your arms as he follows your example. 

 

After a few moments, you close your mouth and lower your head, swallowing the rain water as you wipe off your face with a delighted laugh. 

 

The foundling also lifts his head back up then to smile at you,  and the water he had gathered promptly dribbles out of his open mouth and down his tunic.  More water also dribbles out from where it had started to pool in his gigantic ears. 

 

You burst into giggles at that, shaking your head and wiping off his face and ears as best as you can with a sodden sleeve. 

 

Din watches you through it all, a slow smile pulling at his mouth.   He glances up at the bright gray sky, watching the drops of rain that hit the other side of his visor and then streak away.  

 

For a moment, he wonders if he'd enjoy the rain like you do, if he could feel it on his face.   Maybe he could have you take the kid and walk ahead a ways.  Then he could try it, for just a minute…

 

"I take it there wasn't much rain on Mandalore?"

 

Your question pulls him out of that reverie.  As you both start walking again, he blinks away his nearly sacrilegious idea.

 

"Uh…no. Not that I know of. I've never actually been to Mandalore," he answers, a little haltingly.

 

"You weren't born there?" you ask with a curious tilt of your head. 

 

He shakes his head negatively, absently rubbing a hand at the side of his neck. 

 

Your expression softens a bit as realization dawns.  "You were a foundling…"

 

With a glance at you, he nods.  "Yeah.  The Mandalorians took me in when I was about… ten cycles."

 

Looking down at the foundling on your hip, it only takes a moment for you to realize that means Din would have been an orphan by that vulnerable age.  A twinge of sadness tugs at your chest for that younger version of him, but you push it aside after a moment.  You doubt he'd appreciate any pity, especially for something that had happened so many years ago. 

 

You glance between Din and the kid in thought.  "That actually makes… things make more sense."

 

Din's brows pinch together behind his visor as he looks over at you again.  "Oh?"

 

A shrug lifts one of your shoulders.  "I don't think there are many people in the galaxy... who would take on the responsibility you have," you say with a soft smile, still looking down at the child and lifting your free hand to lightly tap his little nose with a fingertip.   The foundling burbles happily, grabbing at your finger.  "Hell," you add with a soft, wry laugh, "there's so many people who are just plain lost when it comes to taking care of children that are theirs… much less taking on a child that isn't ."  

 

You continue, as you wiggle your finger in the little one's hands playfully.  "Your willingness to take care of him… to defend him with your own life…makes sense given your own past."  You pause again, looking up at Din with a soft, affectionate smile. "And… it's admirable."

 

Blinking at you for a moment, Din is caught off guard by the unexpected praise and the warm expression you turn his way.  An unfamiliar tightness comes to his throat and he swallows hard against it.

 

After a few quiet seconds pass, he just shrugs slightly, clearing his throat.  "This is the Way," he states simply, before looking down at the path he's following over the soggy ground.  He absently kicks at a puddle of water as he walks through it.

 

Another soft smile tugs at your lips and you give a little nod of acknowledgement, letting your eyes move from him to the landscape ahead of you as the conversation drifts away. 

 

He's embarrassed by the compliment, you realize.  Probably unaccustomed to having his actions applauded, outside of his bounty hunting.  But it's just another example of the thought you'd had last night.   He's not boastful or prideful.

 

And that just makes him all the more… appealing.

 

A short while later, as the Crest finally comes into view in the distance, Din looks down in surprise.  

 

You had, at some point during the walk, drifted closer to him.  Now, feeling confidence that you're not entirely sure where it came from, you've slipped your free hand into his gloved one.  Lacing your fingers into his, you lift his hand to press a tender kiss against the leather over the back of it.  Then, you lower your joined hands back down between you, without letting go and without even looking up at him.

 

Din watches you for a few moments in wonder, his fingers flexing a bit within the unfamiliar sensation of your hold on his hand.  Then, with more than a little uncertainty, his fingers curl over the back of your hand in return.  

 

The rest of the walk to the Crest is spent in companionable silence, Din's hand gradually relaxing within your own along the way. 

 

 

You step out of the fresher later, sighing contentedly and rubbing a towel over your hair.   By the time your group had finally reached the Crest, you had mud caked up to your knees and bits of it splattered even higher. So, that shower had felt nearly as good as the one you had taken on your first day aboard the ship, and fresh clothes are simply heavenly. 

 

Din's boots come down onto the deck with a loud thud as he drops out of the cockpit alcove.  You give him a soft smile as you continue to dry your hair and as he steps over near the fresher for his turn.   He starts loosening the magnets that hold his armor in place and drops the muddy pieces to the deck one by one just outside the fresher door.

 

You remember something then, and scowl softly. 

 

"Why are we in hyperspace?" you ask.  The shift in gravity from leaving the planet's atmosphere had startled you in the fresher, but not nearly as much as the jump into hyperspace.   You had landed unceremoniously on your naked ass in the corner of the fresher.

 

His head cocks to the side questioningly at you in return.  Clang .  Another piece of beskar hits the floor.

 

"What about the quarry on Sonos?" you clarify, deciding not to bring up your ungraceful floundering due to the unexpected change.  You'd like to keep that little embarrassment to yourself, even though a warning would be nice next time. 

 

The beskar helmet shakes slightly.   "The fob shows he skipped off planet sometime after the storm let up.  Have to wait for Karga to send an updated bio-scan location."

 

"Oh.  I'm sorry," you say softly, biting your lip. 

 

He looks up at you as he drops his last piece of armor and then proceeds to kick off his boots.   "Why?" he asks, amusement tinging his voice.  "Did you make it rain?  I honestly don't think I'd be surprised at this point. "

 

A smirk tugs up the corner of your mouth and you laugh a little.   "Well, no," you respond with a shrug.  "But… maybe if we hadn't been with you, you could have caught him before the storm hit. "

 

"Nothing to apologize for then," he states simply, peeling his shirt off over his helmet. "It happens.  Part of the job."  His tanned shoulders lift in a shrug too.

 

As you start running a comb through your hair, your movement falters for a moment in distraction, which draws a chuckle from his helmet.   You fluster a little, laughing too.

 

"Okay, so where are we heading?"

 

"A small moon.  It's not far.   Maybe a day.  Doesn't have a name, just a designation.   I need to meet a contact there…could lead me to another Mandalorian."

 

Your brows arch sharply at that.  "Oh!"  You glance over at the kid, who is on your bed, playing with the little silver ball from a control lever in the cockpit. "For help…with him?" you ask softly. 

 

"Yeah…"

 

You both know why he's searching for other Mandalorians and you both seem hesitant to talk about it.  The subject of possible separation from the child is too uncomfortable.  So, you let it drop there.

 

You go back to running the comb through your hair as Din heads into the fresher. 

 

You pause then and glance at the comb in your hand.  It's one of his that you had claimed shortly after moving onto the Crest.   Looking back up at the fresher door as you resume combing, you idly wonder how long he keeps his hair.  

 

Long enough to need a comb, apparently… I wonder what it…  No. You shake your head at the curious thoughts, pushing them away and taking a deep breath.  Then you exhale very slowly. No point in wondering about something I'll never know the answer to.

 

You give a soft, lamenting smile.  "Oh well," you say to yourself, though the kid looks up at you curiously.  So, you turn your words towards him.  "There are definitely worse problems to have, right?"

 

He coos up at you, holding up the little silver ball in offering. 

 

Your smile brightens and you set down the comb to go sit with the little one. 

 

 

Late the next evening, you peer out the viewport at the dingy looking dock, your nose scrunched up a bit.  It's grimy in a way that reminds you of Nar Shaddaa but somehow worse, and that thought makes you shudder in disgust.  

 

Din sits back in his seat as the Crest shuts down, looking out at the dock too.  He's still and quiet, for several moments, hesitant to leave. With a sigh escaping his helmet, he finally pushes out of his seat and turns to look at you and the kid.

 

"You need to stay on the ship," he says firmly.   

 

Your eyes tear away from the dock and up to his T-shaped visor.   For once you don't even hesitate at the order to stay put.  You nod sharply, looking back out the viewport. 

 

This is the first place so far that you have absolutely no desire to step foot on.  It reeks of filth and danger, and the airlock hasn't even been opened yet.  Also…you're not sure if it was your imagination or not, but you think those were a few pairs of red glowing eyes that you saw in the shadows beyond the dock. 

 

Din steps closer to you, catching your chin in his hand and urging you to look up at him again.  "This place is dangerous.  So, I need to hear you say it, Sweetling," he says.

 

Your eyes search that visor for a moment before you give him a little smile and nod.  "Yes, Sir," you answer softly. 

 

"Good girl," he says softly, his thumb brushing your cheek.  "I shouldn't be gone too long."

 

As he starts to pull away, you catch his hand.  He pauses, head canting at you.  You press a soft kiss into the palm of his glove. 

 

"K'oyacyi," you murmur the farewell softly. 

 

Din grins within the helmet slowly, his fingers curling against your cheek.  

 

Your pronunciation of the phrase is perfect this time, he notices.  If he tried, he's sure he wouldn't be able to express how much it means to him that you want to speak Mando'a with him, even though he doesn't speak it fluently himself.  

 

His voice is thick as he leans down to lightly bump his helmeted head against yours.  "You still haven't told me how you learned that."

 

For the briefest moment, he'd swear he saw sadness touch at the corners of your eyes,  but it's gone so fast that he's not sure.  Instead, you give him an answering smile with a hint of mischievousness in it.  "Then, you need to remember to ask when you're not about to leave."

 

He chuckles softly, stroking his thumb over your cheek for another moment.  " Ret'urcye mhi."

 

When a brow arches at him curiously, he grins. "Ask me when I get back."

 

You give a soft tsk sound but smile up at him, letting his hand go this time as he straightens up.

 

He pauses by the kid long enough to gently rub one wing ear and get an enthusiastic trill from the child.  His helmet turns back to you once more. 

 

"Keep the ship locked down.   I'll be back as soon as I can."

 

You nod once and then watch as he disappears down the ladder. 

 

 

It's just over two hours before Din returns, to your extreme relief.  

 

The dock had been getting…crowded…since he left.   As the darkness of night settled over the area, lengthening the shadows, you kept seeing more of those red pin-prick eyes. You know it wasn't your imagination now.  After getting the kid to sleep and settled in his little hammock, you went back up to the cockpit to count those glowing sets of unsettling eyes while you waited from your regular jumpseat.   You're at seventeen by the time Mando opens the ramp to come aboard.   

 

You know immediately that things didn't go smoothly, even before you see him.  It's obvious in the sounds of his movements through the cargo hold: how hard he punches his fist against the ramp controls to close it, the pounding steps of his boots as he heads for his armory, the way the armory doors slam closed a few moments later, and more pounding steps as he moves to the ladder.   

 

He is pissed.

 

Coming into the cockpit, he doesn't say a word as he drops into the pilot's seat and starts up the engines.  You quickly strap in.  Every one of his movements is sharp and clipped as his hands fly across the controls and you would swear he has the Crest in the air in record time. 

 

You remain quiet as he flies the ship out of the atmosphere and away from the moon, heading for the nearby hyperspace lane. 

 

As soon as the ship is settled into hyperspace, you unstrap and step up behind his seat.   His movements are still clipped but fewer now, as he just makes flight adjustments.  He's still seething though. It's thick in the air around him.

 

After a brief pause, you lift your hands over the back of the chair and let them rest on his shoulders, just inside the edges of his shoulder pauldrens.  

 

The helmet snaps up at the weight of you hands, the visor finding you in the reflection on the viewport transparisteel. There's a tiny flinch within you at that sharp movement, but you resist the urge to lift your hands away.  Instead, you just meet his gaze in the reflection, keeping your expression soft as you chin rests lightly on top of the seat's headrest.

 

There's the slightest change then, his shoulders relaxing just a bit under your hands as he looks at you. It's almost as if he's seeing you now for the first time since getting back on the ship, like he hadn't realized you were sitting behind him all this time.

 

The helmet tips down slightly and he makes another adjustment. You can feel the heavy sigh he gives then, in his shoulders, though you can't hear it. 

 

Nibbling your lip a bit, you hesitate a moment before moving your hands to the back of his neck.  Your fingers carefully work the fastening at the back of his cowl free and you can feel him go still, helmet ticking up just slightly to look at your again. 

 

He doesn't stop you though.  So you finish unfastening the cloth and pull it and his cape away from his neck and shoulders, letting them just rest behind him in the chair. Your hands rest on his shoulders again then, partially over the hem of his armorweave shirt, his skin warm beneath your hands. 

 

You can feel his eyes on you through the reflection, but you don't meet his gaze.   You focus instead on where your hands rest, and it's impossible for you to not notice the tenseness in him.   Your own shoulders ache a bit in sympathy for his. 

 

Very lightly, you trail your thumbs down the vertebrae at the base of his neck, eliciting an almost imperceptible shiver from him.  Then, hands shifting slightly, you press the pads of your thumbs into the trapezius muscles of his shoulders, out above his shoulder blades.  With firm pressure you slide your thumbs inward along those tense muscles, stopping on either side of his spine, before pressing upward along the sides of his neck.

 

It takes one more pass of your thumbs along those lines, pressing hard into tense muscles, before a deep groan escapes the stolid beskar helmet.  Slowly, he lets his head drop forward to his chest, with a soft tink of beskar against beskar, giving you better access to his neck and shoulders. 

 

Smiling softly, you work your fingers into his shoulders and neck, gradually feeling the muscle begin to give under your touch.

 

After a few minutes pass, your speak very softly, not wanting to break the reverie too much.  "Do you…want to talk about it?" you ask.

 

There's a long pause as you continue to massage him. Then you hear a faint scraping sound and realize it's the bottom edge of his helmet against his chest plate as he shakes his head no.

 

You nod softly with an "Okay," and then fall silent again, carrying on with your manipulation over his muscles. 

 

After several more minutes your release his shoulders, and giggle softly at the faint sound of disappointment he makes. Walking around to the side of his chair, you tap the side of his helmet with a finger nail.  A smirk pulls at your lips as the helmet barely turns so he can look at you from the edge of the visor, hardly even raising his head.  

 

"If you can slide forward a bit, so I can sit behind you, I'll keep going" you offer softly, your fingertips brushing across the back of his neck gently. 

 

That's all the urging Din needs and he pushes forward on the chair until he's basically just perched at the end of the seat, his arms lifting and folding on the edge of the console in front of him for balance. 

 

Smiling brightly, you slip your foot up and over the arm of the chair and pull yourself up into it, pushing his loose cape and cowl out of the way.   You settle behind him, half-sitting and half-crouched, your knees bracketing his ribs.   Leaning into him, you softly press a kiss against his spine, just above his neckline.

 

Din moans softly, letting his head lull forward again. Then, when he feels you work your fingers under the edge of his right pauldron, he rolls his shoulders back just a bit to give you easier access to the magnetic clasps.  

 

You remove one pauldron and then the other, dropping them both to the floor beside the chair with a soft clang. You find the clasps for the armor piece on his back, working it free to join the pauldrons.  Then you hands begin moving over him again.  

 

Starting on his right arm, you squeeze his biceps, alternating pressure and position until the tense muscle begins to give under the massage.   Then your hands move up to the corner of his shoulder, similarly working into the muscle there.  Gradually you move across his shoulders, massaging the trapezius muscles into compliance under your fingertips again, before continuing to the outer edge of his left shoulder and then down that arm. 

 

Din feels like he is melting under your palms and fingertips. Soft sighs and groans escape as the tension is slowly eased out of him by your firm ministrations.  Maker, that feels good, he thinks. 

 

You spend a while working back across his shoulders once more, loving the feeling of his strong body giving in to the tenderness of your touch.

 

When you feel him take a deep steadying breath, you pause, your hands resting on either side of his neck again. 

 

"They… tried to take my armor," Din states, lowly.  There's an edge of frustration in his modulated voice, but only a bit, as he's too relaxed now.  Your steady, gentle ministrations have smoothed away the searing anger from an hour ago.

 

Your brows knit together a bit at that, and after a moment you begin to move your hands again.   "Well… that seems like a magnificently stupid idea," you reply, softly, as you begin to move your palms in rolling presses down the right side of his back, one after the other, and then back up the left side.  "Did they not realize that Beskar armor usually comes with a lethal Mandalorian filling?"

 

There's a long pause and then Din's shoulders start to shake. You grin at the sound of his chuffing laughter. 

 

"Did they even have any of the information that you needed?" you ask softly a few moments later, after his laughter fades.  Your ministrations change to walking your fingertips down either side of his spine with hard presses.

 

He groans softly as he nods, a hitch in his voice.  "Yeah… I got it."

 

Then, you place your palms on each side of his upper back and slowly press in and rub downward.  

 

"Good," you respond.  Then you pause for a moment before asking cautiously, "Can I ask…what happened?"

 

He is quiet for so long that you begin to worry that you may have overstepped. But then that baritone voice comes out from the helmet again, speaking frankly. 

 

"The contact demanded my armor.  He… all but admitted to killing other Mandalorians for theirs.  I fought his men.  Killed them. The contact ran.  Not very fast.  Caught him with the grappling line.  He told me what I needed to know and… I left him hanging upside down…from a pole."

 

You blink a little in surprise at the detailed but concise explanation of events. That may be the most you've heard him say at one time.   Considering his explanation for a moment, you continue to press the heels of your palms or fingertips in here and there along his back.  Wherever you come across a knot in the muscle, you work into it as firmly and gently as you can until it too gives in under your attention. 

 

"You left him alive?" you ask gently. 

 

Din goes very still under your hands as he answers softly, "I left him… in the dark."

 

Your hands pause, your trim brows arching at that.  You remember those gathering red eyes on the dock very distinctly.  Hungry eyes that kept to the dark. 

 

There's no chance the contact survived… and it probably wasn't quick. 

 

After the initial surprise passes, you move again and slide your arms around him, under his arms.  Your fingers intertwine over the utility belt at his stomach. 

 

Your lips press a kiss against his spine, through his armorweave shirt and you murmur into the cloth softly,  "That's better than he deserved.  He's lucky he wasn't gutted, too."

 

At that, Din releases a breath you hadn't even noticed he'd been holding.  He relaxes within your arms again, and even chuffs a thin, surprised laugh at the unexpected ruthlessness of your answer.  

 

He was worried about your reaction, you realize with a little shock.  He wanted your approval of his actions.  And while he is under no obligation to tell you anything, Din chose not to mislead you about what he had done, even to avoid your possible censure. 

 

That revelation, that your opinion matters to this dangerous man, makes you smile brightly into his armorweave shirt.  Warmth spreads across your chest as your heart swells with the new awareness.  

 

By every rule of the galaxy, your opinion shouldn't matter to him.  You know that.  He probably knows that.  You belong to him.  Legally speaking, no different than how the Crest belongs to him. Property doesn't get to have an opinion, someone on Nar Shaddaa had once told you. 

 

And yet, here you are, wrapped up with him and your opinion matters to him, feeling more wanted than you have in a very long time.  Since long before leaving Sardecia.  Long before meeting him that fateful night.

 

It feels good to be wanted, just as you are, for once. 

 

Slowly, you begin to trail soft kisses across his shoulder and up his neck, following the lines your hands had drawn to massage him into relaxation.  You can feel soft tremors go through him as your lips caress his bare skin.  Nipping a trail along the corded muscle on one side of his neck and then tracing your tongue over the red marks left behind by your teeth, you pull a groan out of him. 

 

Feeling emboldened, you slip a hand down from his belt.  You bite your lip a bit and smile when your exploration is rewarded, finding the front of his pants beginning to strain with a growing erection.   

 

With the tips of your fingers, you slowly trace the outline of him through the cloth, and his hips jerk slightly in response to the unexpected touch.  He lets out a deep growl from his chest and you can feel it through your own chest, pressed against his back.

 

You trace your way down to the base of his erection, then slowly drag your nails up the length of him over the cloth.  A guttural sound escapes the helmet and you can see his gloved fists clench from where his arms still rest on the console's edge. 

 

All the while you place feather light kisses, hardly a press at all of your soft lips, against his barely exposed, warm skin.

 

Din shudders under your tender attention, his breath starting to hitch a bit.  

 

He finds that he's a bit at war with himself now.  On the one hand, the unexpected massage has left him so relaxed for the most part that he has little desire to move.  On the other hand, that part of his body that your massage has woken up instead, is starting to give him ideas of turning around and fucking you senseless right there on the pilot's seat. 

 

A strained growl passes through the modulator as your nails lightly drag along his erection again, scraping slowly over the cloth.

 

When both of your hands move away from him suddenly, a faint frustrated snarl comes out of him.  He can feel you shifting on the seat behind him and he is seriously considering option number two, when you surprisingly provide a third one. 

 

Your hands slip back around him and you find the edges of his chest plate, gripping onto it.  Then, you pull.

 

At first, he doesn't move an inch.   

 

Well, you should have known you couldn't actually move him.   He's practically twice your size, plus heavy armor.   It takes a moment for him to realize what you're wanting, but finally he does and he chuckles softly, pushing off of the console languidly and then leaning back against you. 

 

Your legs, which you had maneuvered to drape over the arms of the chair, wrap around his narrow hips from behind now.   Your bare feet rest on the cold beskar of his thigh guards, just above his knees.  His hands move to rest on your calves.   Leaning back into you, his back presses to your breasts and pushes you against the chair, firmly. 

 

Good thing you have no intention of going anywhere.  Your body is quite pinned behind him.  

 

He ticks his helmet to the side, to look at you out of the corner of his eye over his shoulder, as if to ask what now?

 

You give him a saucy little smile as your hands release their hold on his chest plate and begin to move over his body again.   

 

One moves up his back and over the opposite shoulder from where his head is turned. Your fingertips follow the hem of his shirt's neckline across the back and along the side of his neck, making him shiver.  Then your fingertips move up to the underside of his jawline, tracing along it. 

 

Suddenly, you grip the edge of that beskar helmet and tug his head back to face forward.  Din hisses a sharp breath through the modulator in surprise.

 

Before he can respond, you lean your head into him and drag your teeth over the corded muscle up this side of his neck, and your other hand reaches around his hips to palm his stiffened cock through his pants.

 

A low growl comes from him, his head dropping back until his helmet thumps against the back of the chair, over your shoulder.  You take advantage of the new, more accessible, angle to his neck and bite sharply here and there until you reach the tender spot just under the rear corner of his jaw.  Your tongue presses into that spot, licking slowly against the thrum of his quickening heartbeat.

 

"Gaahh!  Dank… Farrik ," he groans as you squeeze him, your thumb finding the outline of the head of his cock and teasing it through the cloth. 

 

Satisfied with where his head is at the moment, you slip your other hand back down under his arm and around his waist.   Your fingers dance across his stomach just above his utility belt, until they come to the belt's buckle and unsnap it. 

 

You can hear his breath stuttering, feel his heartbeat hammering against the press of your lips on his neck, as you release his erection long enough for both hands to work open the front of his pants. 

 

Din lifts his head from the backrest of the seat, looking down over the curve of his chestplate to watch as your delicate fingers push the front of his pants down a bit, then reach in to pull his thick cock free.  

 

His hips jerk as your fingers curl around his girth, the pad of your thumb running along the underside of the edge of his cockhead.  A tiny, delighted mewl slips past your lips at the hot feel of him in your hand.  

 

He drops his head back again with the first firm stroke of your hand down his length.  " Fuuuuck ," he rasps, "uughhh… Sw-sweet… girl.  So-o ... I..  huu…fuck…"

 

You smile against the side of his neck.  The ability to make this deadly man lose his mind at your touch, unable to put together a coherent thought, is such a heady, powerful feeling.  

 

His fingers press into your calves as you begin to stroke your hand over his hard length, drawing the velvety skin taut down to his base and then up again over the edge of his swollen glans.  Ragged gasps stutter from him and his thumbs rub roughly against your legs. 

 

"Da-dammit, Sweetling… I-I can't touch you.. like this," he snarls.

 

Your lip catches between your teeth for a moment as you purr softly against his heated skin, "I know."

 

Din tries to catch his breath but can't as your hand continues to move over him.  "Y-You know?" he groans,  "You don't… uuaahhh … don't want me…to touch you?"

 

With a nuzzle of your face up under the edge of his helmet, you nip at the underside of his jaw.  "No…" you hum, through slightly shallow breaths of your own.  

 

When his head jerks slightly to try to look at you after that answer, you don't let him get away from you.  Instead your free hand snaps back up to the edge of his helmet to hold him there as your tongue darts against his pulse again, tasting the thin sheen of sweat that covers his skin now.  You moan softly at the salty, earthy taste of him and his cock pulses in your hand in response. 

 

Lifting your head, you trail the tip of your tongue along the hard lines of his helmet, until you press a kiss against the cheek ridge, beside that dark T-shaped visor.  Releasing your grip on his helmet, that hand just slips around his torso, palm pressed against his chest plate to cling to him. 

 

You can feel his questioning eyes on you now and you finally meet his gaze.  

 

"Tonight, I just.. want to take care of you…," you purr, your thighs squeezing against his waist.  "You don't…need to do anything…"  Your thumb sweeps over the slit of his cockhead to gather a trickle of precum into your palm before your grip tightens on him with another stroke, and his body trembles against yours. 

 

"I…I couldn't touch you… for so long, Din," you mewl softly, but then smile gently when you feel his breath shake as you say his name. "But you kept… kept finding ways to take care of me."  You pause for a moment, your eyes searching that visor. "I… just want to do that for you… now that I can," you finish softly. 

 

Your hand stills on him then as you bite your lip, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, now that you've voiced your desire.  Every other sexual interaction you have had has been strictly under his control.   He dominates you every time, and you've thrilled with every moment of it. 

 

But now you're asking him to give up that control for tonight.  

 

After several moments pass, your throat going dry as you swallow hard, Din finally gives the smallest of nods before resting his head back again.  You smile softly, nuzzling and kissing the side of his neck again as you resume stroking your fist over him. 

 

You're nuzzled close enough to him then that you hear him murmuring to himself, and he probably doesn't realize that the words are barely escaping the modulator. "P-perfect, sw-weet girl. How the… krrriiiff did I get so ffffucking lucky?"

 

It takes every bit of your self-control to not directly react to that, knowing he likely didn't mean for you to hear it.  Your stomach suddenly feels tied up in delicious knots though and you find it hard to catch your breath. You kiss your way down the side of his neck until you can bury your face against the curve of his shoulder, finally letting yourself smile brightly.  Heat pools in your belly and between your thighs and you revel in the delicious feelings.

 

Tugging off one of his gloves, Din's bare hand reaches down to wrap around your smaller one over his cock.  He squeezes around your hand. 

 

"T-tighter, Sweetling, you- you're not going to…to hurt me," he rasps.  You follow his instructions, tightening your grip on him and drawing another moan from that helmet. 

 

His hips jerk up as he begins to guide your hand over him for a moment, before he pauses. 

 

"It wo-would… be better wet.. Sweetling," he groans out, voice strained and a bit hesitant.

 

You lift your head to look at him, but his head is still resting back and you're fairly certain his eyes are closed.  Looking over his shoulder and past his chestplate to where both of your hands rest over his torrid cock, the tip swollen and shiny, a small smile pulls at your lips. 

 

"Yes, Sir," you purr wantonly as you release his shaft and slip your hand out from his. 

 

Din tilts his head to look over at you, a little surprised as he hadn't been expecting the affirmation, and he finds himself enthralled. With ragged breaths, he watches you drag your tongue over your palm and fingers several times, repeating the licks until you are satisfied that your hand is thoroughly wetted for him. 

 

Feeling his eyes on you again, you turn your head slightly to meet his gaze.  You give him a coy little smile as you reach down to wrap your saliva slicked hand around his dick again.  He growls from low in his chest as he throbs in your hand. 

 

Your hand begins to pump his cock again, gripping tightly like he showed you, twisting a little occasionally.  His velvety, hot skin glides under your hand easier now as you jerk him firmly, drawing a strangled sound out of him. 

 

"Krrrriff… how is… yo..your hand s-so fucking… soft?  Ffuuucckkk… that's s-so good.  Good girl…" he groans as his hips begin to rut up from the seat, rocking himself into your fist, his back pressing hard against you. 

 

Shivering with a thrill, you rub your face against his neck like a loth-cat, biting hard down on his strained muscle here and there.  Then you lave the spots in slow licks, easing the sting. 

 

Your pussy aches, heated, and you know you're ridiculously wet for him.  Still,  your thighs squeeze his hips again, and you push your arousal aside with a tiny growl.  Not tonight , you argue with that wanton side of yourself. Tonight's all for him. 

 

Din's hands grip your calves so tightly now, you're certain they'll be bruised come morning.   His body bucks up, pressing you back into the seat, as he fucks himself into your eager hand.  "Uurrgggh…ye-yeesss, Sweet girl.  Just.. just like that.  Arrrgh!  So, kriffing good!"

 

You purr against his neck, delighted in the sounds and praise you're drawing out of him, and you quicken the pace of your stroking fist over him. Your other hand slips from his chest to reach down and cup his balls in your palm.  You roll them between your fingers gently and then lightly trace your nails over them.

 

A loud groan escapes the helmet and you can feel the strain in his body as his orgasm draws near.  The thrusts of his hips, shoving his pulsing cock through your small fist as you pump him, becomes stuttered.

 

"Gahh.. gonna… fffuuucking-stars… I- I'm gonna cum… uuurrgh…. S-so good… good girl," he growls out. 

 

Pressing your mouth against the thrumming pulse of his neck, you murmur and purr encouragingly, nipping at him. 

 

Then it rolls over him in a wave.  His balls tighten, drawing deliciously against his body, his cock throbbing hotly in your hand.  His voice is a ragged roar as his body jerks and he cums hard, strings of warm semen coating your hand and his stomach.   

 

You continue to pump your fist over his cock as it pulses in your hand, squeezing firmly, milking every drop you can out of him.  

 

Gradually, the jerking of his muscles lessens and his dick begins to soften in your hand.   He slumps heavily against you, working to catch his breath. 

 

You gently release his cock and his balls, rewarded by a tremble from him.  Then, you carefully maneuver to pull your arm out from under his and lift your hand to your lips. 

 

Din's helmet rolls on your shoulder a bit so he can  look over at you.  He groans softly at the sight of you slowly licking his essence off your hand.  You suck his fluid from your fingers with your eyes softly closed, as if the musky taste of him is the most delectable thing you can imagine. 

 

"Fuck, Sweet Girl," he groans, hoarsely. "That was… outstanding."

 

You smile brightly, tilting your head to rest on the outer edge of his shoulder, so you can look back at him, as your arms link lazily around his torso.

 

For several more long moments, you both stay like that, quietly wrapped up together, as he continues to come down from the high of his climax.

 

Finally, with a faint groan, Din moves to tuck his softened dick back into his pants.   Then he pulls away from you before pushing to his feet.  Turning, he offers his hand to help you up. 

 

"Come on, Sweetling, let's go to bed.  It's been a… long day."

 

You smile softly, unfurling yourself from the seat and accepting his hand to stand up. 

 

As you stand, he pulls you in close and presses the faceplate of his helmet against the curve of your neck, like he might be able to feel your skin against his face.

 

"You do make long days easier though…," he rumbles softly, giving you a squeeze around the waist. 

 

You giggle happily at that, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and curling into his embrace. 



Chapter 16

Summary:

So sorry for the delay in this post. Had some emotional trauma in real life. It definitely affected this chapter. Poor characters.

Warnings: Lots of Angst! It's pretty much all angst.

Chapter Text

"Stars, I had no idea this much sand existed in the entire galaxy… much less on one kriffing planet," you grouse, shaking a small pile of dirt out of your right boot before tugging it back on. 

 

You'd never heard of Tatooine before Mando brought you here today.  You already don't care for it.   It's so hot and dry!  And two suns?!  What creator thought that was a good idea?

 

The wild haired little woman, Peli, looks up at you from where she is working beneath an open panel under the Crest's nose. She lifts a dusty pair of goggles up from her eyes to rest them on top of her head. They practically disappear into her hair and leave behind a goggle-shaped patch of clean skin around her eyes.  Well, cleaner anyway.   Everything around here seems to be covered in at least a thin layer of dirt. 

 

"Eh, it ain't so bad," she scoffs in that very unique voice of hers, just on the edge of discordant but not quite shrill.  It had taken a couple of hours for you to get used to it. 

 

Mando and the kid didn't seem fazed by it.   In fact, the kid got excited by her voice before he even saw her.  Now, he's playing happily, making little towers out of a pile of nuts and bolts by the mechanic's feet.

 

"Could you hand me that spanner?" Peli asks, pointing to the pile of tools next to you, on the crate you're perched on. 

 

You look down at the tools, hopelessly.   Pointing at one, you look at her questioningly.  

 

She shakes her head.  "No, the red one next to that."

 

Luckily, there's only one red tool.   You hand it to her and she tugs down her work goggles again, her hands disappearing into the bowels of the ship. 

 

With a soft sigh, you rest your chin on your knees, watching her work.  She keeps talking to the little droids that are working on other various parts of the ship, chattering at them, occasionally yelling at them.   It's all oddly affectionate though and you find yourself laughing at their antics pretty often. 

 

A short while later you are idly picking through the pile of tools, scowling softly. 

 

"Hey, Peli?" you say, when there seems to be a lull in her work. 

 

"Yeah?" the little woman responds before taking a chug of water from a canteen and wiping sweat from her forehead.  It leaves a streak of dirt and grease across her skin. 

 

You give her a hesitant smile.  "Would you have… any spare holo-books for general tool knowledge… and maybe one for maintenance on the Crest?"

 

She tilts her head curiously at you, her wild hair going a little wilder in the wind.  "I… might.  Why?"

 

You shrug a little, sheepishly.   "I thought… maybe I could learn some things.   Just like…real basic maintenance stuff, so I can help keep it going in between the stops here."  After another moment's thought, you laugh a little at yourself.  "Right now, if something happened, I couldn't even grab the right tool for Mando if he asked me to."

 

Peli gives you a grin and nods a little.  "Yeah okay.  I think I might have something.  As long as you're not trying to take work away from me!" She adds the last bit with a teasing laugh, pointing the tool in her hand at you. 

 

You laugh too, raising your hands in surrender.  "Wouldn't dream of it! Just want to…be helpful…keep it going enough to get it back to you."

 

She laughs again and nods, drinking more water and then offering the canteen to you.   "Sure. Sure.  I think I've got a couple books that'll help.  I'll dig out the data chips while ya'll are over at Mos Pelgo."

 

You give her a bright smile with a, "Thank you," as you accept the canteen and take a drink.  

 

A little thrill of excitement goes through you at the prospect of learning something new, something that might help you in this new life you've found yourself in.  Something that might actually help you feel useful on Mando's ship.

 

Your eyes drift from Peli, as she starts working again, to the dock entrance. Brows knit together a bit as your thoughts drift to Mando.  

 

Where is he?  He should have been back from… Mos Espa a while ago. 

 

 

Din had already gotten back.  

 

An hour ago. 

 

He has been pacing outside the starport docks ever since.  His armor tinks with every frustrated step and leather creaks as he keeps clenching and unclenching his fists, muttering to himself. 

 

People passing by give him a wide berth.  Some even decide to avoid the area he's pacing entirely, going down alleyways to find a different route.   They'd probably stay away from a Mandalorian normally anyway.  But an obviously agitated one?  Definitely to be avoided. 

 

Every ten to fifteen minutes, he starts to head to the dock entrance but then stops.  Each time, he's turned back around with a muttered curse and resumes his pacing. 

 

He knows he needs to talk to you about this, but hell, if talking was easy for him he would have talked about it already

 

How the kriff do I tell her how… badly…I fucked this up? 

 

A realization had struck hard two nights ago, after another delicious evening of getting wrapped up with you… in you.   

 

He couldn't seem to get enough of you or keep his hands off you.  You seemed to be feeling the same way.  In fact, he'd delayed the trip to Tatooine longer than he should have.  He only stopped once along the way to pick up an easy bounty on a small, sparsely inhabited world. The entire trip should have only taken one week, but he stretched it to two weeks so the two of you could enjoy the nearly uninterrupted time aboard the ship for longer.  

 

But two nights ago, just before you fell asleep snuggled into his side with your head on his shoulder, you had said another sleepy "Yes, Sir," to a question he had asked you. 

 

It hadn't even been an instruction or command.  He can't remember what the question was now.  But the fact that your default response was becoming that obedient answer, even when it wasn't in response to instruction, hit him in the gut like a speeder train.  

 

Was obedience becoming your norm now?  That wasn't what he'd wanted.  He'd just wanted to be sure he could trust you to follow instructions when it really mattered.  

 

Was it stifling that fiery nature of yours?  That nature that had caused you to confront a king for him?  To risk everything to help him?

 

It had him questioning every interaction you've had together.  To question whether any time you spend with him is out of a desire to be with him… or out of obligation. 

 

He spent the rest of the night awake, watching you sleep and wondering. Could he ask you?  But, if it is just out of duty, it stands to reason that you might just tell him what he wants to hear, for the same reason.  But, if you were free to make your own choices…?

 

The next morning he immediately set course to finish the trip to Tatooine.  

 

The trip to and from Mos Espa on Peli's speeder bike had only taken a few hours.  The meeting with the Slaver's Guild representative, Carti Bruvell, had taken less than five minutes. 

 

Like on Kwenn Station, it had not gone well. 

 

Din takes a deep breath as he stops pacing for about the sixth time.  "Dank Farrik," he snarls at himself, "Get it together."

 

Letting the breath out in a low hiss through the modulator, he balls up his fists once more and strides with determination into the spaceport entry. 

 

 

At first, your face lights up with a smile when Mando walks into the docking area. You hop off the crate and dust off your pants, as much as you can.

 

Then, as you move towards him, your smile falters and so do your steps.  You stop before he reaches you, your smile replaced by a concerned frown.

 

Something is definitely wrong. 

 

You open your mouth to ask him as he gets close but hesitate when he shakes his head at you.   He stops in front of you, looking around you at Peli.

 

"Any droids working inside the ship?" he asks, abrupt and gruff. 

 

Your stomach twists up nervously at his tone. 

 

Peli barely glances up at him from where she's welding something.  "Nope!" she hollers over the noise and continues her work. 

 

"Good," he mutters.  He pauses, looking around and then nodding slightly when he sees the kid playing near the mechanic.   He knows Peli always keeps a close eye on the little one, so he doesn't have to worry about the foundling for the moment.  He turns to you then, taking a hold of your hand. "Come on.  We need to… talk."

 

You barely give a nod as he turns to lead you up the boarding ramp and into the ship, your mouth suddenly dry and your stomach in knots. 

 

Once on board, Mando releases you and pushes the button on his vambrace to close the ramp.  As the airlock hisses, effectively cutting off all sound from the Mos Eisley dock and the busy city beyond it, you trepidatiously hoist yourself up to sit on the edge of a supply crate. 

 

Your eyes follow him as he almost immediately begins to pace.  First, down the narrow space between the crates and your bed.  Then beyond them towards the other end of the cargo hold near the carbonite frames, the fresher and the sleeping rack. Then, back again. He makes about three passes, with you biting your lip nervously as you watch. 

 

The only time that you've seen him pace like this was the day he'd found you on Nar Shaddaa, when he'd found out you were indentured. 

 

Finally, unable to stand the silence anymore, you take a deep, shaky breath.  "Din?  What's going on?" you ask, your voice firmer than you had expected it to come out.  

 

Din stops, mid-stride, and seems to freeze in place.   A few heartbeats go by before his helmet ticks upwards to bring the visor level to you. 

 

His voice is tense, on edge, and very quiet.  If not for the silence created by the airlock, you probably wouldn't be able to hear him. 

 

"I fucked up, Sweetling… and I'm sorry."

 

The knot that had begun to grow in the pit of your stomach suddenly feels like it is a massive tangle of vines.

 

"What happened?" you whisper. 

 

Din rubs the side of his neck uncomfortably, heaving a sigh.  He even seems to be having trouble meeting your eyes.   

 

That's new… and really unnerving.  

 

"I… the meeting I went to…it was with a higher ranking rep for the Slaver's Guild," he starts, kicking out one foot absently. 

 

Your eyes widen and your breath catches in your throat.  

 

Why would he go there?!  He shouldn't need to go back until registration renewal is due.  Unless…he's… selling my contract?

 

A lump forms in your throat as that thought crosses your mind. You swallow hard, closing your eyes briefly to shove that fear down and away as furiously as you can. Then you look up at him again, forcing your wild thoughts to quiet so you can listen to him. 

 

Clearing his throat, Din's head turns minisculely to the side and you're fairly certain he's watching you through just the edge of that dark visor. "I have been trying to…  find someone authorized to unwind your contact.  To free you…" he continues, though a bit haltingly.

 

You can feel the color drain a bit from your face at that, and your breaths suddenly turn a little shallower.  Your hands brace on the edge of the crate, fingers curling tight.

 

He was…doing what?!

 

You can't seem to get the question to form into an audible response as he continues.

 

"It turns out though…" he clears his throat again, and suddenly tugs off the cowl from around his neck, tossing it and his cape into a pile near the ladder to the cockpit.  His hand resumes rubbing at the side of his exposed neck, but for once your eyes are focused entirely on that beskar helmet, rather than distracted by a bit of bared, golden skin.

 

"Turns out I've been… banned from guild offices…for an 'undetermined' amount of time," Din says, sighing heavily.  He moves to lean against the wall opposite of you, but still isn't directly meeting your eyes.  Instead, he almost looks like he is intently studying your boots as his arms cross over his chest. 

 

"I… um… I punched the rep back on Kwenn Station," he says, a tinge of embarrassment in his words.  "Now, after that… and the thing with the overseer on Nar Shaddaa… I can't go back.  They're refusing to help."

 

After several long moments pass, and you haven't said anything, he takes a deep breath and looks up at you.  "I'm sorry,  Sweetling," he says, hoarsely. 

 

Your gaze drops from him.  It is suddenly very difficult to even look at him now.   

 

Your jaw clenches as you replay his words in your mind, taking a painstakingly slow breath in through slightly flared nostrils as you try to keep the growing emotions in check.

 

 

Din's brows pinch together as he cringes slightly behind the visor at the look on your face. 

 

The only time he's ever seen you angry was over a year ago, when your father had tried to have a guard remove his helmet.   You had been a force to reckon with at that moment. 

 

The anger from that night looks pale in comparison to the emotions you're trying to hold in now.  He briefly considers turning on the thermals in his visor to see how hot you are literally feeling, but he quickly dismisses that idea. 

 

Instead, he just takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the coming storm. 

 

Several silent moments tick by before you finally speak through clenched teeth, your voice more strained than he has heard before. 

 

"I have…some questions," you state, and Din grimaces slightly at the coldness in your normally warm voice. 

 

He gives a sharp nod and, while you're not looking at him, he knows you saw it when you take a deep breath to prepare yourself. 

 

"Okay.  I'll start with… what will probably be the easiest one," you say, and then ask, "Why did you punch the Kwenn Station rep?"

 

Swallowing hard, Din sneers a little at the memory.  "He was making lewd comments about you…about…" he pauses, taking a steadying breath.  "About things he'd like to do to you. Then, the fucker had the nerve to… ask to buy you."

 

Brows lifted, your eyes raise to him, but only for a moment before you're looking down again, at the bed he's standing beside. A faint huff of a wry laugh escapes you but it disappears as quickly as the light smile that accompanied it. 

 

"Under different circumstances… I might find your reaction flattering and…hilarious," you state, without a hint of mirth in your voice, no matter how much Din tries to find some. 

 

He forces himself to take even breaths as he watches your face, unable to look away now, where before he couldn't even meet your eyes. He watches a muscle in your jaw twitch as your teeth clench, and the way you keep briefly closing your eyes as you…try to stay calm? Or maybe try to find the right words to hurl his way?

 

Din feels like there's a blaster hole in his chest, steadily growing larger, as he watches you struggle with your anger.   

 

Anger at him.  

 

Anger he knows he deserves. 

 

"Why in kriffing hell are you trying to unwind my contract?" you ask, your voice a snarling whisper, as if anything louder is too painful.  Your eyes finally snap up to search for his behind the visor. 

 

He finches as if you had slapped him. 

 

That…wasn't what he was expecting.

 

"What?" is all he manages to respond, in his confusion. 

 

 

Your lips purse together as you take a few shallow breaths. "Why…" you repeat the question slowly, straining to keep the volume of your voice under control,  "...are you trying…to unwind my contract?"  

 

When he doesn't respond right away, still caught off guard, something in you snaps.  You'd almost swear it was tangible and you could feel it happen. 

 

"Are you… are you done with me then?! Is that it?" you begin to rapid fire at him, angry tears welling in your eyes. You refuse to let them fall, swiping at them.  "I've served some purpose… fuck if I know what it is… and now you're done with me?!"  You barrel onward, despite the way Mando is shaking his head negatively.  "If that's the case, then just sell my fucking contract.  Don't go behind my back… and try to unwind the thing that I agreed to!" you yell, about an octave higher than you started at, as Mando suddenly closes the distance between you. 

 

His gloved hands catch your shoulders and he gives you a slight jerk, just enough to break your tirade.  He leans close to you, the T-shaped visor filling your vision. 

 

"No!" that modulated baritone voice snaps back at you, now laced with his own growing frustration. He releases one of your shoulders to take your chin in hand and hold your gaze on his.  "No. Fuck, no, Sweetling. I'm not… I'm not done with you," he insists.  "How could you think that?"

 

You lurch back, yanking your chin and arm out of his hands.  A tiny hiss escapes you as the rough pull causes the seam of the leather to scrape your chin, leaving an angry red mark.

 

Your eyes fix up on his visor with a glare.  "Then why?" you demand again, through clenched teeth and tears that blur your vision. 

 

"Because…" Mando growls sharply, and then pauses, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before looking down at you to start again, calmer.  "Because you don't deserve to be a slave… just because you helped me," he states, guilt and frustration at war within his tone. 

 

For a heartbeat you just stare up at him, disbelievingly, before a soft scoffing noise escapes you.  Pointing an angry finger at that beskar helmet, you shake your head.  " You are not the reason I am a slave!" You practically hiss the words at him through clenched teeth, before turning your hand to point at your own chest.  "I AM!   My decisions made it happen.  Mine!   Stop taking responsibility for the last fucking decision I made as a free woman, Mando."

 

He visibly finches.  You haven't called him anything other than Din, while in the privacy of the ship, in weeks.

 

Before he can respond, you keep going.  "And how…. How dare you go behind my back to find a way to unwind a contract that I agreed to!"

 

His fists clench at his sides as he steps back from you, his head jerking slightly to one side.  "So… just to make sure I understand, " he says slowly, his voice taking on a harder edge.  "You're not angry because I failed to free you."  Pause.  "You're angry because I even tried?"

 

"Yes!" you snap back at him.

 

There's a long pause before he says, with a bit of a snarl, his own ire continuing to increase, "That doesn't make any sense."

 

Your lips purse together.  "It would, if you would just accept facts," you say pleadingly, struggling to keep the volume of your voice down with your anger. "I am what I am because it's a penance I agreed to pay… for a crime that I committed."

 

"A crime ?" he scoffs.

 

You sigh heavily, raking your fingers through your hair.  Dropping your hands back down to the edge of the crate, your head remains lowered, hair curtaining your face. 

 

"Yes," you say, sharply. "Just because… it was morally right, doesn't make it less of a crime." Tears threaten to fall again and you swipe them away angrily before looking back up at him.  "It was still treason , Mando.  It was still a betrayal… of my people , who I spent my entire life serving, in one way or another."

 

Din steps back again, bumping into the opposite wall and leaning heavily back against it.  "You think you deserve this punishment," he says, somewhat accusingly.

 

For a moment, you study that enigmatic helmet.  "Yes," you say again and you'd swear he finches a little. With a deep breath you try to tamp down your anger, so you can calmly explain. "I had two choices that night. I believe that both would have served my people.  But only one did… in a way that I could live with myself."

 

He tilts his head after a moment, that telltale sign that he was waiting for more, as his arms cross over his chest. 

 

"On the one hand, I could serve by following my king's decision.   No treason.  No betrayal."  You shake your head and then pause as you look at him.   "I almost took that option," you admit, and this time you're certain he finches in surprise. "But I realized it wasn't really an option for me.   Because, I could tell how dangerous you were as soon as I walked into that room, and… when I touched you… I could feel how determined you were.  I knew you wouldn't just accept a sentence for something you didn't do."

 

Din's shoulders lift in a slight shrug and he nods in acknowledgement.

 

"I knew you would try to escape on your own. After all, why wouldn't you?   Which meant… more of my people would die.  More of my people would be injured."  You pause again, biting your trembling lip and looking at him as he shifts a little uncomfortably on his feet at that accurate assessment.  "So, to save my people… the individuals… I chose to take on the consequences for your escape myself, rather than them having to with their lives."

 

Mando rubs a hand at the side of his neck absently, muttering a curse in Mando'a that you're not familiar with. 

 

When he doesn't say anything else after a few moments, you shrug your shoulders a little at him.  "It was an easier price for me to pay… than to either watch an innocent man die, or to watch that same man become a monster in our history books."

 

Din goes still for a moment at that statement, rolling it around in his head. The anger that had been growing in him has slowly started to ebb while you spoke, though his jaw is still clenched.   "All of that went through your mind that night?"

 

With another slight shrug, you nod.  "More or less.   There just… wasn't enough time to sort it all out right then."  You hesitate briefly, closing your eyes and running a hand over your face in exasperation.  "And… despite everything that happened afterwards… I don't regret it.  It was the right choice and I'd make it again.  In fact..." You pause, sighing shakily. 

 

His head cants to one side.  "What?"

 

Nibbling the corner of your lower lip, you consider if you're really ready to go through this train of thought, but you go ahead and finish. "I'm actually glad it went like it did."

 

"'Glad'?" he chokes out in surprise.

 

"Yes, glad," you state firmly, your brows furrowed as you look at him.  Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and try to find the right words to explain.  You look down at the decking again, finding it easier to let the thoughts flow out without looking directly at him. "My father was spiraling.  No one else seemed to notice. I knew something bad was going to happen.  So, I just kept trying to mitigate the damage he caused.  Kept trying to serve the people , rather than the king.  Even though I love my father." A single tear slips over your lashes to trail down your cheek, and this time you let it.  "I knew that eventually I'd have to make a decision that would get me into trouble."

 

Swallowing hard, you drag your eyes back up to him. "I'm glad because… if it hadn't happened with you there, that night… it would have eventually happened with someone else.   And then… who would have gotten me out of Nar Shaddaa?"  A single shoulder lifts in a shrug.  "You wouldn't have known me from General Organa.  So, if things had gone differently, I'd likely still be on Nar Shaddaa… or I'd be dead."

 

 

Din closes his eyes tightly for a moment, his head twisting to one side as he fights with an image of you in his mind. Of you, pale and gaunt, in the underbelly of Nar Shaddaa, looking as if every breath was a burden, until you inevitably had no more breaths to give. 

 

Slowly opening his eyes, he looks back at you and sighs, shaking his head a bit.  "Sweetling, it still doesn't make sense.  How does serving as a… slave…. now, out here,  serve your people?  Why is finding a… legal means of freedom a bad thing?"

 

A soft, frustrated sound escapes your throat.   "It's not really about the service," you say, with a shake of your head.  "They couldn't control where I end up, or who holds my contract, so they couldn't have known whether my service would be difficult or easy.  It's more about accepting the title of slave and bearing it… and this."  You point to the tattoo on your neck.  "To go from… high ranking society to the lowest rank there is.  And to accept it… because what I did cannot go without some kind of consequence."

 

His arms cross again over his chest and his head slants to the side, unconvinced. 

 

 

You groan slightly, knowing that your point isn't getting across.  An irritated sigh escapes you as your fingers shove through your hair again. You lean forward on braced hands then, looking at the floor.  A moment passes and then suddenly you look up again, an idea coming to mind. 

 

"Maybe this will help," you say, absently shoving a lock of hair behind your ear, as he continues to regard you silently, waiting.   You point at the tattoo on your neck once more.   "This… is basically my version of your helmet. And my contract? That's my version of your Creed vows."  

 

Mando visibly jerks at that and you can feel his frown from behind the visor. He is not a fan of the comparison. 

 

"Like it or not, Mando, I did vow to accept whatever punishment my people thought appropriate.  And I realize it's not actually the same as your Creed, but it's the best comparison I have to help you see it my way."  

 

After a moment,  you can see his chest rise as he takes a deep breath.   When he releases it, it comes out of the modulator with a slight shudder.

 

Maybe he's finally understanding.  

 

Your lips press together for a moment as you take a deep breath of your own, your anger still simmering.  "Mando, I'm upset because… going behind my back to 'fix' this… just because facing that I'm a slave makes you uncomfortable?  That would be like if I secretly was trying to find a loophole in your Creed… just because I want to be able to kiss you."

 

You can actually see him swallow hard at that admission, and you bite your lip, dropping your gaze for a moment. When you look back up again, you sigh, lips pressed together in your frustration.  

 

"Does it make sense now?"

 

He stares at you for several moments, taking slow breaths and letting your comparison roll around in his mind.  He sure as hell doesn't like it. 

 

Finally, he curses softly under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck and kicking a lazy foot out irritably.  "Yes," he grumbles.

 

You nod slightly, absently twisting a string between your fingers.   "Good."

 

You both fall into an uneasy silence for a few minutes then.

 

He finally breaks it as he cants his helmet to the side.  "Why do you… keep calling me Mando?" he asks. 

 

You don't look up from a string you've been toying with off the hem of your shirt as you sigh and shrug.   "Because I'm angry.  I don't… I don't want to call you Din when I'm angry.  It… doesn't feel right."  

 

After a second, he nods slightly in acceptance.   Then, he blows out a heavy sigh, dropping his head back against the bulkhead and looking up at the ceiling of the hold. 

 

The entire conversation replays itself through your mind several times in the quiet that falls over you both.  You bite your lip, hoping you've made your position clear and hoping he can accept it.  He doesn't have to like it.   Just accept it.  Otherwise, you might actually have to encourage him to go back to the Slaver's Guild to sell…

 

You blink, freezing suddenly at that thought.   

 

The Slaver's Guild?  Why did he…

 

The scowl that had disappeared from your brows gradually comes back and you look up at him slowly.  "Mando…?"

 

 

The helmet ticks down just slightly from where he's been absently studying the wires that run along the hold's ceiling.  At the look on your face, and the hesitant frustration in your voice, Din suddenly has the feeling that the last several minutes have only been a lull in the storm.   

 

" Dank Farrik," he whispers to himself before nodding slightly to you and raising his voice.  "Yes?"

 

With a deep breath, you study him for just a moment, still scowling softly.  "I have more questions."

 

"Okay…?"

 

"Why did you go to the Slaver's Guild to have my contract unwound? They don't have the authorization.  And it… feels like something changed.  We were taking our time getting here…you even commented on it… and then suddenly we had to get here quickly.   You've known about Mos Pelgo for weeks… and I'm guessing you've known about the rep here since Kwenn Station.  So… why the sudden urgency?"

 

Din's jaw clenches and his brows stitch together behind his helmet.   

 

Well…. Kriff.

 

He clears his throat, his head rolling back for a moment as he considers how to answer.   Nothing he's coming up with sounds right in his head, but of course you're still watching expectantly.  Finally, with a sigh, he gives a shrug.

 

"Who else would have the authorization?  The rep said that she wouldn't help, not that she couldn't ," he says, somewhat exasperated.   

 

Then, he cringes a little, rubbing at his neck again and having trouble looking at you once more.  "And I…" he gives a soft growl in frustration.  "I was starting to second guess… when we're together: if you want to be with me… or if it's just an obligation.  It didn't feel right to ask… if you aren't free to make your own choices," he admits through gritted teeth.   

 

He's unaccustomed to admitting any kind of weakness, and this obviously grates at him. 

 

 

At the moment, you don't care. 

 

You stare at him.  At that dark T-shaped visor, in complete disbelief. Your jaw is clenched tight again and your anger flares, fresh and raw.

 

"Seriously?" you ask in a snarled whisper.  You glare at him for several heartbeats, seething.  Then, you suddenly shove yourself off of the crate and start pacing up and down the length of the hold, like he had been a short while ago. 

 

Din watches you without moving from leaning against the bulkhead.   His hands rest on his belt and his shoulders roll back, tense.  But otherwise he remains still, silent and waiting. 

 

When you're near the closed boarding ramp, you spin on your toes to face him and jab a finger in the air at his head.  "You haven't read the contract…. HAVE YOU?!" you yell at him. 

 

Head tipped slightly forward, he pushes off the bulkhead quickly, spine straightening and shoulders back as he stands to his full height.  His patience is wearing thin and the tone of his voice through the modulator is low and warning as he says your name slowly. 

 

The shift in his demeanor, from patiently waiting to authoritative, would be impressive and intense normally,  enough to have you calming your voice at least.   But that's under normal circumstances.   These are not. 

 

"NO!" you shout at him.  You actually shout. 

 

It's surprising enough to make him freeze.   Then his head tilts sharply as he sees the angry tears that are finally running freely down your cheeks. You don't even try to stop them now.  You jab your finger in the air at him again and he can see you're shaking. 

 

"Answer the fucking question, Mandalorian!"

 

"No," he admits through gritted teeth. "I've… scanned it."

 

You pause, taking in a shaky breath and letting your hand drop limply to your side.  "'Scanned it'," you repeat, eyes narrowing, your voice unnervingly calm all of a sudden.  

 

Din isn't sure which is worse.

 

"In the last several months, you haven't found time to do more than just skim the document… that literally dictates every aspect of my life?  That also tells you important things… like the fact that I'm deathly allergic to a common pain killer, that a doctor might use if I'm ever injured?"  

 

He cringes at that and can feel the heat drain from his face.  His shoulders drop slightly as a shaking breath hisses out of the modulator.  Kriff…. If something had happened…

 

Your foot kicks angrily at the side of the bedroll as your fingers rake through your already tousled hair again.  "Maker, I shouldn't even be surprised," you choke out, fighting back angry sobs.  "Seriously… if you had… you wouldn't have bothered going to the Guild, because you would KNOW that they can't unwind my contract."

 

At this point, Din isn't sure if you're actually talking to him or not.   Your voice is so low and you keep turning away from him,  pacing in the tiny space between the bed and the crates. 

 

When you finally look up at him again, eyes red, the betrayal and hurt in them is like a gut punch from a Wookiee brawler.  You're breathing shallowly again, struggling between the anger and the hurt. 

 

"And… you're questioning how…genuine I am with you?"

 

A lump forms in his throat suddenly and he swallows hard around it.  "I… well…"  His head drops down then, words lost as he rubs the back of his neck again.   

 

Your eyes squeeze shut as you bite back a strangled sound.  Taking a deep breath, you clench your hands into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms,  as you force yourself to look at him, eyes narrowed into a glare. 

 

"Mando…"

 

He looks up at you sharply, head twisted to one side hesitantly. 

 

"Regarding your…concern…" you say haltingly, trying to keep your voice calm, "I have two things to say."  You hold up two fingers on one hand to emphasize the point.   "And then I am… done … with this conversation for today."

 

He pauses for a moment before nodding once, every inch of him exuding tense dread.  "All right," he says.  The baritone voice that you normally love to hear grates on your nerves a bit right now. 

 

Holding up one finger, your voice is strained.   "The first one… it's going to raise other questions for you.  Don't ask.  I am not answering those today."  Once he gives an acknowledging nod, you continue. "Okay… One: Years ago,  I swore to myself that I was never again going to bed with any man just because it was expected of me.  That didn't change for me when I was sentenced.   So, when I say that I want you… I fucking mean it.  If I didn't… you would know it, because I would fight you, tooth and nail."  Those last words come out in a snarl. 

 

You can feel the harsh scowl that forms behind his visor and his head tilts sharply at that.  "Sweetling…?"  His voice is thick with confusion and concern.  

 

Turning your hand quickly, you point at him.  "No!  I said 'don't ask' and I meant it."

 

Din's jaw clenches and he takes a deep breath, finally nodding again after a few heartbeats. 

 

Taking a deep breath of your own, you turn and reach out to the wall by the boarding ramp.   You hit a button on the control panel.   The airlock hisses and suddenly the sounds of Mos Eisley begin to fill the space again. 

 

You turn back to him then, glaring again as you hold up two fingers.  "Two: if you really want to know the difference between my wanting to be with you and my not wanting to be with you…?  Go ahead and try to initiate anything… anytime soon."

 

He jerks slightly at that, like you'd struck him.  You feel a moment of satisfaction at that, even as your stomach twists into more knots. 

 

You don't wait for his response, spinning on your toes and walking down the ramp when it's only half open. For a moment, you pause at the end of the ramp as it finishes lowering and glance back to him. 

 

"Read the fucking contract, Mando!" you snap, before turning away. 

 

Din watches you step off the end of the ramp and disappear around the side of the ship as hot wind blasts into the ship's hold.

 

The entire kriffing planet suddenly feels like it just dropped out from under his feet. 

Chapter 17

Summary:

Not much to warn of here. More angst. More drama.

Chapter Text

You feel sick to your stomach as you storm away from the Crest, tears still rolling down your cheeks.  Using the sleeve of your shirt, you try to dry your eyes, but it's like a dam has burst and you can't seem to stop it. 

 

Practically stomping into Peli's storage garage, you look around through the blur until you find an area that's partially clear.  You drop down to sit with your back against the wall, between a crate and some kind of large engine part.  With your arms folding across your bent knees, you bury your face into the cradle of your arms and just let the emotions roll over you, tears soaking into your sleeves. 

 

Anger, fear, hurt, shame. They all wash over you in wave after wave.  They overlap like the ripples in a pond, some stronger than the others, but all present and lingering longer than you'd think possible. 

 

How did things get so screwed up?

 

You're not sure how much time has passed when your head raises sharply at the familiar tink-tink sound of Mando's steps as he walks by somewhere outside the storage area. Is he looking for you?  

 

The sound fades into the background noise of the docks several moments later and you sigh shakily.   You're not ready to be found yet. 

 

Your fingers bury in your hair and you rest your head there in your hands, elbows braced on your knees.  

 

Things got screwed up because… I'm a kriffing idiot!  A trusting, caring, kriffing idiot.

 

You swipe angrily at your tears again with your sleeve and then drop your head back against the wall, eyes squeezing shut. 

 

You curse softly, your thoughts careening all over the place in a jumble and bringing fresh tears to roll down your cheeks.  You bury your face in your arms again, desperately trying to bite back the sobs.

 

Fuck, woman, you're not supposed to actually care about the person that owns you!

 

Of course, whoever came up with that rule probably didn't expect the person that owned them to be the same person that they risked everything for. 

 

 

Mando knows where you are.  Your heat signature hadn't been hard to follow in a dock mostly occupied by droids, even after nearly an hour had passed.

 

When he stops outside the garage, it feels like a knife drives into him and twists as your soft crying reaches his ears.  His hand braces against the dirt crusted wall outside the entrance, eyes closed tightly as he hesitates, struggling with what to do.  He desperately tries to think of something, anything, he could say to you to calm those gut wrenching sounds. 

 

There's nothing. 

 

Opening his eyes, he focuses on his hand against that wall as he listens for several long moments, letting the sound burn into the back of his mind as his teeth clench.  That hand curls into a fist, fingers pressing into his palm as he remembers the unexpected feeling of your hand slipping into his during the walk on Somos.

 

His next breath comes out in a shudder.  

 

Will you ever do that again?  

 

Can he fix this?

 

A faint, determined growl passes his lips as he shoves off of that dirty wall and turns to stalk back to the Crest, one thought occupying his mind.  I need to find the kriffing data pad before we leave for Mos Pelgo…

 

 

The next day is a pain in the ass.

 

You're still angry.   As far as you can tell, Mando still hasn't read the contract.  So, you only acknowledge him when you have to.  

 

Maybe it's petty of you.  You know it's not realistic to expect him to drop everything to sit down and read the thing that instant.  He still has the kid's well being as his first priority.  That means getting to Mos Pelgo as quickly as possible now that you're on the planet, to find the other Mandalorian for help.  After all, they could suddenly move on with little to no warning. Mando shouldn't have delayed as it is and even admitted as much. 

 

Still, you do feel more than a little justified in your continued anger.  After all, he's had plenty of time to read the thing prior to now. 

 

Much to your annoyance, he refused to let you stay behind in Mos Eisley with Peli.  It had resulted in another brief disagreement.

 

— 

 

"No."

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because I… I want you with me."

 

Your breath had hitched at that but you shoved the girlish reaction away. 

 

"I don't want to go."

 

There was a long, strained pause. 

 

"I'm not leaving you here… leaving things between us… like this, possibly for days." 

 

"What 'us'?" you had whispered.  You regretted the words as soon as they came out. But you bit your tongue, refusing to retract them. 

 

He visibly winced at that and looked away from you, his breath hissing out from the helmet in a shaky huff.

 

After a moment, he shook his head negatively again.   "I'm not leaving you here."  He took a deep breath.  "Besides," he looked back over at you sharply, "aren't you supposed to follow my orders?"

 

You stared back at him in silence for a moment.  Then finally, after a few breaths, you put on a sickly sweet smile.  "Yes, Sir!" you retort, sounding obnoxiously chipper, before spinning on your toes to head into the Crest.  "I'll pack a kriffing bag!"

 

 

Now you've had to spend the day much closer to him than you wanted to be.  Peli only has the one speeder bike.   So, you have to sit behind him, holding on to him so you don't go tumbling off into a dune.

 

Maker, is this planet nothing but kriffing desert?!  Why does anyone choose to live here?

 

As much as you want to lean away from him, you end up leaning closer instead, using his broad shoulders to block the stinging sands from your face. 

 

Why does he always have to smell so good? Stupid spice, leather and…. Uughhhh….

 

Meanwhile, the kid is strapped into a saddle bag by your right knee and Mando's thigh.  He seems to be loving the ride, laughing often as his gigantic bat-wing ears flap in the wind. The occasional bug flies into his open mouth and, of course, that just seems to make him happier.  The little gremlin will eat anything, after all.  

 

The foundling's glee is about the only thing you enjoy about the entire experience and you even catch yourself laughing at his excitement now and then. 

 

Every time the speeder bike comes to a stop  you scramble off of it, to get some distance from Mando, even if it's only for a few minutes while he decides which direction to search next for the settlement.  You grumble softly, shaking as much sand out of your clothes as possible each time. 

 

 

Your little group ends up setting up camp the first night with a couple of nomadic travelers that Mando calls Tuskan Raiders.  You sit across from him and the pair as he talks to them, a fire crackling between you.  Your back is resting against the petrified log of some long dead tree-like plant.  The foundling crawls up into your lap and, snuggling against your belly,  he quickly falls asleep.

 

You are surprised as you listen to the trio talk, fascinated by the language.  It seems to be made up of barely distinguishable growls, grunts and other guttural sounds mixed with an intricate number of hand signs.  There doesn't even seem to be any different inflection to the words that you can hear, but Mando doesn't appear  to be having any trouble carrying on a full conversation with the nomads.

 

You find yourself drifting back and forth between listening to them speaking and getting lost in watching the way the orange, red, and occasionally blue flames reflect on the surfaces of Mando's armor.  It's an oddly tranquil scene, almost hypnotic, and you float somewhere in that place between awake and asleep as the indecipherable conversation continues for over an hour.

 

The Raiders do not stay at the camp however and move on a while later.  They give growling farewells, you assume, and wave by lifting their rifles into the air. Then they disappear, one after the other into the dark, on their large, bantha mounts. 

 

Mando slides down to sit on the sand then, his back against the boulder he'd been using as a seat.  The fire is low now but still giving off a pleasant warmth as the heat from the day begins to wane.

 

The little one stirs and, seeing Mando on the ground, he tumbles off of your lap into a little muslin heap.  Then, with a tiny voiced grumble, the child pushes up to his feet and toddles around the fire and over to his adoptive father.   Little green hands poke out of his sleeves, reaching up.  Mando chuckles softly, picking the kid up and setting him on his lap.  The foundling lays back on Mando and promptly falls back asleep.

 

Despite yourself, you can't help smiling softly at the sweet image the two make: the battle hardened bounty hunter and his diminutive ward.

 

Your smile fades a moment later though when you realize Mando is watching you over the fire.   

 

You meet his gaze for a few moments, your stomach twisting up a bit.   Neither of you seem able to find anything meaningful to say, to break the awkward silence.   So, you finally manage to pull your eyes from that visor and look down at the fire.  Shifting your weight, you lay down on the sand on your side, using your linen bag packed with a couple extra sets of clothes as a makeshift pillow. 

 

As your eyelids finally give in to your fatigue and drift closed, you only vaguely notice as Mando reaches into the bag next to him to pull out his datapad.  You're already asleep by the time he's turned it on and started reading. 

 

 

The second day is even more frustrating. 

 

The Tuskans told Mando where Mos Pelgo is.  He finally has a good set of directions.  It is still going to take another day to get there though.  

 

Of course, having good directions means that there are fewer stops.  The terrain is a bit more rugged, the closer you get to the settlement.  And to top all of that off, the winds have picked up over the sands so much that even the kid doesn't peek out from his saddle bag seat. 

 

So, you spend the day pressed even closer to Mando than yesterday, trying to avoid the wind and sand with your face hidden in the cape trapped between your bodies.   

 

With the seemingly endless hours for your mind to wander, the nearly uninterrupted vibrations of the speeder bike beneath you, and your thighs snuggly bracketing Mando's narrow hips, you keep finding your imagination venturing into dangerous territory.  You try to force yourself to think about anything - anything‐ else.  Anything… other than how nice it would feel to uncurl your fingers from the edges of his cuirass…  Maybe you could slip them under that piece of beskar and the padding beneath it, to trace your fingertips over the hard lines of his stomach.  Follow those lines to one side of the V that dips down from his hips, leading your touch…

 

NO!  DANK FARRIK!  SHUT UP!

 

You really hope that your frustrated growl is caught in the wind and pulled away before he can hear it.  You even bite down on the loose cloth of his cape at one point, willing yourself to focus on that rather than the heat gathering between your thighs at your own damned daydreaming.

 

 

Before midday,  Din is just as ready as you are for the search to be over. 

 

He should have just let you stay with Peli.  At least then his body would be behaving the way he expects it to. 

 

Two days straight of feeling you pressed close is unmitigated torture.  Every shift of your weight either pushes your soft thighs against his hips or your breasts into his back.  He can feel your hands too, holding onto his armor and flexing now and then against his ribs to keep the circulation going through your fingers. 

 

His body has been acutely aware of every tiny bit of contact for the entire trip.  Now he's starting to feel like he's barely better than a hormone ruled teenager, driven mad with a semi-hard dick at your slightest touch. 

 

Kriff.  He really needs to find that damn settlement.

 

 

You finally reach Mos Pelgo late on the third morning. 

 

"Stars. No wonder you were having trouble finding this place," you mumble, looking around the tiny mining settlement, as Mando slowly drives the speeder bike through the center of it.

 

Mando doesn't respond, but the slight tick of his helmet in your direction, over his right shoulder, lets you know that he did hear you. 

 

About half a dozen townsfolk watch you warily as you drift into town.  They look desert weary and withdrawn, a couple of them barely nodding at you when you wave. 

 

The bike pulls to a stop in front of a small bar and you immediately hop off.  You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from groaning at the relief of escaping the bike's vibrations and Mando's too familiar body heat.  For a brief moment your thighs press together, in a vain attempt to relieve at least a little bit of that built up tension. 

 

He turns off the speeder and climbs off, looking around slowly.   Turning to the cantina, he walks up the couple of steps to go inside the open archway. 

 

You take a moment to settle yourself before you unstrap the foundling and set him on your hip.  Then you walk up into the cantina and wander past Mando to look around, catching the end of Mando's conversation with a wary looking weequay bartender.

 

"Someone who looks like me," Mando is saying. 

 

"Mmm… you mean the Marshal?"

 

"Your marshal wears Mandalorian armor?" Mando asks in surprise. 

 

You hear the bartender grunt at the same time as the sound of new footsteps comes from the entryway. 

 

"See for yourself," the Weequay says as both you and Mando turn towards the entrance. 

 

The man silhouetted in the entryway is not quite what you were expecting.  He's definitely wearing Mandalorian armor, but something seems off about it.  Something other than the fact that it is all beat to hell with green and brown paint chipping off all over it.  You can't quite put your finger on what else is wrong with it at first but then you finally realize that it doesn't quite fit him right.   The pauldrons are made for wider shoulders, and the helmet looks a little disproportioned.  

 

Odd.

 

The dented, green helmet turns slightly to regard you and the kid for a moment before turning back to Mando. 

 

"What brings you here, stranger?" the marshal asks, with a very pleasant, low drawl. 

 

Mando shifts, taking a step closer to the other Mandalorian.   "I've been searching for you for many parsecs."

 

"Well, now you found me," the marshal responds.  "Weequay, two…" He pauses,  looking over at you for a moment.  "... make that three snorts of spotchka."  He picks up the three tin cups and the bottle of bright blue liquid that the bartender sets out.   Then he walks over to take a seat at a table, gesturing to two chairs opposite him.  "Join me for a drink?"

 

Your head tilts curiously as you approach the table.  "Well,  how does…"  Your question catches in your throat and you stop short, eyes wide as the marshal lifts his battered helmet off his head and sets it down on the table beside the bottle of alcohol.

 

For a brief moment your confusion is replaced by a jolt of anger.   

 

Has Mando been lying about the helmet all this time?!

 

But when you look over at Mando, you can practically see he's bristling, every muscle tense as he stands statue still. Your anger fades then, with seeing his surprise.  

 

Your attention turns back to the marshal.  

 

He's a handsome man.  Strong features.  Lightly tanned with salt and pepper hair and a matching thin beard and mustache. More salt than pepper actually.  His eyes are pale, with tiny lines at their corners that suggest he might be quick to smile, given the right circumstances. 

 

The marshal starts pouring drinks and talking as he glances between you, Mando and the kid.  "I've never met a real Mandalorian," he says with a chuckle.  "Heard stories though." He slides a cup of spotchka out towards you with a flash of a smile and a wink.

 

Yup.  Quick to smile.  A nice smile at that.  

 

The frustration you've been fighting all day, while on the bike with Mando, flares up a bit at that attention.  You swallow hard, your brows arching up slightly at his boldness as you try to ignore your body's reaction. 

 

Great.  That's just what I need right now.  A flirt with a… great smile.   Well, he's admitting that the armor's not his… Between that and flirting with me?  Guess it doesn't hurt to admire that handsome face while he still has a pulse. 

 

"I know you're good at killin'," the walking - sitting? - dead man continues, "and probably none too happy to see me wearing this hardware."  He slides another cup over in Mando's direction before pouring one for himself. 

 

You're not positive, but fairly certain, that you hear a slight growl from Mando's direction.

 

"So,  I figure only one of us is walking out of here alive.  But then I see the little guy,"  He wiggles his fingers at the kid on your hip and the child coos softly, giant ears twitching curiously.  "And your beautiful companion," he adds, giving you another stunningly dashing smile.  "And I think,  maybe I pegged you wrong," he says as he looks back at Mando. 

 

That smile and the compliment leave you blushing a touch and you bite the inside of your cheek to get it under control.

 

Maker, but he is nice to look at. 

 

"Who are you?" Mando growls softly.

 

"I'm Cobb Vanth, marshal of Mos Pelgo," he answers, lifting his cup of spotchka in a salute.

 

"Where did you get the armor?"

 

"Bought it off some jawas," he says before downing his drink.  

 

"Take it off."

 

Your lips press together and you roll your eyes slightly.  Mando, ever the negotiator.

 

"Look, pal, I'm sure you call the shots where you come from," Vanth says as he slowly puts down his empty cup, before gesturing around him, "but 'round here, I'm the one tells folks what to do."  

 

"Take it off," Mando says sharply, taking a couple of steps closer to the marshal, "or I will."

 

Vanth opens his mouth to give a reply, starting to gesture towards you and the child.   You interrupt his response though with an audible groan and step up to the table, partially between the men. They both look at you surprise.  Your hip props against the edge of the table, the kid still on your other hip, as you look between the two of them. 

 

"Boys, boys, you're both pretty, okay?  But there has got to be a better way to go about this," you remark. 

 

The sharp cant of Mando's head and the way his fingers curl into fists at his side let you immediately know that you've likely stepped over a line here.  You can feel his scowl as he looks from you to the marshal and back again, slowly. 

 

Oh well, I'm committed now. If you think you're frustrated now, big guy, just wait. 

 

You look back over at Vanth and flash him a bright smile.  "Come on, Marshal, be reasonable," you say, letting your voice drop just a little to the edge of a flirtatious purr, but not quite.  "If you knew he'd be upset at seeing you wearing the armor, then you must know he has every right to demand it from you."

 

Mando shifts to your side and you feel the building anger coming off of him in waves.  Still you don't look at him, keeping your eyes on Cobb's pale ones with that sweet smile curving up your mouth. 

 

The marshal sits back in his chair with a smirk, glancing between the two of you for a moment. Then he stands, boldly leaning over the table a little towards you, about to respond. 

 

And then the entire building starts to shake and a loud rumble fills the room. 

 

You push off the table and look around frantically, all flirtation vanishing from your features as you hug the kid to you and instinctively step closer to Mando.   One of his hands comes to rest against the small of your back.

 

Cobb's expression grows serious as he pauses for a moment, listening.   Then he holds up a finger towards you both in the universal sign to wait and heads to the entryway.

 

Of course, you both follow him. 

 

Standing at the top of the steps, you all watch as a rolling swath of moving sand comes into the town from out in the desert.   That's where the deafening rumble is coming from.  It reminds you of the way dirt moves around a burrowing earthworm, but on a massive scale.  The ground shakes all around it; buildings tremble, machinery falls over, a nearby bantha bellows, and townsfolk scream as they rush into the relative safety of buildings. 

 

Whatever it is, it moves straight down the center of town. 

 

You look over at Vanth in utter confusion for a moment.  He and Mando, who is standing next to him, are just watching the wave of sand stoicly.  

 

Granted, Mando could be just as shocked as you, but there's no way to tell. 

 

You look back towards the rolling sand, hugging the whimpering foundling to your chest, his ears dipping downward in fear. 

 

Suddenly, at the edge of town near a watering trough, the sand bursts outward for a couple hundred feet in every direction.  The massive head of some creature bursts from the sand just long enough to swallow up the panicking bantha that had been tied to the trough.

 

It disappears as quickly as it appeared, the large herd animal and the trough disappearing with it.  

 

Then everything goes deathly quiet and still. 

 

Swallowing hard, you turn to look at Vanth at the same time that Mando does. 

 

The marshal looks at you and then at Mando, his jaw tense.  "Maybe we can work something out."

 

 

Later that evening, the four of you are outside a small house near the edge of town, behind the cantina.  It was abandoned by the owners several months ago, Vanth explained, and he's offering it up as a place for your trio to stay while Mando helps him with the krayt dragon.

 

A krayt dragon, the thing is called.

 

Almost every known culture in the galaxy has some kind of dragon myth in their history.  Some tiny, some huge, some with wings, some without,  some more like snakes or lizards and others more like birds. 

 

This is the first time you've ever heard of them actually existing in current times.

 

An actual kriffing dragon.

 

And Mando, of course, has agreed to help kill the thing in exchange for the armor Vanth wears.

 

Great.

 

The men have struck an uneasy alliance it seems.  Although, as conversation continued through the afternoon, with Vance showing you around town while explaining how he'd acquired the armor and protected the town with it, you have been sensing an odd shift in the mens' interactions.  With a goal in mind that will get him what he wants, Mando seems more at ease.  But about halfway through the evening Vanth had seemed to get anxious, even a little contentious towards Mando, and you can't quite put your finger on why.  He's still been charming and very friendly towards you though. 

 

After glancing over the outside of the house, Mando gives a curt thanks to Vanth before excusing himself to go back to the main road.  He says he'll be back soon.  He's going to get the speeder bike and the supplies you all had brought along, and to stop in the cantina for some extra food.  You watch him walk away before you turn to walk into the small house.

 

It's furnished, like the owners left in a hurry.  You sigh softly at that sad thought but then push it from your mind.   It's not your business. 

 

Brushing dust off a plush armchair, you set the foundling down on it.   When you turn to look around some more, you nearly jump out of your skin at finding Vanth standing behind you by the door. 

 

He gives you a slight grin, somewhere between sheepish and flirtatious, and you're not entirely sure where it lands.  "Sorry, Darlin'. Thought you knew I was still here," he says in that smooth drawl.  

 

You swallow hard, absently tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.  You clear your throat a bit.  "Umm… no," you say with a laugh and a shrug.  After an awkward moment of silence you gesture around at the house.  "Thank you, for this."

 

"You're welcome," he says with a slight nod,  running a hand over his head, through his hair.  

 

You watch with a little fascination as a few locks of his hair fall rakishly across his forehead. It takes a moment for you to realize you are staring and you blink rapidly, tearing your eyes away from him. 

 

"Can I ask you a question, Darlin'... before your Mandalorian gets back here?"

 

Your eyes raise back up to him sharply, slender brows drawing together in concern, and in a little bit of confusion at the feelings those words elicit. 

 

My Mandalorian?

 

Your tongue darts out across your lips nervously and your nod slightly.  "Sure."

 

When he steps a little closer to you then,  you're surprised by the way your breath catches a little.  You mentally stamp down on that.

 

Dealing with one man right now is confusing enough. Let's not make this more complicated, you tell yourself as you look up at him.  But Maker, he does have really nice eyes… eyes that I can actually look into. 

 

"Is he… treatin' you well?"

 

You jerk slightly in surprise at that.  "Umm…yes?"  Well, that didn't come out as confidently as it could have. 

 

Cobb lifts a hand towards you to barely touch the side of your neck.  You're so surprised by the bold move that you don't react, eyes wide as you look up at him.  "I noticed your mark a little while ago, Darlin'," he says, concern coming through that drawl.  "I didn't even know Mandalorians kept slaves," he continues.  "And they aren't exactly known to be… the warm and carin' sort." 

 

You bite your lip a bit again.  "I'm… a little surprised you recognized it," you say, absently lifting your hand to brush your fingers over your tattoo.

 

He pauses a moment.  "I've got  one of my own… on my back.   Different design, and it doesn't hold sway over me anymore, but…"  The words trail off as he shrugs with a thin, half smile. 

 

Your brows arch upward at that confession.   Oh, that explains the change in his attitude earlier. 

 

He clears his throat a bit,  leveling a serious look on you.   "So, yeah… we don't think too highly of slavers around these parts.  If you… need the means to get away…"

 

Eyes widening, you shake your head rapidly. "No!  No, I don't," you quickly insist.  A thin laugh escapes you as your fingers rake through your hair.   What is it with men trying to decide my status for me lately?

 

Cobb scowls softly, his head cocked to the side.  "Really?  You've seemed… upset with him."

 

You sigh, laughing a little again.  "Well, yeah…" you say softly, breath a little shaky.  "I am upset, but… it's just a… misunderstanding we're dealing with."  You give him a soft smile.  "I appreciate the concern and the offer to help, but really, there's nothing for you to worry about."

 

For a moment you pause, wondering why you really are grateful for Cobb's offer to help free you but the same offer from Mando had upset you.  Blinking, you tuck that conundrum away for later examination. 

 

When you look back up at Cobb, he's watching you with concern, obviously not convinced. 

 

"Mando is a good man," you insist as you look up into his hazel eyes.  "And he's not a slaver.  I'm pretty sure he…never even wanted to buy my contract.  It's… complicated, but not at all like you're probably thinking."

 

After studying you for another moment, Cobb lifts a hand to gently catch your chin.  It's so very similar to how Mando has often caught you and it sends a wave of butterfly wings fluttering through your stomach, surprising you. 

 

"You're sure, Darlin'?"

 

All you can manage for a moment is a slight nod, your mind stumbling over itself in a bit of a jumble.

 

Yeah, you're still upset at Mando.  But half of today's frustration, which you are not about to admit to Cobb, is from how close you'd had to be to Mando for the entire trip here.  Your mind might still be frustrated with Mando but your body sure as hell is rebelling against it, reminding you at every chance about just how good he can make you feel. 

 

And now your body rebels again, focused on this new intriguing man who seems genuinely concerned for your well being, and eager to give you attention.  Warmth spreads up into your cheeks from his closeness, from the overly familiar touch of his fingers. 

 

Touch.

 

You jerk slightly away from him when you suddenly register that he was touching your chin with bare fingers, his fingerless gloves not offering any barrier. 

 

Cobb's brows lift in surprise and he steps back, hands raised slightly.  "I'm sorry… I'm oversteppin'."

 

"N-no…" you stammer. "Well, yes… a bit," you correct yourself with a soft laugh.  "You couldn't have known though… I don't… like my skin touched, especially by people I barely know."  You give him a little sheepish smile.

 

You are glad to realize that nothing had happened with your Force sensitivity at his touch, so it wasn't just fixed with Mando and the kid.  Still, it feels odd having him touch your chin so casually, without permission… no matter how easy it might be to get lost in those eyes. 

 

Your body flushes with warmth again at the brief thought of giving Cobb permission.  You bite your lip a little, trying to get those thoughts and reactions under control. 

 

You're just… sexually frustrated right now, that's all.  So… stop it, you tell yourself. 

 

His hands drop to his sides and he gives you an accepting nod.  "My apologies… no touching," he says, and then that charming smile falls back into place.  "Least wise, not until you get to knowin' me better."

 

You sigh softly and laugh, unable to keep the blush at bay now, but rolling your eyes at him. "I don't know what you've got going on in that handsome head of yours, Cobb, but it's going to open up a can of worms you don't want any part of.   Unless you have a death wish, of course."

 

He grins.   "Oh, I don't  know about tha…"  He stops short, tilting his head with a curious expression as he looks past you.   Past your hip actually. 

 

You turn to look behind you and start giggling.  The founding is standing on the plush chair behind you, his face only visible from the nose up over the back of the chair.   His big wing ears are flattened out to either side and dipped downward a bit.  He's scowling up at Cobb. 

 

Reaching out, you pick the kid up and set him on your hip again,  smirking over your shoulder at Cobb.

 

"He doesn't like you flirting with me…"

 

Cobb flashes another rakish grin and shrugs.  "Sorry, kid, can't help it. Hard to not, with such a beautiful woman… especially now that I know she thinks I'm handsome."

 

You groan, rolling your eyes again.  You can't keep from smiling though.  That charming smile of his is simply infectious!  "Oh, as if you weren't aware!" you quip at him.  You make a shooing motion at him, trying your best to ignore the mischievous glint in his eyes.  "Get out of here before you get into more trouble than you can handle."

 

Still grinning, he starts to turn towards the door.  "I can hold my own, Darlin', I promise you," he says. 

 

"I'd rather we not have to find out," you respond with a rueful shake of your head. 

 

As he steps through the door you briefly pause before calling after him.  He stops, turning back and arching a brow at you, lingering in the open doorway.

 

Your lips press together firmly for a moment and you take a deep breath.   "He really does treat me well… despite how it might look because of our current… disagreement," you say slowly.   Then your expression turns earnest as you step closer to him, reaching a hand out to lightly touch his forearm.  "Please, believe that.  He's a good man… And you two need to be able to trust each other to work together and kill that thing."

 

Cobb takes a deep breath of his own, his mouth screwing up a bit as he considers you. 

 

He nods after a moment with a smile.   "All right, Darlin'.  If you say he's good to you, I accept it.  That's all I was worried about."

 

His hand lifts again towards your chin but he stops short from touching you, like he remembers your request at the last moment.  Instead, he balls his fingers into a fist and just lightly nudges your chin with leather covered knuckles.  "You let me know if anything changes while you're here though."

 

You sigh at him again and step back, smiling despite yourself as your hand falls away from his arm.  "Good night, Marshal."

 

He gives you a slow nod and a wink, drawling out a "Good night," before he turns, walking off into the dark. 

 

 

Din's jaw aches from clenching his teeth as he watches the marshal walk away from the house.  

 

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop but neither you or Vanth had seen him approaching from off to one side.   He had opted to just push the speeder back to the house, rather than waste fuel in running it, so his approach was quiet. 

 

He only caught the very end of your conversation, and the exchange of unnervingly familiar touches, you to Cobb's arm and Cobb to your chin. 

 

It took every ounce of his self control to not throttle the man on the spot.

 

Din turns to look at you as you shake your head at the departing man and then turn to go back inside, the automated door sliding closed behind you. 

 

He leans back against the speeder, arms crossed over his chest.  He stays there for a few minutes in the growing dark and works to calm his shallow breaths.  

 

There wasn't actually anything wrong with what he'd seen, he tries to convince himself.  It's not as if he'd caught sight of some passionate exchange.  In fact, you'd said goodnight without even acknowledging the marshal's last statement.  

 

What had Cobb meant by that, though?  If anything changes.  What might change?

 

Sighing heavily, he finally grabs the bags off the speeder and heads inside. 

 

 

You're tucking pillows in around the foundling, who you've just managed to convince to lay down on the plush chair, when Mando walks in. 

 

He drops a few bags in the hallway leading to two small bedrooms and another in the small kitchen.  Sighing, he stops to lean against the archway between the kitchen and the living area, to watch as you softly sing the kid to sleep in the next room.   

 

It doesn't take long.  After the excitement of traveling the last few days, the little one is exhausted. 

 

Once he's asleep, you straighten up and step towards the hallway.   You pause to stretch, fingers linked together and reaching upwards towards the ceiling with your eyes closed and back slightly arched.  You stop then, breath hitching a little as you feel Mando watching you. 

 

Your eyes flutter open and sure enough he is watching you, head canted slightly. You nibble at your lip a little, meeting his gaze as your hands slowly lower back down to your sides. 

 

Dank Farrik, there is way too much testosterone around me today!

 

Pressing your lips together, you take a deep breath and give him a small nod. "Good night," you whisper, turning to head down the hall.

 

"Sweetling…" His voice barely comes through the modulator. 

 

You stop just inside the hallway, eyes closing and swallowing hard as fresh butterflies swirl in your stomach. 

 

Mando steps up behind you, drawing so close that you can feel the warmth of his body. But he doesn't touch you. You can feel his helmet barely brush your hair and you shiver a little. 

 

"I miss you," he says softly.

 

You sigh shakily and don't try to hide it. Eyes still closed, you lean back into his warmth a little before you even realize what you're doing.  At least until his helmet rests against your shoulder and his arms slip around your waist.

 

Inhaling sharply, you pull away, your jaw clenching a bit.  You turn part way towards him, hand stretched out to press your palm against the center of his chest plate, to stop him from closing the distance again.

 

His fingers clench and unclenching at his sides, leather creaking softly, as he resists the urge to pull you in close.  "Sweetling…" he says again, almost pleadingly. 

 

You lick your lips lightly, your eyes closing again briefly as you try and fail to take a steadying breath.  Then you raise your eyes to search that dark visor.  You're a little surprised to realize that the anger from the last couple of days doesn't instantly flare back up in you.  In its place is a dull ache instead, one that is eagerly urging you to let him soothe it. 

 

With a stuttered breath, you nibble the corner of your lip.   "Have you read it?" you ask softly. 

 

There's a telling pause before he sighs softly and his shoulders drop a little.  The helmet shakes slightly, side to side.  "No.  Not all of it.  I'm a little more than… halfway through it."

 

Some part of you gives a little whoop of delight and tries to convince you that's good enough.  It's the part of you that misses him, too.  Desperately.  It's loud and demanding.  It's a larger part of you than the frustration or the determination to hold your ground. 

 

However, while the frustration and determination are not the largest parts within you, they are the stronger parts.   

 

You indulge the idea of giving in for only a moment before tucking it securely away in a corner. 

 

He can see that determination in your eyes and sighs softly, rubbing the side of his neck.  "It's not enough," he says.  A statement, not a question. 

 

A sad little smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you shake your head.   "No… a few weeks ago… maybe.  Now?  No."

 

Huffing another sigh, he nods slightly.  

 

With your lower lip caught between your teeth for a moment,  you step a little closer to him, one hand still resting on his cuirass. You look up at him, to search for his eyes behind the reflection of your own on his visor. One of his hands lifts to lightly rest on your hip as your step close, and this time you don't immediately pull away. 

 

"I… I know that it bothers you.  And…" You pause with a soft sigh.  "Given what I know now, I'm guessing that you never saw the point in reading it.  Because your plan was… to free me."

 

He takes a deep breath.  You can feel it in the lift of his chest beneath your hand.  After a moment he lets it out slowly as he just nods in agreement. 

 

"But, now that you know… that I'm not ready for my contract to be unwound… and that it's not easy to do anyway, do you understand why this is so important to me?" 

 

He hesitates briefly, lifting the hand that he did not set on your hip to rub at his neck through his cowl.  "No.  Not really. Not yet," he admits. "You mentioned… possible medical issues, the other day.  I haven't gotten to those yet though."

 

Your lips press together and you sigh, looking down at your hand resting on his chest.  "All right," you say, nodding slightly.  "I'll give you one more example of… information that is in there that is important to me.   To my survival." 

 

Mando's head tilts sharply to one side at your choice of words, but he stays quiet, listening. 

 

Lifting your eyes back to that opaque visor,  you swallow back a lump in your throat.    "And, I think this one will make it pretty clear why it… scared the hell out of me… when I found out you hadn't read it."

 

The helmet jerks slightly as he grimaces, but after a breath he just nods for you to continue. 

 

You take a deep breath.  "Do you know what will happen to my contract… if something happens to you?  If you… don't come back from one of your hunts?"

 

"No," he answers simply, softly, after a brief pause.

 

"Right now… because you've held my contract for less than a year, it will revert back to previous ownership.  If they refuse it, then it goes to auction."

 

There's a long pause and you can feel his disbelief.  Then a strangled sound escapes that unreadable helmet. After staring at you for a few more heartbeats, Mando finally manages to choke out, "They'd send you back… to Nar Shaddaa?"

 

A painful knot forms in your stomach at just hearing the possibility said allowed. You bite down hard in your lip, looking up at him and nodding, eyes shining with the threat of fresh tears.  Scared tears. 

 

"Yes," you whisper.  Then you clear your throat softly and speak louder.  "Unless you set up a Survivorship Recipient.  It's one of the last parts of the contract."

 

His head drops downward sharply as he clenches his jaw. " Fuck….fuckfuckfuck…" he repeats quietly to himself for several moments.

 

The dark visor rises up to level on you again after several long moments pass.  His breath hitches as he lifts his hands, resting them on either side is your neck and jaw as he leans in and presses the top of his helmet's faceplate to your forehead. 

 

"I'm sorry," he gasps out, "I'm so kriffing sorry."  He pauses, taking a shaking breath.   

 

A tear escapes to trail down your cheek as you look up into the visor that fills your field of view. 

 

Finally .  Finally, it feels like you've gotten through to him. 

 

" I will fix this…tonight ," he states, voice strained.

 

The corners of your mouth turn up just slightly in a relieved smile as you nod softly. You close your eyes and let yourself lean into him a little then, both hands resting on his chest. 

 

His hands move down from your jaw so he can wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.  The helmet remains resting against your forehead and he watches you through the visor. 

 

You stay like that for several quiet moments, finally letting your anger slip away from you with a shaky sigh.  When you finally look up at him again, you can feel his eyes meet yours.  A soft smile tugs up your lips as you lift a hand and very lightly trace a single fingertip down one edge of the T-visor, like you might over the lines of his face, if you could.  

 

"I miss you too, Din," you whisper.

 

A stuttered breath passes through the modulator when you say his name and his arms tighten around you.  Maker, he's missed hearing his name on your lips. 

 

Tilting your head to one side and lifting your chin, you softly press a kiss to the cheek ridge of his helmet. Then, you pull back from him, swallowing hard against the dryness in your throat as you do. 

 

Din sighs heavily, reluctantly loosening his hold on you as you step back. 

 

"Good night," you whisper, giving him a sad little smile as your hands drop away from his chestplate.  

 

He watches you go, leaning heavily against the wall. 

 

You walk down the hall, grabbing your bag from where he'd dropped it, and turn into one of the small rooms.  The door closes quietly behind you, but only after you pause to look back at him, one more time.

 

"Good night," he finally chokes out, to the empty hall.

Chapter 18

Summary:

Oh, they were all eaten by the dragon.

...

Just kidding!

That one's for you, Chase_Porter!

 

Sorry, everyone, for the delay in posting. I was on vacation for nearly two weeks in a camping spot with literally no internet service at all. And I was so busy with family stuff that I barely had time to write.

So, here we are, getting started with our struggling couple again! I hope you enjoy!

If you'd like to chat with me at all, about the story or anything else, please leave me your thoughts in the comments or send me a message on Tumblr. My user name there is also Keeshya6.

Thank you for reading!

 

CW: Fluff, a little angst, and smut

Chapter Text

The next morning you wake to Tatooine's two suns already high in the sky.  You'd slept longer than you would have expected and can only guess it's because of the long trip to get here, plus being in an actual bed.  

 

At some point, the child had found his way into your temporary room and he's sitting on the floor, quietly playing with something. After rubbing the sleep haze out of your eyes, you can see that it's small and made of wood.  Your brows pull together curiously.

 

Tossing off your blanket, you pad across the room on bare feet to him, bending down and scooping him up into your arms.   He giggles and wiggles the wooden toy in your face eagerly and you laugh softly, taking it from his little green fingers.  Turning it over in your hands, you smile softly.  It's a crude little carving of a dewback lizard.

 

"Where did you find that?" you ask the little one as you give the wooden toy back to him.  

 

He happily coos up at you and proceeds to use your arm as a hill for the dewback to climb up. 

 

Chuckling softly, you turn to look around the bedroom.  Then, you pause in surprise as your eyes come to rest on a shelf high up on the wall opposite of the door.

 

With the kid on your hip, you step over to look at the shelf closely.  There are several similarly carved figures on it: a bantha, a massiff, a ronto, and even a rancor.  They're all a bit crude, but obviously carved with care and as much detail as the creator could manage.  There is room for a fifth figure on the shelf, and there's a spot clean of dirt as if it had only recently been removed.

 

Slowly, you look down at the child in confusion, to find him looking up at you with those big, glossy eyes.  His perked ears twitch and twist a little at you happily, as he cheerily makes the lizard hop on your shoulder. 

 

"How did you get that down?" you ask, softly. 

 

The only answer you get is an excited "Patoo!" and a happy trilling sound. 

 

You chuckle softly, shaking your head.   What else were you expecting?  

 

Looking back up at the other toys for a moment and then back down at him, you sigh softly.

 

Maybe Din brought him in here… and took the toy down for him?

 

You shake your head at that thought.  It didn't seem likely.  Din was being very careful around you.  Sneaking into your room for something like that didn't sound right.

 

Your lips press together in thought as you regard the child again for a moment.  Then, you take the little toy from his clawed fingers gently.  Those big brown eyes look up at you curiously, a soft coo coming from him.  Setting the dewback in its place on the shelf, you step back from it and tilt your head at the kid. 

 

He pouts up at you. 

 

Laughing a little, you lift a brow at him.  "Well, if you want it, get it."

 

That little green face looks up at the toy, then at you, and then at the toy again. Scrunching up his already wrinkled brow in concentration, he holds out his little hand towards the toy.  

 

You watch in anticipation, biting the tip of your tongue lightly to keep from saying anything to break the little one's focus. 

 

The toy wobbles a little on the shelf. 

 

Your breath catches. 

 

Then suddenly the toy shoots off the shelf and into the foundling's waiting hands. 

 

An excited yelp escapes you and you beam at the kid.  "Good job, sweetie!" You rub a finger gently behind his ear as he trills, rocking the lizard toy happily between his hands. 

 

With a delighted laugh you head out of the room with the kid still on your hip, excitedly seeking out Din to tell him about the kid's latest trick. 

 

As soon as you're in the common area of the house though, you know he's not there.  Your smile fades as you listen.  The house is too quiet.  He must have left already.

 

A soft sigh escapes you in a puff and then you pause, surprised at yourself.   You hadn't wanted to share something with Din in several days. You nibble at your lip on thought for a moment and then give a rueful laugh, shrugging and shaking your head.   

 

Oh, well.  He's not here anyway. 

 

You go back to your room long enough to change into fresh clothes, before heading into the kitchen to find a couple of rations for you and the kid. 

 

Once in the kitchen, you pause in surprise.  You grab a ration bar and set the child on the counter, handing him the food, all the while looking curiously at the hands-free comlink that is sitting on the countertop. 

 

Keeping one hand on the child as he eats, so he won't go toppling off the counter, you pick up the comlink.  You turn it over in your hand for a moment before shrugging slightly and carefully slipping it into your right ear.  It fits snuggly and is surprisingly comfortable. 

 

You hesitate for a moment before you press the button on the unit.  It beeps softly in your ear, twice.

 

A few moments pass and then it beeps again before you hear Din's familiar baritone in your ear. 

 

"Good morning, sleepy head."

 

You bite your lip softly, eyes a little wide for a moment.  His voice isn't modulated like this, it's smoother than you've ever heard it and takes you a little by surprise.  Is this how his voice sounds inside the helmet, or is it still distorted somehow by the electronics?

 

You give a little scoffing snort.  "And how would you know if I just woke up?  Maybe I've been awake for hours. Just didn't call until now."

 

"Is that what happened?"

 

You pause for a long moment and then sigh silently.  "No."

 

His soft chuckle fills your ear and you press your lips together.  It would be so much easier sometimes if you didn't dislike the idea of lying, especially to him. 

 

"Where are you?" you ask, only slight annoyance coming through in your voice. 

 

"Couple hours outside of town.  Vanth is showing me the krayt's lair."

 

"You're with Cobb?"

 

This time it's Din that pauses for a long moment.  When he answers sharply with a "Yes... Why?" there's a tightness to his voice.

 

You hesitate a moment in consideration, nibbling at the corner of your lip.  "Be careful around him, Din," you respond softly.

 

The tightness in his voice is replaced by suspicion.  "You don't think he can be trusted?"

 

Sighing softly, you pause as you try to pick your words carefully.  "I'm not sure.  He said… some things to me last night when you left to get the speeder."

 

"What things?" 

 

"He… well, he recognized my tattoo and I guess there is a bit of… bad history with slavery around here.  And, given how…upset I still was earlier yesterday, he was jumping to some conclusions… about you and I."  You swallow hard.  "So, he basically offered to help me…escape from you."  You cringe slightly, wishing you'd thought to say something last night. 

 

There's another long pause on Din's side and then his voice is tight again.  "What did you tell him?"

 

You grit your teeth slightly, for a moment, before answering.  "I think…I think that I was able to make him understand that our situation is different. I didn't give him any details, but I tried to assure him that there's no need for him to be concerned.  And that I don't need… rescuing."  Biting your lip again, you add, "Still, in case I'm wrong, I thought you should know."

 

A soft sound hisses through the comlink and it takes a moment for you to realize it is a sigh.  "Thank you for telling me.  I'll be careful," he says, strained. 

 

You nod slightly and then smirk briefly, feeling a little silly for it.

 

After a few silent moments pass, Din says, "I'm not sure when I'll be back.  It might not be tonight.  I'll keep you updated as much as I can."

 

"Okay," you respond softly.  Then, biting your lip, you add quietly,  "K'oyacyi."

 

There's another pause before Din responds.  When he does, you can hear the gentle smile in his voice.  "I will."

 

 

Mando ends the call and then sits back slightly on his speeder.  His hands fold over one another and rest on his utility belt as he waits on Vanth to come back from around a nearby outcropping of rocks. 

 

A minute later the marshal strides back into view, zipping up the fly of his pants, and hops back onto his own speeder.  He regards Mando curiously. 

 

"Call done?"

 

Mando just nods, making no move to restart his speeder as he looks at the man, his head tilted just slightly to one side. 

 

Vanth scowls after a moment.  It only takes him another moment though to chuckle ruefully, sitting back on his own speeder as he evenly meets the bounty hunter's gaze.

 

"She told you about last night," Vanth says, more a statement than a question. When the Mandalorian just nods again, Vanth gives a half smile.  "Can't blame a man for trying to help a lady," he adds, spreading his hands out to his sides and shrugging.

 

"No," Mando concedes, with a slight incline of his head, "As long as that's the end of it."

 

The marshal studies Mando for a moment, his arms crossing over his chest as he sighs lightly.  "Honestly…wasn't going to be the end of it.  I was sure she was only defending you because she felt obligated to."

 

Mando's scowl deepens behind his helmet's visor, his shoulders shifting back just barely as he tenses. 

 

"But then I got to thinkin' about it again this morning and a couple things proved that wrong," Vanth continues, scratching his fingers through the thin hair along his jaw. 

 

"Oh?" Mando asks, that one word somehow sounding dangerous. 

 

Vanth nods, keeping his posture relaxed.  "Yeah… like how she was acting most of yesterday." He chuckles a little at the memory.  "Don't know what you did, pal, but you ticked her off.  At first, that's what made me think you weren't treatin' her right.  But I realized… any other owner I've ever met would have beat the hell out of her for giving them that kind of attitude, justified or not. Especially in public."

 

A grimace crosses Mando's hidden face at the word 'owner' and Vanth's, likely accurate, assessment of most slave owners. There's a reason Mando dislikes being associated with the word.  

 

"And the fact is, you let her give you that attitude," the marshal continues with another chuckle.  "Almost as if you agree that she's justified in being cross with you. Again, not something I'd ever expect an owner to do."

 

Mando sighs, the tension lessening in his shoulders just a bit as he cants his head at Vanth. "So, where's that leave you?"

 

Vanth shrugs again, smirking softly. "Leaves me figuring that a woman with that kind of fire ought to be trusted at her word. The two of you got something different than the norm going on.  I don't understand it.  But if she doesn't want that to change… well, then who the hell am I to tell her any different?"

 

After a moment, Mando lets out a faint, chuffing laugh.  "It wouldn't go well if you did."

 

Vanth lifts a brow at that, smirking slightly.  "Sounds like you're speaking from experience there."

 

Mando just tilts his head slightly at the marshal. 

 

A knowing grin crosses Vanth's face and he nods, shifting in his seat and reaching to start up his speeder.  "We good then?"

 

With a curt nod,  Mando starts up his own speeder.  "We're good.  Let's go see your dragon."

 

 

You stop short in mid-stride outside the cantina entrance later that evening. 

 

For a few moments you had been considering going inside.  A bowl of broth for the kid and some kind of fresh meal for yourself sounds good.  That is,  if you can convince the cantina owner to give them to you on credit for Mando, since you don't have your own credit chits.  However, when you saw the small group gathered inside you had turned and started to walk away.  You're not feeling terribly social after the last few days. 

 

But then, just as you take your second step away, you overhear a snippet of a conversation and it stops you right in your tracks. 

 

"The poor thing," a female voice says, "to be owned by someone like a Mandalorian. I think I'd rather die."

 

Your eyebrows pull together in a scowl as you slowly turn on the balls of your feet back towards the entrance.

 

Why does everyone in this town think that my life is their business?

 

"I've heard they're basically mercenaries and would hunt down their own mothers for the right price!" another female voice adds.

 

The first voice continues then, slightly lower as if sharing some great secret, "I've also heard that they never take off the armor.  Can you imagine… forced to go to bed with that man, while he's dressed like that?  How does that even work?"

 

Your eyes widen and your brows shoot upward at hearing that.  

 

What the hell?!

 

Scowling sharply, you shift the kid on your hip and then stride into the cantina, practically stomping right up to their table, which is the closest to the entrance and the only occupied table in there. 

 

"Excuse me," you say curtly to the group of five townsfolk: two female humans, a female bothan, a male human, and a male bothan.  "Do you have anything useful to talk about, or do you plan to continue spreading baseless rumors about my life?"

 

They all stare at you for several awkward moments.   Then, one of the human females sputters a bit, indignantly. 

 

"Really, they… they aren't baseless," she says, and you recognize her voice as the first one you heard.  "We all know he's your owner.  And we all know the stories of Mandalorians."

 

You level your glare on her.  "Would a Mandalorian in your stories be bothering to help your town fight off a Krayt Dragon?"

 

She hesitates for a moment and then scoffs.  "Yes. For the armor." A couple of the others at the table nod in agreement. 

 

"No," you snap at her, "he wouldn't.  He'd simply kill your marshal and take what's rightfully his."

 

They all blink in surprise.

 

"If all your little town can do is spread rumors about something that you know nothing about… then you don't deserve his help," you say with a snarl.

 

At that, they all look a little indignant and the human male speaks up.  "Hey, our town knows plenty about slavery!"

 

Your angry stare whirls on him.  "But you don't know about mine!  You don't know about my bond contract or how I came to be with the Mandalorian."  

 

A soft coo at your side stops you mid-tirade and you look down at the child balanced on your hip.  His big brown eyes look up at you in concern, his bat-wing ears tilted down towards his shoulders. 

 

You give him a soft smile, reaching your free hand up to softly rub at the base of one big ear.  A sigh passes your lips and your look back at the group. 

 

"Not that it's any of your business," you say, your voice calmer now, "but if he hadn't bought my bond, I'd almost definitely be dead by now."  

 

A soft murmur of surprise comes from the female bothan, and the others look at you with widened eyes. 

 

Looking down at the kid again, you smirk as he snuggles in with his little cheek resting on your shoulder.   You press a soft kiss to the top of his head. 

 

"You are all very lucky that Mando is a man of his word," you say, turning to look at the group again and narrowing your eyes slightly. "If he wasn't, I'd probably try to convince him to leave your town to the dragon."

 

The first woman sputters at you again as you turn to leave, bouncing the foundling on your hip.  

 

At the entryway, you stop to look at them once more, sighing.  You're still frustrated, but your expression holds a touch of sadness. "One more thing, just to make sure these idiotic rumors stop.  I'm sorry for whatever hell you all may have gone through in your experience with slavery," you say, then leveling your gaze on the first woman, "but he isn't them… and he has never forced me to do anything."

 

With her looking at you in shock, you turn on your heels and walk out of the cantina. 

 

 

You stomp back into the little house, setting the child down on the couch.  Fists clenched at your sides, you pace through the small common area, muttering in frustration. 

 

"Ungrateful, kriffing idiots.  They'll sit back and let him go risk his life for this hopeless little town… all while accusing him of terrible things behind his back?"

 

You look around, fingers clenching and unclenching.  There's nothing good in the damn place to throw.  You really want something to throw.  Finally you settle on a pillow that's on the plush chair, grabbing it and whipping it at the far wall.  It hits with a dull, unsatisfying thud and then drops to the ground. 

 

Sighing heavily, you plop down on the couch next to the kid and lay your head back, closing your eyes. A moment later you feel the little one snuggling up to your side and you smile thinly, resting your hand on his little back. 

 

Several silent minutes pass as you let the anger slowly drift out of you.

 

"They don't know, hm, kid?" you say softly, your fingers gently rubbing his back.  "All they see is a looming tower of cold beskar, covered in weapons."

 

The foundling coos up at you, his little head resting on your thigh.   You glance down at him and smile softly.  You're not sure if he understands your words, but you think he might.  Closing your eyes again, your head rests back once more as you softly trace indistinguishable little shapes on the foundling's back. 

 

"They don't know how caring he can be," you muse softly. "How those hands… used for violence can be so… gentle."  A soft smirk tugs up at one side of your mouth.  "They don't realize how quick he can be to laugh… especially when he's teasing."

 

You bite your lip softly then, as your mind wanders to recall the earliest, intimate moments you shared with Din. "Or how… generous… how considerate he can be."

 

Your eyes flutter open but you don't lift your head.  You just look up at the ceiling in thought, your brows knitting together slightly. 

 

"Considerate," you repeat to yourself in a soft voice.  Then, your lips press together.  "He's considerate…" It's like it's the first time you've really thought about it, really put that label to the man. 

 

A sigh escapes you.  "I was too hard on him," you whisper to yourself.  "He was… just trying to do the right thing for me," your voice trembles a little.  "In what universe would he have had any reason to suspect that…that I don't want my freedom right now?"

 

Sure, there was still the issue that he should have read your contract. But, if you hadn't lost it when you found out what he was doing, would the conversation about the contract have gone so off the rails?

 

Rubbing a hand over your face, and swiping at the tear that threatens to fall down your cheek, you let out a heavy sigh.  "I owe him an apology," you whisper to yourself. Then, biting your lip again, you close your eyes.  "Maker… I… I really do miss him."

 

The sound of a soft, little snore breaks your contemplation and you look down at the child.  He'd fallen asleep to the sound of your voice as you talked to yourself.  Laughing softly, you carefully maneuver the kid off of your lap and carry him over to the plush chair.  You retrieve the pillow you had thrown and tuck him in. 

 

Walking into the kitchen to find a ration bar, you nearly jump out of your skin in surprise when the comlink suddenly beeps in your ear.  You'd forgotten all about it.  With a self deprecating laugh, you take a moment to catch your breath before reaching up and pressing the button to answer it.

 

"Hello, Sweetling."

 

You smile gently.  He hasn't used that endearment over the last few days and you realize that you've missed hearing it. 

 

"Hi," you respond softly. 

 

"How's it going in town?" he asks.

 

It takes you a few moments to answer, uncertain of what parts to share of the scene at the cantina. You decide against giving him details.  He doesn't need to be bothered with it.  "Fine, I suppose.  Little towns annoy me. They're so…insular."

 

He chuckles lightly. "Not very friendly?"

 

"The understatement of the cycle," you say with a thin laugh. You wander out of the kitchen as you talk, heading down the hallway, and then pause outside the door to the room he'd taken last night.  A soft scowl crosses your features as a realization comes to you.  "You're not making it back tonight, are you?"

 

"No," he says softly.  "We've met up with a group of local Tuskans.  They're having trouble with the dragon too.  We're negotiating for their help and they've invited us to stay at their camp."

 

A sigh escapes you before you even realize it's coming and then you bite your lip softly.  "Oh.  All right," you say, trying to sound nonchalant, and failing. 

 

The sound of a soft chuckle comes over the comm. "Careful, Sweetling. I might start to think you want me around again."

 

You roll your eyes slightly but can't help smiling.  "Well, that would be a shame."

 

Another light chuckle.  "I'll be back tomorrow."

 

"Okay… Good night."

 

After he says good-bye and ends the call, you sigh heavily, leaning against the wall. Realizing that you actually do miss him makes being in this unfriendly little town even harder. You can't exactly go out and distract yourself from his absence.

 

"Why couldn't I stay mad at him for just…one more day?" you grumble softly, and then give a thin chuckle and shake your head at yourself. 

 

Pushing off the wall, you turn towards your bedroom and then pause.  Looking at the door to his room, you bite your lip softly before stepping up to it and pushing it open.  

 

It's a pretty basic room, like the one you've claimed, only a little bigger and with a larger bed.   There's a small bag next to the bed, and a pile of armorweave clothes next to that. You laugh softly, realizing that's probably what he'd changed out of last night or this morning for a fresh set, and just left the used set in a haphazard heap. 

 

Well, the house does have a small fresher room.  You could wash those,  along with your used clothes from the trip to the town.  At least that gives you something to do. 

 

Stepping over to the pile, you pick up the pants and drape them on the bed. When you pick up the shirt, you pause, biting your lip softly.  You lift the collar of the shirt to your nose and inhale. It smells of that scent you know as distinctly him: leather, spice and a bit of musk, with a hint of saltiness, probably from sweating in the Tatooine heat.  Closing your eyes, you let yourself linger there for a moment, taking in that scent. 

 

When you open your eyes again and your gaze lands on the bed, your breath escapes a little shakily.  Your imagination goes a bit wild on you for a few minutes, a tightness gathering in your belly and heat pooling at your core. 

 

It's a fairly tall bed.  If he were here, what might it take for you to convince Din to bend you over the end of it… to slip into you from behind? A soft whimper passes your lips at the image your mind paints for you. 

 

A few more ideas dance through your imagination.  First, him lying back on the bed and you riding him, agonizingly slow, until he loses patience and flips you onto your back to pound you into oblivion.  Then, you lying back while he teases you mercilessly with the toys he bought for you weeks ago.  Last, an image of him sitting at the end of the tall bed as you smile coyly and slowly sink to your knees in front of him has you moaning sharply, brows pinched together. 

 

Looking down at the shirt still clutched in your hands, you heave another shaky sigh before shrugging a little. 

 

"Oh… fuck it," you whisper to yourself and quickly peel off your shirt and your bralette.  You shimmy out of your pants too, before you pull his shirt over your head. 

 

Climbing onto the bed, you settle back against a pillow and let yourself get comfortable.  

 

Breathing in the scent of him again, eyes closing, you smile softly as you release the reins on your imagination.  As you imagine his calloused hands running over your body, squeezing here or pinching there, your breaths come a little more shallow. 

 

You dip your hand between your thighs, two fingertips nestling against your clit through the soft cloth of your panties. As you begin to lightly circle the sensitive nub, you think of that first night after Navarro, when Din demanded that you show him how you touched yourself.  The memory sends another wave of heat through your body, to settle between your thighs. 

 

Turning your head into the pillow, searching for another hint of his scent on it, you wince slightly as the comlink digs into your ear. You'd forgotten about it again. Reaching up, you grab it out of your ear and drop it onto the bed.  Then your hand dives between your thighs again as you moan, rocking your hips a bit to press your mound against your hand. 

 

Soft whimpers pass your lips as you imagine Din stripping off his armor and then slowly climbing up your body on the surprisingly plush bed.  You know that his fingers would dance over every inch of your bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.  You let yourself linger on that idea for a few minutes, moaning as your fingers deftly rub over your clit.  You know that after teasing you for what feels like hours, waiting until you moan his name pleadingly,  which you do now into the empty room, Din would take his sweet time in stripping the rest of your clothing off.  Then he'd finally give you just a little relief by pressing his fingers into you.  You mewl softly into the growing dark. 

 

And suddenly a quick series of beeps from the comlink interrupts your mounting pleasure. 

 

You lift your head sharply to look at the offending, blinking comlink.  You glare at it.  Then, with a frustrated groan, your building climax suddenly falling away from you, you drop your head back on the pillow with a dull thud.  Picking up the comm, you set it back into your ear and press the button.

 

You give a very brief pause, as you try to keep the frustration out of your voice. "Hel…" 

 

Mando cuts off your greeting, his voice low and dangerous sounding.  "What… the fuck… was that?"

 

Your eyebrows knit together and you sit up quickly. "What was what?" you ask in confusion. 

 

"That call. What the fuck… was that call about?" he demands, sounding a bit breathless through his anger.

 

Your eyes widen as your mouth goes dry.  "What call?" you whisper, dreading that you already know the answer. 

 

A frustrated huff comes across the comm.  "The one you made… five minutes ago," he growls out, enunciating each word. 

 

Eyes squeezing shut in horror, you fall silent for a moment, a blush rushing up your chest and neck and blossoming hot into your face. 

 

Oh, Maker…

 

He says your name in a low tone.  "Answer me…"

 

Finding your voice is hard, but you finally manage to squeak out, "I didn't mean…to call you."

 

The other end of the line is quiet for several long moments.

 

"You didn't?"

 

"No."

 

"You didn't mean for… for me to hear you touching yourself… and m-moaning my name?"

 

Your teeth catch hard on your lip again and your breath comes out in a stutter.  "No… I-I wouldn't…"  You hesitate. 

 

"Wouldn't what?" he demands. Most of the anger is ebbing out of his voice now, but it's still tight, tense sounding. 

 

You take a shaky breath.  "I wouldn't… purposefully… tease you like that.  I must have accidently hit the call button when I… put the comm down."

 

A deep groan comes over the comm then and you swallow hard, the sound sending a fresh wave of heat down your body.  After a moment, he chuckles thinly. 

 

"Well… meant to or not, Sweetling… you did tease me." He pauses and you can hear his breath shaking.  "Now… my cock's hard as a fucking rock… and I can't exactly head back into the camp like this."

 

Before you can stop it, a tiny little mewl escapes your lips at that. You press your lips together firmly for a moment.  "I'm sorry…" you whisper. 

 

There's a long pause.

 

"Make it up to me."

 

Your eyes widen and you swallow against the dryness in your throat.  "How?" you squeak out. 

 

"Help me cum." 

 

He says it as easily as if he were asking you to bring him a canteen of water. 

 

With your heart feeling like it is pounding in your throat, your breath catches and it takes you a moment to find your voice again.  It comes out with a little moan.

 

"And… how can I do that?"

 

"Well… you can start by telling me what you're wearing, Sweetling."

 

You take a steadying breath and lick your lips. "Panties," you whisper, and hesitate for a moment before adding, "and your shirt."

 

There's a long pause before he responds, a little breathlessly.  "My shirt?"

 

"Mhmm," you murmur softly.  "It… it smells like you…" 

 

He gives a soft chuckle after a moment and then groans softly.  "Maker… you sweet little thing…"  Another pause.  "Can… can you be good for me tonight? Do as you're told?"

 

A flush creeps across your skin again.  "Yes, Sir," you purr softly.  

 

He gives a soft growl in response and you smile, slowly lowering yourself back onto the pillow.

 

"Are you still touching yourself?" he asks, huskily.

 

Licking your lips, you shake your head out of habit as you answer.  "No… I-I stopped when you called."

 

"Start again."

 

With a soft mewl you slip your hand between your thighs again, fingertips instantly finding your swollen clit and pressing against it. 

 

"Tell me what you're doing, Sweetling…" he demands in a soft groan, "Be specific."

 

Moaning, you dart your tongue across your lips nervously.  You know he loves to hear you talk, and it makes even more sense right now, but you're still unsure of yourself with it.  "I'm… rubbing my-my clit… through my panties," you pant out softly. 

 

He gives a sharp groan.  "And your other hand?"

 

You had kind of forgotten that the other hand existed for a moment and silently giggle at yourself because of it.  Then, you slide that hand up under his shirt to cup your left breast.

 

"Mmm… sq‐squeezing my breast," you say, shyly. 

 

His smile comes through in his voice.  "A little harder, sweet girl…" he growls. "I know…"  He clears his throat softly.  "I know you like it… when I'm a little rough with you.  N-need your help with that tonight though. So squeeze that tit a little harder for me."

 

With a whimper you tighten your grip on your breast, pressing your fingers into the sensitive mound of soft flesh and kneading it with your palm.  "Yes, Sir."

 

"Atta girl," he moans out, sending a shiver down your spine and heat to spear through your core. 

 

"What were you thinking about… before I called?" he asks, voice a low rasp.

 

Your eyes dart to the end of the bed for a moment as your smile softly.  "Ummm… different things, really," you say, shakily as you continue to press and rub against your clit, your panties getting damp and slick under your touch. "First… I was im-imagining you…bending me over the end of…the bed."

 

Din groans again and you can practically hear his jaw clench.  "Well… now you can pretty much… count on that happening."

 

You smile with a delighted, little moan. 

 

It's about then that you notice another sound coming through the commlink, each time he pauses but doesn't cut off his mic: the distinct sound of skin rubbing over skin.  You purr again softly.  Having that confirmation,  that he is stroking himself as he listens to you talk, is almost intoxicating.

 

"What else?" he demands shakily. 

 

You bite your lip, trying to pull all of the filthy little fantasies that crossed your mind back up.  Your breath hitches a little as you remember one and you hesitate, licking your lips slowly. 

 

"Sweetling?" he asks huskily.

 

"Something… we haven't done…" you whisper shyly.

 

There's a pause but then you can hear his soft smile.  "Tell me, Sweetling."

 

Your breath stutters out, the pace of your rubbing picking up a little, as you let the images dance through your imagination again. 

 

"I…I was thinking of… y-you sitting at the end of the bed… and I…"  Your voice catches a little, heat searing in your cheeks.  You've never talked like this before and you're not sure how to say it without feeling a little foolish.

 

"And you…what, Sweetling?" he groans out encouragingly. 

 

"I…. I slowly get…down on my knees for you," you whisper, breathlessly, letting the implication of what that would mean hang in the silence between you. 

 

A long pause follows that. You bite your lip, your movements stilling as your anxiousness builds.  Is there a reason he hasn't asked you to go down on him?  Maybe revealing that little fantasy was a mistake. 

 

After several moments a strangled sound comes over the comm and you can barely hear his voice, it's so low and breathy.

 

"You've…really imagined doing that… for me?"

 

A slow smile pulls up the corners of your lips.  You lick your lips lightly.  "Mhmm," you purr in affirmation as your fingers begin to move again.  This time you push the cloth of your panties aside, your fingers dipping into the slick wet of your arousal before finding your clit again to rub.  A stuttered moan escapes you.   "I've… thought about it a few times…" you admit as your cheeks burn, "... but you've never… given any hint of interest..."

 

Din groans loudly and it sends a delighted thrill through you.  "I don't… like to ask for something that… I-I can't reciprocate, Sweetling."

 

Your lips press together and then you smile brightly.  

 

Just like I thought earlier… Considerate. 

 

"But if… if I offer?" you purr softly.  "Would you turn it down?"

 

"F-ffuck, no," he says quickly, in such a sharp growl that you end up giggling softly. 

 

"I'll have to…keep th-that in mind," you whisper haltingly.

 

He doesn't say anything for a few moments then, but he keeps the mic open and you can hear his jagged breaths, and the sound of the hard strokes of his hand over his cock.  Your pussy is drenched at the lewd sound, as you remember how exquisite it would feel to have his cock pumping into you, instead of into his own hand. 

 

Closing your eyes you reach down with your other hand and mewl softly as you press two fingers into your wet slit.

 

A soft hiss stutters into your ear.  "T-tell me…what you're doing, Sweetling."

 

Your breath comes out shakily.  "I'm… mmm… still rubbing my clit.  And… and fingering myself w-with my other hand…" you whimper softly. 

 

Din moans stiffly.  "How wet are you for me, sweet girl?"

 

A sharp whimper passes your lips as you shove your fingers in and out of your trembling cunt. "I- I'm…I'm s-soaked for you, Din," you gasp out. 

 

"Dank Farrik," he rasps out, his shallow breaths getting quicker. 

 

You know he's getting close and you bite your lip, your own orgasm beginning to loom too. 

 

Swallowing hard, a coy smile tugs at your lips.  "Do you… you know what I'm wondering, Din?"

 

"W-what?" he husks.

 

"I'm wondering what you… what you taste like," you purr wantonly.  At his stuttered gasp, you smile and keep going, ignoring the blush that's threatening to light you on fire and holding on to this unexpected boldness. "Mmm… I know I've…I've tasted you on m-my fingers before…but I'm just w-wondering how different it might be… once I've got…m-my mouth on you."  You moan loudly.  "My lips…wrapped around you.  Your cock… uughh… your cock on my tongue."

 

"Gaahhh, Maker….fffuuck!"  he snarls.  With the string of indecipherable sounds and expletives that come through the comm as his climax hits him, you bite your lip and smile.  You know he's trying to keep from being too loud for the camp that is somewhere nearby. 

 

His haggard breaths and half-stifled groans sound delicious, and you close your eyes again, listening to him cum as your fingers continue to pump rapidly into your fluttering pussy.  You chase after your own orgasm eagerly, whimpering and moaning frantically. 

 

Din's deep growl seems to fill your senses.  "Come on…cum for me," he demands.  He takes a shaking breath and you can almost imagine how it would feel if he was actually right there beside you, his heated breath brushing against your ear. "Mmm… let me hear you cry my name… cum for me, Sweetling."

 

It only takes a few more strokes into your dripping cunt, a few flicks of your fingers over your sensitive clit, before you feel that tightness in your core snap.  Your hips lift sharply off the bed as your orgasm slams through you and you keen loudly, letting his name rip past your lips.  Mewling, you quiver as tremor after tremor wracks through your slender frame until you finally collapse, boneless, back onto the bed.

 

Several moments inch past in silence as you both work to catch your quavering breaths.  

 

Finally, his voice breaks the silence, still a bit hoarse.  "Feel better now?"

 

You giggle softly and murmur a soft, "Mhmmm."

 

Din chuckles softly.  "Good.  Get some sleep, Sweetling."  

 

"Mmm…okay…" you purr softly. 

 

He chuckles again, but then pauses for a moment, as if in thought.  "Tomorrow…when I'm back in town…we'll deal with consequences."

 

Your mind, still fuzzy from your orgasm, doesn't catch that immediately and you're slow to react. Once you do catch up though, your eyes snap open and your breath hitches a little. 

 

"Consequences?" you ask in a squeaking whisper. 

 

"Yes, Sweetling," he says, his voice still husky from his orgasm.  "There are consequences when you don't follow the rules."

 

"What? What rule didn't I follow?" you breathlessly ask. 

 

He inhales slowly.  "If I hadn't called you back… were you planning to call me, to ask permission… before you could cum?"

 

Your breath hitches again in a sharp gasp, your eyes closing tightly.  

 

"No…" you admit in a whisper, after a few moments. 

 

"Thank you for being honest," he responds in a soft growl. "You know that you need to ask.  Did you forget?"

 

A shaking breath passes your lips and you murmur a soft, "Mhmm."

 

Din pauses for a moment. "I can understand that, Sweetling, but the rules still apply.  Consequences apply."

 

"What consequences?" you ask softly. 

 

"We'll deal with that tomorrow," he states firmly.  "Try to get some sleep."

 

You open your mouth to argue, to demand some kind of explanation, but then snap your lips closed at the last moment before the words tumble out. Your jaw clenches as your eyebrows peak together nervously.  

 

You won't get much sleep now.  Does he really expect you to?

 

After a few silent moments you whisper out a soft "Yes, Sir".

 

"That's my good girl."

 

You shiver. 

Chapter 19

Summary:

CW: Anxiety, a harder dom/sub scene than we've had before, punishment, and lots of explicit smut. Smut, smut, smut.

I'm adding specific tags to the overall story tags and to the notes at the bottom of the chapter, in case you would like to have a heads up on anything. I figure that will avoid spoiling anything for those that don't want to know in advance.

Thank your so much for reading, commenting and kudos! You all make my days brighter!

Tumblr username: Keeshya6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Mando left you a bit of a mess after that call.   

 

You body was humming from the unexpected pleasurable fun and your mind was in chaos after his statement about consequences. 

 

Consequences?  Really?!  It's not like I got to finish without his permission!

 

Apparently, that's beside the point, because you would have finished without his permission and you both know it.  

 

If only you hadn't fumbled with the damn comlink and accidently called him.  Then again, if you hadn't called him, you wouldn't have had the fun you did. 

 

Oh well…

 

You glared at the offending piece of technology many times throughout the night as you tried, mostly in vain, to get a little sleep. Your mind kept running through so many different possibilities and scenarios for what "consequences" he could mean, that you gave yourself a bit of a headache, and only ended up with a couple hours of sleep before the kid woke you up. 

 

 

The town is abuzz with activity the next day.  

 

There is some kind of meeting called in the cantina in the morning, which you decide against joining in favor of catching a little more sleep. That is, after the child has had breakfast and runs around, burning enough energy to take a nap with you. 

 

You find out later that it was Cobb and Mando that called the meeting.  

 

They've enlisted the help of the townsfolk and the Tuskans to fight the krayt dragon. Apparently, it is bigger than Cobb had thought, so they're working on plans to blow the thing up with a pile of mining explosives.  The many explosives need to be carefully loaded onto the bantha mounts brought into town by the Tuskans.  Tensions are high between the two groups though, which have only interacted in the past by exchanging blaster fire. 

 

You watch the bustle during the afternoon with some interest, while mostly just trying to corral the little gremlin to keep him out of everyone's way.  There's not much you can do to help, with him underfoot, despite your offers.  Finally, you just keep back with the little one. 

 

You don't see much of Mando throughout the day, as he's busy organizing and adjusting the attack plans with Cobb and other leaders from both the town and the Tuskans.  The one time that he does come near is just to pass by on his way to some other Maker-only-knows task.  But as he passes by, he briefly pauses to say "Hi" to you and the kid, and to lightly press his hand against the small of your back for just a moment.  

 

The gentle touch sends a thrill up your spine as he walks away and you can't help smiling softly, despite your apprehensions for whatever is coming later. You take a deep breath and exhale slowly as you watch him disappear into the marshal's office. 

 

You look down at the green faced child on your hip, leaning your head down to poke his little nose with yours.  He giggles up at you. 

 

"You ready for dinner, little one?"

 

He gurgles happily and you're not sure if it means yes, but you know he's almost always ready for food. 

 

 

About an hour later you come wandering into the cantina, alone, just as the second sun is setting.

 

The initial preparations for the attack seem to be done.   The townsfolk are trying to relax this evening, before bringing the fight to the dragon in the morning.  The Tuskans have camped a little ways outside of town and are keeping to themselves.

 

The Weequay cantina owner offers you a bowl of soup from a large pot he'd prepared for everyone.  You accept with a bright smile and a gracious thank you.  You had fed the kid from the supplies at the house but haven't eaten yourself yet.   So, you are truly grateful for the freshly cooked meal. 

 

Looking around, there aren't really any available seats.  So, you step over to the entry arch and settle yourself down onto the floor to sit with your back against the wall.  You keep your knees bent, so your feet won't be in the way too much for anyone walking in or out. 

 

As you quietly eat your soup, you watch the people in the cantina.  They all seem nervous, but also relatively hopeful.  It's like they believe that the Mandalorian's plan will actually work to save their town from the monster. 

 

You're glad to see the change in attitude, at least compared to the small group you met yesterday.  The rest of the town seems like they are ready to trust and follow Mando. 

 

It's about then that you realize Mando and Cobb are absent from the gathering.   

 

Hmm… maybe they're still at Cobb's office?

 

Shrugging, you finish your meal and return the bowl to the Weequay with another thanks before you head back out into the warm night air.  You step off the lowest cantina step just in time to spot Mando, Cobb and two other townsfolk leaving the marshal's office and heading to the cantina.  You move to the side, out of their way. 

 

Cobb and the other residents nod politely as they pass, with Cobb also throwing you a playful wink.  You smirk and roll your eyes at him a little, giving a faint laugh. 

 

That man is incorrigible!

 

Mando stops beside you.  

 

"Where's the kid?" he asks, as he watches the other three walk up the stairs into the cantina. 

 

You watch them too, your earlier nervousness poking at the edge of your mind again and keeping you from looking at him. "In the commonroom of the house. Asleep on the chair."

 

"Do you think he's out for the night?"

 

After a moment you give a tiny nod.  "Yes."

 

"Good," he responds.  He leans closer to you then, his hand lifting to rest on the small of your back again.  His helmet comes close to your ear, barely touching your hair.  "Listen carefully," he says, voice dropping low into his chest and causing your breath to catch in your throat.  

 

He waits for you to nod an acknowledgement before he continues.  "I want you to go back to the house, move the kid into your room, and close the door.  Then… strip." He pauses and you're fairly certain he's smiling after you inhale sharply and bite your lip.  "Kneel, in front of the couch, and wait for me.  I'll be there soon."  Then, his hand slips off of your back and he moves to walk past you.

 

As he does, you respond with a soft, "Respectfully…no".  So soft that it's almost a whisper.

 

Mando stops short, directly in front of you.   For a long moment neither of you move.  Then his head turns sharply to look down at you over his shoulder, while your gaze still remains fixed towards the cantina. 

 

"'No'?" he repeats, incredulously. 

 

Your tongue darts across your lips and you swallow hard.  "No, Sir," you amend softly. 

 

He turns to face you fully, his gloved hand snapping up to catch your chin and tug your head up towards him, forcing you to finally look up at his visor.

 

Your mouth goes dry and you take a shaking breath.  Your body and mind are at war with each other.  Heat has already begun to flush across your skin at his instructions, pooling between your thighs at just the idea of waiting for him like that.  Your mind rebels against it though, and not just because of your nervousness. 

 

"I hope you have a good reason for that 'no'," Mando says, his tone an odd mixture of dangerous warning with a hint of amusement. "Or we're going to have more problems."  He pauses for a moment.  "You can't get out of this."

 

Biting your lip a little, you give a barely perceptible nod.  As much as his hold on your chin will let you, anyway. "I do… and I know," you whisper. "I'm not…trying to get out of it."

 

His head cants to one side.  "Telling me 'no' isn't trying to get out of it?"

 

You shake your head slightly.  "It's not… that.  I just…"  Eyes closing for a brief moment, you take a steadying breath.  Then you look up at that dark visor again, golden lamp light from the cantina illuminating only half of the hard lines of the beskar.  "There's something I wanted to…talk to you about, first.  And I don't think I can do it… while I'm naked."  Your lips press together nervously. 

 

He studies you for several quiet moments, his head tilting the other direction.  "Why can't it wait until later then?"

 

"Because… I know I can be…a brat," you say with a resigned sigh, and you're fairly sure you hear a little chuff escape his helmet.  "And it's… important," you add, licking your lips. "But, if I'm upset later, by… whatever it is you have planned… that bratty side of me could…prevent me from saying what I want to say.  Just out of spite."  You give a slightly sheepish shrug then, catching the corner of your bottom lip between your teeth. 

 

"Can you say what you want to say in your bra and panties?"

 

You swallow against the dryness in your throat again and, after a second of thought, you nod slightly. "I think so," you squeak out. 

 

A few silent moments slip by again and your jaw clenches as you try to keep from trembling. 

 

Finally, Mando takes a half step even closer to you.  He's looming over you, so close that he's almost pressed against you, but not quite.  His voice lowers again, so it's barely louder than a whisper out of the helmet.  "You have to make a choice then.  You can follow my instructions as given.  Or, you can partially follow them and only strip down to your underwear."  He pauses.  "If you choose the second option, you'll get to say what you want to say.  But after listening, if I don't agree with your decision, there may be additional consequences for disobeying me."

 

Your eyes widen slightly at that and you inhale shakily.

 

"Do you understand?"

 

It takes a moment to find your voice. "Yes, Sir."

 

"Good," he says, releasing your chin.  "Go.  I'll be there soon."

 

With that he turns and resumes his walk into the cantina. You hear Cobb's voice call out to him from deeper inside the building and Mando disappears around the corner of the entryway. 

 

You drag your eyes away from the cantina and force yourself to take a few slow and steadying breaths. After a minute or so passes, you look up sharply. 

 

You're losing time. 

 

Biting down on your lip, you force your feet to start moving and head back to the house.   Your hands clench and unclench at your sides as your try to quell their nervous shaking.

 

Once inside, you head straight to your room and rearrange the blanket to have a snug place for the child.  You carefully carry him to the room and tuck him into the blanket 'nest' you've made, and you set your pillow next to him to keep him from rolling off the bed. When you're sure he's secure and not waking up any time soon, you step back out into the hall and quietly close the door. 

 

Then, after a moment of hesitation, you head back into the commonroom. Taking another deep breath to calm yourself, you strip off your shirt and pants, folding them and setting them in the chair.  Your fingertips lightly drag on the straps of your bra as you consider your options. 

 

Eventually, you shake your head slightly, leaving the panties and bra on, and move over to the couch.  Sinking down onto your knees in front of it, parallel to the length of the couch and facing the entryway, you sit back on your heels and lightly fold your hands in your lap.

 

You wait. 

 

It feels like forever. 

 

Finally, you hear the soft tink-tink sound of Mando's footsteps, and an odd mix of anxiety and anticipation sweeps through you.  You only have a moment to try to sort those feelings out though before the front door slides open and the man steps inside. 

 

He stops just inside the commonroom, his visor leveling on you.  Briefly, you meet his gaze, but then your eyes drop as you bite your lip. 

 

Stepping further into the room a few moments later, Mando stops next to the chair and leans against it.  He studies you through the dark visor, the helmet moving to let you know as his eyes drag pointedly over your body.  Then, he slowly begins to pull off his gloves, one finger at a time. 

 

"I'm listening," he says. 

 

Blinking in surprise at the straight forward statement, it takes a moment for you to gather your thoughts up, but you finally nod slightly and take a slow breath. 

 

Wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue, you make yourself meet his gaze.  "I wanted to… apologize to you, Din." His head cants sharply to one side but you continue quickly before he can speak.   "And I need to do it now, before… whatever is coming… because if I try to make myself do it afterwards, if I'm upset… it won't be genuine."

 

A quiet moment passes before he responds. "You can apologize, Sweetling… but it's not going to change my mind."

 

Your brows knit together in confusion for a moment but then you give a short, nervous laugh and shake your head.  "I'm not apologizing for yesterday.  I think…" You pause, raking your fingers through your hair and then tucking a lock behind your ear. "I think that we both know… I'd only be sorry about yesterday, because you caught me."  You give a small, sheepish shrug. 

 

With a faint chuff, Din's head slants over to the other side. "I appreciate the honesty. What are you apologizing for, then?"

 

Swallowing hard, you nibble your lip a little. "For Mos Eisley," you say softly.

 

Din goes very still at that, not saying anything and just waiting. 

 

After a silent moment, you forge ahead.  "Over the last couple of days, I've realized that I was… unfair to you… at the start of that argument."  You clear your throat softly, biting your lip and looking down at your hands as you fidget with the silver ring that's too small to properly fit on your pinky finger.  "I've come to see that I am… unique… because I don't want to be free of my contract right now. And I can see that there would have been no reason for you to suspect that. Much less, bring it up to confirm it."  

 

Now that you've started, the words just seem to tumble out. Your eyes lift up to him again, glistening with emotion.  "You've been… very good to me.  Considerate.  And you were trying to do what you thought was right for me.  If I had just recognized that at the time and not lost my temper… then the second half of that fight might have gone better too." 

 

Swallowing against the lump in your throat, you take another steadying breath.  "So… I'm sorry, Din.  I'm sorry that I overreacted… and for being difficult since then."

 

Finally, you fall quiet, pressing your lips together.

 

He's silent for several moments, studying you with a faint tilt of his head.  Then, a soft huffing sound comes from the helmet as he drops his gloves onto the chair and pushes off of it.  Walking over, he crouches down in front of you, balancing on the balls of his feet.  His bare hand catches your chin, gentler than earlier, and then he leans forward to softly press the top of his helmet's faceplate against your forehead. 

 

"Thank you, Sweetling," he says softly. 

 

Your eyes dart a bit over his visor but finally settle to meet his gaze.  A tiny smile tugs up the corners of your mouth as you realize he's accepting your apology.  Your eyes close and you sigh softly, leaning into him just a bit and enjoying the tender moment while it lasts. 

 

When he breaks the silence, his voice has an edge of amusement to it again.  

 

"You really couldn't have said all of that naked?"

 

A tiny snort escapes you as you laugh softly, your eyes opening a bit to look at him through your lashes.  "No.. because I don't think you would have really heard a word I said."

 

He pulls his head back from yours, tilting it in that incredulous way of his.

 

You smirk up at him, an eyebrow arched.  "It feels like you look at me like a starved loth cat any time I'm naked.  Even if you saw me naked earlier the same day.  This time?  It's been a week."

 

Din pauses for a moment.  "Fine.  You couldn't have done that naked," he concedes, deadpan, and you giggle. 

 

Pushing to his feet, he looks down at you for a moment over the curve of his chestplate. 

 

"But now?" he asks. 

 

Your giggle fades as anxiety nudges at the edge of your calm again, at war with the excited heat spreading over your skin at his intense gaze.  Biting your lip, you reach up behind your back and unclasp your bralette, dropping it to the ground beside you.   Despite the warm air, your nipples pucker and tighten beneath his scrutiny.  

 

Then, you push up on your knees and slip your fingers under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your thighs. You maneuver them down over your knees and down your calves, pulling them off to drop on top of the bra.

 

Looking up at him through your lashes again, you nod slightly and sit back on your heels again.  

 

Smirking inside that helmet, Din returns the nod in approval as he reaches up to release his cowl and cape.  He steps over to drop them onto the chair before he takes a couple minutes to remove his armor plating, never taking his eyes off of you as he does.

 

Left only in his armorweave clothing, boots, and helmet, he sits on the couch.  This puts you barely to his right, his booted feet almost touching your knees. He leans forward, bracing his forearm on his knee, and lets his eyes roam over you again.  

 

"Stars, you are so fucking pretty like this," he growls out softly. 

 

A shiver courses down your spine and you lick your lips nervously, blushing as your gaze drops down to your hands again for a moment.   But then, you pause and take a slow, deep breath.  You steel yourself, lifting your chin again and meeting his gaze evenly.  

 

If there's no avoiding the consequences, you decide to meet them with as much dignity as you can muster. 

 

Din smiles slowly, recognizing that determined glint as it comes into your eyes. His hand lifts to softly brush the back of his fingers along your jaw and chin.  "There's my girl," he rumbles softly. 

 

You exhale slowly, pressing your lips together in a tight lipped smile as you push away a thrill in reaction.   Then you find yourself resisting the urge to demand that he just get on with it already. 

 

He chuckles thinly, seeing your growing impatience.  So, he leans back on the couch,  stretching his legs out in front of you and crossing his booted feet at the ankles languidly.  His hands clasp together, fingers intertwined, and rest over his stomach.  He would look positively comfortable, if not for the cloth tenting just a bit at the front of his pants.

 

"Before we start," he says, his tone almost casual, "I want to remind you that you do have a safeword."

 

Your eyebrows arch at that but he holds up a hand to stop any immediate response.   

 

"Keep in mind, you cannot use it to avoid punishment.  If used, I will stop long enough for us to discuss the issue. Then, I will determine how we continue from there.  Understood?"

 

After taking a second to consider, you barely nod.  "Yes, Sir."

 

"Good."  He pauses for a moment.  "So, do you remember what to say if you truly need me to stop?"

 

Your lips part to answer but then you stop, snapping your mouth shut and looking down at your hands in your lap. You fidget with your ring again as you chew on your lip in thought. It's been several weeks since you chose the word, at his insistence, and you haven't even used it since.  It takes you a few moments, but then you finally nod.  "Yes.  It's Mustafar."

 

Din nods once. "If that's too hard to remember, especially in the moment, just choose a color.  'Red' is usually a good choice."

 

For a moment you consider that and nod.  "All right. I'll use that…if I need to."

 

With another nod, he goes quiet, seeming to consider something by the angle his head tilts. 

 

After several seconds in thought, he lifts a hand with two fingers held up.  "I'm giving you two options."

 

Your eyes widen at that.  

 

What is he… no… he's making me choose my own punishment? 

 

He switches to holding up only his first finger.  "Option one is faster.  Over quickly.  It will sting… even hurt some, but that should pass fairly quickly.  And if you handle it as well as I think you can, I'll make sure you feel damn good afterwards."  His voice drops a little lower into his chest with that last statement, and your breath catches at the mix of arousal and apprehension that shoots through you. 

 

That second finger joins the first one again.  "Option two lasts longer.  It will not hurt, though.  I will be making sure you feel good throughout the night, but this punishment will come up alongside the pleasure at times. When it does come up, it will be frustrating."

 

Dropping his hand back into his lap, he cants his head at you expectantly.

 

It takes you a moment to realize he's waiting for you to choose.  Your sputter a bit, mouth opening and closing rapidly in disbelief. 

 

"That's…that's not nearly enough information to-to base a decision on," you stutter, once you find your voice, and it goes up almost an octave by the last word. 

 

"That's all you get."

 

You gape at him for a moment, all your dignified resolve starting to melt away. Then your eyes begin to dart back and forth between him and your hands as you try to decide.

 

"So… um… option one was fast but hurts and option two is… torturously long? Or… am I getting those mixed up?"  You bite your lip, your mind becoming a nerve ridden jumble as you try to sort out the few details he gave.  "I'll… feel good…during both? Or after?  Ughh… how does that even work?"

 

After several moments of you mumbling softly to yourself, waffling back and forth, Din leans closer to you again. You fall silent, eyes wide as you meet his gaze. 

 

"I'm going to count to three, and then choose for you," he states simply, holding up a hand again with his fingers closed in a loose fist.  His index finger raises.  "One."

 

Panic grips at your chest, your eyes widening again as you gasp sharply. "What? No… um… but…"  Your breaths turn shallow. "One!  No… wait, two!  But that's…I mean one!"

 

Din shakes his head, unconvinced, holding up another finger.  "Two."

 

"Kriff… ummmm… whi-which one was painful? Two?  No…no… I think it was one."

 

A third finger raises. "Three," he says with finality.  "Option one it is."

 

You freeze with a little squeak slipping past your lips, staring up at that unreadable beskar helmet and dark visor. 

 

He sits back on the couch and points a finger at the cushion to his right.  "Up here.  On your knees."

 

For a moment, you don't move, just forcing yourself to breathe as steadily as possible.  A faint tilt of his helmet finally gets you moving though and you crawl up onto the couch beside him.   You situate yourself onto your knees where he pointed, facing him. 

 

"Perfect," he says, matter-of-factly.

 

Before you can react, his hands are suddenly at your waist and he tugs you down.   You gasp loudly in surprise as you tumble across his lap, catching yourself with your forearms on the cushion to his left.  His right arm hooks behind your knees, pulling them a little closer to his right thigh, which pushes your hips up at a sharp angle. 

 

It only takes you a moment, once you realize that your ass is in the air above his lap, for you to finally understand what is about to happen.  Your eyes widen and a strangled sound of protest briefly escapes you, but you still instantly when his left arm braces across your lower back, firmly but gently, and his right hand comes to rest across the curve of your bare ass. 

 

His thumb rubs a soft circle at the top of your right cheek as he looks down at you. "I'm giving you eight today…and I want you to keep count."

 

"Eight?" you gasp. 

 

"Yes.  Five for last night.  Three for today." His hand splays across your lower back in warning when you try to push up with another mumble of protest. 

 

"It should have been five more for today," he states in a low snarl.  When you go still again at that, his voice softens once more through the modulator.  "But I understand your reasoning. Nonetheless, you should have asked , rather than be defiant." 

 

A tiny whimper escapes you. 

 

Before you have a chance to respond beyond that sound, his hand leaves your rear suddenly and comes back down swiftly to strike your right cheek, hard .  You yelp in surprise at the harsh sting of it, eyes closing tightly and hips jerking against his lap in response. 

 

It hurts .  It definitely does.  But at the same time your body trembles with… something else.  Adrenaline?  Excitement? You're not sure what word to put to it.  The heat from the spot where his palm met your ass radiates across your skin and spears through you with an exquisitely good feeling that you are simply not prepared for.  It goes to battle within you against that stinging pain.

 

His hand gently strokes over the reddened spot that is left on your soft flesh as he leans a little towards your shoulders.  

 

"Count," he orders.

 

You inhale shakily.  "O…one," you stutter. 

 

The second one comes down on your left cheek and you yip again sharply, fingers curling into fists beneath you.  "Two," you squeak out, as an involuntary shudder travels up and down your spine as you try to anticipate the next swat. 

 

Din immediately caresses the throbbing spot.  "There's my good girl," he murmurs softly and you bite hard on your lower lip. 

 

After giving you a couple of short breaths to regather yourself, the third and fourth strikes come in rapid succession, one to each cheek.  You keen, and your body jolts, before you cut off the sound by biting down on the knuckles of your right hand. Heat blossoms across your flushed skin and pools between your thighs as you whimper softly against your fist. 

 

His fingers tenderly stroke over each reddened cheek then, one after the other and then back again, to soothe the hurt a little.  His modulated voice rumbles in your ears, "You're doing well, Sweetling."  He pauses for a moment, then continues the soft grazing touches.  "Count?"

 

"Thr…three and…f-four," you somehow manage to stammer out. 

 

"Doing so good," he rumbles.  "Halfway there."

 

He removes the arm across your back, trusting that you'll stay where he wants you to, and he's pleased when you do.   That hand moves to softly skim down your back instead.  Calloused fingertips start at the nape of your neck and then drift downward between your shoulder blades, tracing the line of your spine and eliciting a soft moan from you, until they reach the small of your back.  His hand stops there, pressing gently again, just as the other hand lifts to deliver another sharp smack to each side of your buttocks, in exactly the same spots as the last two.

 

This time your cry quickly melts into a wanton mewl that you try, and fail, to stifle.  Your back curves as the acute heat sends an unmistakable ripple of arousal to your core even as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. 

 

"Five and…six," you gasp out, this time without his prompting, which earns you a soft murmur of praise from him and sends a pleased shiver through you. 

 

Din didn't miss that sound you made, though.  He tilts his head to watch your profile as his hand caresses your tender flesh again.  He presses his palm gently against the heated skin on each side of your ass and then rubs his thumb softly over the faintly raised, red spots. A soft smirk quirks up the corner of his hidden mouth as he notes how your eyelids flutter against your flushed cheeks and the way your lips barely part as you pant for breath. 

 

"Almost there, Sweetling.  You're doing great," he says softly, his voice coming out as more of a husky growl than he'd intended.

 

You whine softly but give a rapid nod, your fingers curling over the edge of the couch cushion and gripping it tightly as you brace yourself for the last couple of blows.  Your breaths remain shallow as your body continues to war with itself on how to react to this new and shocking stimulus. 

 

He lets his hand gently sweep over the curve of your right ass cheek and down the back of your thigh.  Then he repeats the motion on the left side.   

 

Finally he takes his hand away and brings it down with a sharp crack against your right cheek.  He smooths his palm over the aching spot again right away.  You gasp sharply, a single tear spilling down over your cheekbone, and let out a strained, "Seven."  

 

Desire sears into your core as your cunt tightens and your jaw clenches.  Your eyebrows knit together into a peak.  Are you actually wet right now while he's…spanking you? You're not entirely sure if it's your imagination, residual heat radiating downward from your tormented rear, or if you are genuinely turned on enough by this for your pussy to be damp. 

 

The final smack comes down hard on the left side and you yelp again, back arching.  Gritting your teeth, and trembling almost uncontrollably, you murmur out a soft "Eight," as your forehead rests against your clenched hands and you try desperately to catch your labored breath. 

 

Calloused fingers immediately massage and smooth over the angry red marks as Din leans over to press his faceplate against your shoulder, as close to a kiss against your skin as he can give. 

 

"All done, Sweetling," he purrs softly, gently moving his hand from one cheek to the other, to caress your smarting flesh.  "You did so good, sweet girl.  Took that so fucking well."

 

You whimper softly, shivering, as one more tear rolls down.   

 

Dank Farrik, that hurts… but… fuck. Why does it feel so good too?

 

After a few moments, to let the adrenaline lessen, Din gently lifts you up and gathers you into his arms.  You're like putty in his hands as he maneuvers you where he wants you.  You end up straddling his lap and facing him, so you can lean into his chest without putting any weight onto your sensitive rear. 

 

One of his arms wraps around your back and he rubs up and down your spine slowly, occasionally dipping lower to tenderly massage the inflamed spots left by his hand.  His other hand gently brushes a few locks away from your sweat dampened forehead, and then strokes softly over your hair as he keeps whispering praises to you. 

 

"You handled that beautifully, sweetheart.  Perfect.  Such a good girl for me."

 

Shakily you slip your arms around his torso and nuzzle your face into his chest, your eyes closed.  Soft trembles run a course through your body as you bite at your lip, still trying to make sense of your body's reactions. 

 

Several minutes pass in quiet closeness then, his hands gently moving over your body to caress and soothe you.  You still feel like your entire being is thrumming, but at least the trembling lessens.  There's an ache that has settled between your thighs though that doesn't dwindle yet, and it's not at all like the tingling ache that lingers from the spanking. 

 

When he does finally speak again, Din's voice rumbles deep in his chest and you can feel it against your cheek.  "You do understand why that was necessary?" he asks, his stern voice also holding a touch of concern. 

 

You inhale deeply. Your breath catches for a moment as the spice and leather, just plain manly, scent of him fills your senses and sends a fresh wave of desire through you.  Then, clicking your brain back into gear, you exhale in a resigned and slightly shaky sigh as you barely nod.

 

"Yes," you murmur.  When you don't immediately expound on that answer, you can feel his head tilt slightly above yours, so you continue. "I broke a rule and I didn't follow an instruction.  And if you can't trust me to do that when it's not… life threatening… how can you when it is ?"

 

A soft, pleased hum vibrates in his chest as his hand lifts to rest against the side of your neck, his thumb stroking your cheek.   

 

"Exactly," he says, lowly.  "While you're with me, Sweetling, your safety… is my responsibility.  I take that seriously… and I'll do whatever I can to make sure you do too."

 

Swallowing at a lump in your throat, you nod slightly against him. 

 

"How are you feeling?" he asks gently, when a few seconds pass and you wiggle a little, uncomfortably, on his lap. 

 

You barely manage to hold back a sassy tone by lightly biting the tip of your tongue.  After you get that urge under control, you shrug a little.  "Sore and…"  You pause, not sure how to word it, "...achy."

 

He chuckles softly, gently pushing you away just enough so he can look down at you with his head canted curiously.  "'Achy'?"

 

Wetting your lips lightly, you nod as a soft blush warms your cheeks and you try to keep your chin tilted down so your hair hides it.   

 

As usual, you're not very successful at hiding from Din. One of his hands captures your chin again to nudge it upwards. "'Achy' how?"

 

A shoulder lifts in a slight shrug.  "I'm not…really sure how else to put it," you say, demurely.

 

He studies you for a moment and then quirks a hidden eyebrow.  With his other arm holding you firmly around the waist, he drops his hand from your chin and slips it between your bodies.  Before you can react, his fingers delve into the cleft between your thighs. 

 

Your eyes close, head dropping back slightly,  as a soft mewl escapes you and your pelvis instinctively pushes to meet his touch. 

 

" Krrrriff ," he groans, "you're dripping wet…"  His head tilts as he watches you tremble beneath his touch.  "Did you… enjoy being spanked, Sweetling?"

 

Biting on your lip, you force your eyes to open and look at him through wisps of your hair.   Your expression is a jumble of emotions.  "I don't…. Uuhhh!… I don't know," you whimper.

 

Din cocks his head again, as the rough tip of one of his fingers lightly traces around your slick entrance. "You don't know?" he asks in amusement. 

 

Your breath hitches and your fingers curl to grip onto the cloth of his shirt, on either side of his ribs.  The blush in your cheeks deepens. "Part of me… hated it, because it… well, it kriffing hurt," you say with a soft pout at him, which just draws a faint chuckle from his helmet. After all, that was the point.  "But ano-another part of me… didn't hate it? May-maybe enjoyed it a little?  And now…" You gasp from the gentle manipulation of his fingers.  "Now I'm just…confused."

 

A slow smile pulls at Din's mouth as he watches you coming apart under his touch at the heated center of your arousal. "Well, we'll have to explore that another time then," he promises, his voice a soft rumble.  "But for now…I did say I'd make you feel good if you took your punishment well. And fuck , you took it so well. "  The tip of his index finger presses into you, just barely, as he growls the last sentence out. 

 

You rock your hips, seeking more, and whimper loudly.  Your fingers loosen and then clench again on his shirt, and your right hand finds further purchase on his side through the cloth, gripping onto his flank tightly.  A hissing sound comes through the helmet's modulator in response as he presses the tip of a second finger a fraction into your slit with the first.  A stuttered moan dances past your lips as you gasp. 

 

"Maker," he groans softly, "I've missed the sounds you make."

 

Lashes flutter as you force your eyes open to look at him, your pupils widely dilated with your desire. 

 

"Tell me what you want, sweet girl," he rasps.

 

You can't seem to keep your eyes focused as your breath hitches.  The intensity of your arousal feels like it burns across you, through you, a soft sheen of sweat gathering on your skin again.   "I-I…nuuhhh…um... More… please."

 

Chuckling softly, he leans his head in so his visor presses against your temple, watching your hooded eyes through the durasteel.  "Mmm… maybe let's take the edge off a little first, hm?  So you can think?" he husks into your ear, as he sinks those two fingers into your slick tunnel with a firm shove. 

 

A soft cry tumbles past your barely parted lips at the delightful intrusion and you roll your hips to press against his hand. You gasp for breath, wincing slightly as your movement causes a twinge of pain across your sore rear, but it's overridden by the blissful trembles that begin to sweep through your body again.  

 

Desperate for more connection to him, your hands claw at the base of his shirt until they slip in under the armorweave and against his skin.  Your fingers press into his flesh as you cling to him, with incoherent pleading sounds escaping you. 

 

Din watches the shift in emotions and reactions across your face with fascination from behind the privacy of his visor. Your expressions shift rapidly; from delighted to frenzied, from pleasure to a hint of pain and back again, and everything in between.  He marvels at the way your lips part and your tongue slips across them, or your jaw clenches as you swallow hard. How your brows pinch into a peak as his fingers move within you, stroking slowly. 

 

His body is tense beneath yours and begging him to do more than just put his hands on you; to free the erection straining against his pants and plunge into your warm depths.   But he ignores that urge for now and just holds you firmly  as his fingers pump into your quivering pussy over and over.  He revels in the feeling of having you close again, in the softness of your skin and in your unmistakable desire for him. 

 

"I want you to cum for me, Cyar'ika ," he urges you, as the pad of his calloused thumb finds the bundled nerves of your clit and rubs firmly across it. 

 

With a very pretty mewl passing your slightly open lips, your eyes flutter to somehow find his, like always.  There's a desperate need there,  shining in their depths, but you hold back your looming climax as a curious expression crosses your face. 

 

" Cy-cyar'ika?" you whimper out. 

 

Din's movements pause.  He hadn't even realized he'd uttered the Mando'a endearment and he's quiet for a moment. 

 

"Darling," he translates softly after a few breaths.  "Sweetheart."

 

The smile that pulls at your lips is both stunning and coy, the corner of your bottom lip finding its place between your teeth.  You rock against his hand again then, urging him to continue.

 

That smile steals the air from his lungs, and it takes Din a moment to find his breath again.

 

He hasn't seen your smile, not a genuine one, in several days.  He's sought it often over the months since he brought you to his ship.  It's why he enjoys teasing you. Your easy smile has been like a beam of starlight in his normally grim life.  He hadn't truly realized the ache its absence had left in him over the last week.  Not until now, when its warmth seems to spread through his chest.  

 

Once he finds his breath again, with a slow grin of his own, he begins to push his fingers in and out of you again, rapidly.  Your head drops back, eyes closed, as you eagerly pitch your hips forward to meet those invading fingers with each stroke and you gasp as his thumb expertly strums over your clit.

 

He leans in to growl softly into your ear, his voice coming from deep in his chest, "I believe that I said, 'I want you to cum for me, Cyar'ika' ."

 

Surrendering with a stuttered gasp as his baritone voice washes over you, you let go of your tentative hold against the building orgasm.  Your body jolts in his arms, every sense dissolving into pleasure as your climax sparks through you.  Hips bucking, you grind against his hand and your nails dig little half moons into the flesh of his flanks.  They draw a strangled grunt out of him, only for it to be lost in the sound of your low moan as it fills the quiet of the commonroom.

 

Din holds you through the burning release, relishing the feel of your cunt tightening around his fingers as your fluids coat them.  His stroking fingers within you don't slow as you cum, as he pushes you over the crest of your orgasm to drift back down the other side.  He only slows when you finally wilt against him, gasping for breath.  You lean forward into him, head down and resting your forehead against the top of his chest, your entire body quaking. 

 

Pulling his fingers from you, to your whimpered dismay, he chuckles softly.  Then, he pauses for a moment, considering you.   

 

His breath catches briefly, and he lifts his other hand from your lower back to press against the nape of your neck, curling around it.   The grip is firm but gentle and he isn't trying to move you.  It's more like he's holding you in place. 

 

 A soft, curious sound comes from your mouth but you don't move, still too spent to even try. 

 

"Stay just like that," he says, a demanding edge to the husky tone.   

 

Your eyes flutter open for a moment and then close again as you murmur softly in affirmation. You're more than content to stay like this for several minutes, even if he hadn't demanded it.  Your head is fuzzy with the afterglow of your climax and you barely even notice as his other hand moves up past your head. 

 

That is, until you hear a soft, mechanical hiss just above your head.  

 

Your eyes fly open, all lethargy vanishing from your body, as you realize that's the sound of his helmet's seal being released.  

 

It takes every ounce of self control in you to not move; to keep your eyes down; to not lift your head in your surprise.  Your breath catches in your throat as your entire body goes very still.  After a moment, you close your eyes again, tightly, giving yourself an added barrier to keep from even considering the temptation to look up.

 

"D-Din?" you whisper questioningly.  Then you pause again, listening. 

 

Wha-what?... Why is.... oh Maker-kriffing stars, is he…?

 

A small, plaintive mewl slips past your lips unbidden, as you recognize the soft, wet sound of him quietly licking his fingers clean of your fluids.  

 

His other hand tightens a little on the back of your neck at your whine, even though you don't try to move at all, and his thumb just barely brushes against your spine. 

 

Then…he moans.

 

And you'd almost swear your heart stops beating for a moment. 

 

His breath barely rustles against your hair with the sound.  It's an unfiltered moan, so soft and brief that it probably wouldn't have made it past the helmet's filters if it were still properly seated on his head.  

 

It may be the most sinfully delightful sound you've ever heard. 

 

Your breath stutters and your teeth catch hard onto your lip.  A shiver courses down your spine, heat flooding your core with a fresh, almost overwhelming wave of arousal. 

 

A moment later the soft hiss of the helmet's seal tells you that he's reset it into place.  Another moan, now electronically filtered, escapes him. 

 

"Dank Farrik, you… are f-fucking delicious…" he growls as his hand slips from the back of your neck to curl under your chin and gently lift your head. His faceplate rests softly against your forehead.  "I just… I had to know," he rumbles softly. 

 

After a brief pause, his chuffing, appreciative laugh tickles your ears.  "You can open your eyes, sweet girl."

 

When you do, Din hisses in a sharp breath.   The look that you give him is positively voracious. 

 

Your eager fingers suddenly grasp at the base of his shirt and you insistently tug it upwards. He shifts his weight and releases his hold on you to raise his arms accommodatingly, though the position is a bit awkward. You pull the shirt up over the helmet and off of him, tossing it aside. 

 

Before he can resettle and wrap his arms around you again, your hands splay across his bare chest, the dusting of hair tickling your palms, and you give a hard shove. He's off balance enough that it actually works, and you push him back into the couch. 

 

Din grunts faintly, looking up at you in surprise.  His brows crease beneath the visor, the beskar helmet ticking slightly to one side. 

 

Your hands graze down his torso eagerly, tracing over his lean muscles as your lips part in a soft pant.  You lean into him then, your eyes meeting his through the visor.  Your voice is silken and sultry.

 

"My turn…" you purr.

 

His head ticks to one side uncertainly, until you push back and slide smoothly off of his lap and down onto your knees between his feet.  He inhales sharply, shakily, as he watches you.  

 

You pull off each of his boots, keeping your eyes on that beskar helmet as you do.   Then, pushing up on your knees, you run your hands up his thighs.  Even without looking, your fingers make quick work of opening the front of his pants and you grasp their waistband, along with the boxers underneath.   You arch an eyebrow at Din then, and it only takes him a moment to get the hint.   His narrow hips lift just slightly and you pull his pants and boxers down over his stiff erection and then completely off.   His cock falls thick and heavy against his stomach.

 

Your eyes leave the helmet then to hungrily move down the length of his body, drinking in the sight of him. A swift lick of your tongue across your lips as your gaze dances over his cock has him twitching in reaction and you cast a coy smile up at him. 

 

Din groans softly at the back of his throat when you toss him that look. His entire body is tense in anticipation, his chest rising and falling in quick shallow breaths.

 

Leaning into his thighs, your slender fingers pull his throbbing dick to you.  Your eyes lift to his visor again brazenly as your tongue flattens against the base of his shaft and then you lick up the length of him slowly, tracing over the veiny ridges of his velvety skin.  At the tip, your tongue sweeps over his slit, capturing the gathered precum there and you purr softly. 

 

The strangled sound that comes from his helmet at that first lick isn't quite like any you've heard from him before.  Loud, deliciously depraved, and guttural.  His hips jolt but you manage to keep him in place with your forearms braced on his upper thighs.

 

" Uughhrrr… Maker ," he gasps out, his eyes locked on you.    

 

You flash him a wicked little smile. Then, dipping your head down, you finally draw the swollen tip of his cock into your mouth.  Your tongue sweeps along the underside of him as you take a few inches of him in and hum delightedly at the salty, earthy taste of him. 

 

"Fffuuuck!" he growls when your lips wrap around him, his breaths coming in halted gasps and his hips stuttering.  The helmet thumps against the couch, his head falling back, as he cries out at the pleasure of your soft, warm mouth enveloping him.

 

With your eyes locked on that dark visor, you begin to stroke him with both hands, letting saliva drip down his length from your lips to wet your palms.  Your lips follow the even strokes over him, your cheeks hollowing as you begin to suck.

 

"Gaah… sweet, eager girl…" he moans, lifting his head to watch you again.  "Maker, you're fucking beautiful."

 

You let him slip from your mouth with a wet, lewd pop, just long enough to give a brilliant smile at his praise as it thrills through you, your pussy aching.  Then you're taking him into your mouth again, tongue sweeping and massaging along the underside of his shaft, sucking hard and purring against his silken skin. 

 

His left hand fists the cushion beside him as he groans jaggedly and the fingers of his right hand bury into the locks of your hair.  He doesn't push though, just holds his hand there, as he watches you with more strangled sounds escaping the helmet.

 

You keep stroking him with one hand, your lips pressing down to meet your fingers as you take in as much of him as you can from this angle, until the head of his cock bumps into the back of your throat.  As you groan around him, his cock throbs against your tongue and your other hand slips down to gently cup and massage his balls between your deft fingers. 

 

Din's hips jerk, pushing just a little deeper into your mouth as his body trembles.  He grunts at the very faint graze of your back teeth against his cockhead, and he twitches.  

 

Then, suddenly he does curl his fingers painfully into your hair.  He pulls you almost forcefully off of him with a growl, the pressure of your mouth around him making him feel like he might burst at any instant, until you obediently pull off of him with an indecent slurp.  

 

He holds you there between his knees, with his fingers still tangled in your hair and your hands braced on his thighs.  Your hooded eyes meet his, swollen lips parted to take in shallow breaths.  His dick, glistening with your saliva, twitches again as you slowly trace the tip of your tongue over your lower lip.

 

"Dank Farrik, Sweetling… that was…ugh… kriffing…it felt… " He gives up on finding the right words with a frustrated snarl, tugging a bit at your hair again and growling, "Get up here."

 

You smile as his fingers slip from your hair and you croon a soft, "Yes, Sir." 

 

Slowly, you crawl back up into his lap.  Your tongue darts out across his stomach and chest as you move.  You trace adoringly up one side of the V line from his groin to his left hip.  Then your tongue follows the lines of muscle up his stomach and his chest.  You worship his gorgeous body with your tongue and fingers,  which dance over his skin in the wake of your eager tongue.  You pause to nip at one of his flat nipples, as your breasts pressing against his swollen cock.

 

Finally, Din grows impatient. 

 

His hands grasp your waist and he hauls you the rest of the way up his body, making a brief giggle tumble from you.  He shifts his weight, pulling you with him as he stretches out along the couch to lay back on the cushions with you above him. 

 

Your knees have barely shifted to bracket his narrow hips before he's positioned you above him, his cockhead pressing against the puffy lips of your pussy.  Your slick coats the blazing tip of his cock as his hips lift minutely, pushing him into you a fraction and dragging moans from you both. 

 

Your hands brace against his chest as you straddle him, your eyes dropping eagerly down to the place your bodies meet.  Gasping softly for breath, you lift your eyes to his again and firmly push your hips to his, sinking down onto the length of his shaft.   

 

The stretch of him is exquisite as he fills you,  and your jaw drops a little as you cry out. "Ahh!  Kriff, yes!  Ooohh, that's…s-so good… Diiiinnn..."

 

Din's guttural groan blends with your moan of his name, as your pussy sheaths his cock, smothering him in your wet heat. 

 

"Uurgh… fuck, your tight," he growls, the muscles of his stomach visibly tensing as his hips flex to thrust up, to shove himself just a little deeper into you. 

 

You whimper loudly, licking your lips and digging your nails into his shoulders, just above his collarbones.  Gazing into that dark visor, pupils dilated again to almost consume your irises, you slowly begin to lift your body up and down his length.  Again and again you move above him, your pace gradually increasing as you ride him, rolling your hips with each demanding stroke.

 

Blunt fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your hips, Din meets each of your hard strokes with a sharp jerking thrust of his pelvis.  The lewd sound of skin against skin fills the room as your sweat slicked bodies collide over and over again, mingling with the gasps and moans that escape you both. 

 

"Ohh, fucking stars… uhh…ple-please…," you mewl as your drenched cunt quivers and your whole body trembles, your eyes closing tightly. 

 

"Eyes open," he commands sharply,  breathlessly.  Din waits until you obey to snarl lowly, "Please what?" 

 

He grips you tightly at the base of one of your downward strokes, holding you there to press his hips roughly up into yours.  The coarse hairs at the root of his cock grind over your clit and send a shockwave through your body. 

 

You cry out, your core fluttering around him as you struggle to keep a tentative hold on control over your body.  "Ple-please," your stammer again, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, "Please,  Din… I nee… need to cum."

 

His right hand releases your hip and snaps up to your neck.   He grips you there firmly, fingertips and thumb pressing into the spots below your jaw where your heartbeat hammers beneath your skin.  Pulling you down to him, he presses the hard lines of his helmet against your temple.

 

"Good giiirl," he growls into your ear.  "Lo-love it when you beg."  He throbs within you as you rock your pussy hard over his rigid dick.  "Ye-yes… cum.  Cum on me, Sweetling."  His breath stammers as he feels you clench around him even before the words finish passing his lips.   "That's it!  Yes!   Good, f-ffucking gorgeous girl."

 

White-hot pleasure lances through you as you let go at his words.  Your mouth finds the taut, corded muscle of his neck and you bite, muffling your keen against his skin.  Then, it feels like you're falling as the surge of your orgasm crashes over you, your mind splintering and making you light-headed as you drown in the bliss of it, trembling almost violently. 

 

Breathlessly, you whimper against the side of his helmet.  "Uugh… Di-Diiin… I wa-want to feel you… f-feel you cum inside me…"

 

"Ohh, fuuck," he cries out, raggedly.  

 

With the tight clench of your trembling pussy around him, the sharp sting of your bite, and those pleading words passing your lips, you pull Din over the edge with you.  His hips jerk against yours, pounding his cock up into you as deeply as he can as his climax slams through him. 

 

He pours himself into you.  Warm fluid fills you, mixing with your own and squelching lewdly with his ragged thrusts, seeping out of you and down your inner thighs.  With one final, trembling thrust he grinds into your spongy core and then finally collapses beneath you.

 

You lay there together on the couch for several long minutes, quietly entangled in each other as you try to remember how to breathe again.  His head is tilted back on the couch, arms loosely wrapped around you.   You lay listless against his body, your head on his chest and your eyes closed. 

 

Gradually the haze begins to lift from your mind, even though your body still quivers.  Shakily, you move to fold your hands over one another on his chest and you prop your chin on them.  Your eyes are still hooded with the afterglow of your climax as you look up at him through your lashes.  

 

A few more moments pass before the tiniest tick of Din's helmet lets you know that he's looking down at you.  

 

A soft smirk tugs up the corner of your mouth.

 

He cants his head at you, just barely, in question. 

 

"You know…there's a bed about thirty feet away, right?" you ask, your voice a soft, thick purr.  "We could have made use of an actual bed. "

 

A deep chuckle vibrates in his chest as his fingers lightly and slowly trace lines up and down your back. 

 

"What makes you think I'm done with you for tonight?" he rumbles, heatedly. 

 

Your brows arch sharply, the corner of your lip catching between your teeth. Then you smile slowly, brightly, a soft giggle tumbling past your lips and crinkling your nose.

 

Maker… I'm going to be sore tomorrow…

Notes:

Possible trigger warnings: pain/pleasure mix, spanking, hard dom Din, vaginal fingering, blow job, vaginal sex, hair pulling. I think that's everything.

Chapter 20

Summary:

CW: fluff, drama and a LOT of angst. Dealing with loss and death. If you would like a more detailed warning for possible triggers, please see the notes at the end. I am also updating the story tags.

I am diverging from canon a bit here. I'm sorry. I simply cannot bring myself to write about giant ice spiders. I won't even re-watch that episode. Heebie-jeebies

Tumblr account: Keeshya6

Thank you for reading and giving kudos/comments! I love you all!

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"There's… nothing … that I can do to help?"

 

Din pauses after he secures the second pauldron of his armor, the right one that displays his mudhorn signet.  Looking over at you, he sighs softly. 

 

You're sitting in the center at the head of the bed, knees pulled in under your chin and your arms wrapped around them as you watch him. The thin blankets are tucked up under your arms to cover your still naked skin.   You had covered up like that because this is the second time this morning that you've tried to get a solid answer out of Din on this subject. 

 

The first time, about two hours ago, you'd both gotten…distracted. 

 

Rubbing a hand against the side of his neck, Din shakes his head negatively.  "No, there's not," he answers, though his modulated tone isn't as decisive as his words suggest.  He resumes putting on the last few pieces of his armor and his belt. 

 

Opening your mouth to respond, you hesitate and then close it again, sighing softly and resting your chin on your knees.   "All right," you finally concede. 

 

Gloved hands pause again and he turns his visor to regard you, suspiciously.  "That's it?"

 

Your brows furrow.  "Yes," you say, uncertainly, the pitch rising at the end of the word. 

 

"No questions? No debate? Argument?"

 

You shake your head slightly.  "No."  Then, you quirk a quizzical eyebrow at him.  "Unless, of course, you'd like a debate?  I could definitely make a few points in my favor," you quip. 

 

He chuckles and shakes his head quickly, a finger raised to stop any forthcoming assertions.  "No. Thank you."

 

Smirking, you plunk your chin down on your knees again while he resumes getting ready.   As you watch him strap an almost obnoxious number of weapons to his person, half of which you hadn't even realized he'd brought with him, you can't help as your mind wanders. 

 

The entire town is going to battle with the krayt dragon.  Most of them have no more experience in a fight than you do.  So why can't you be of any help?  Really?  You may not be great with a blaster but you can point and pull the trigger.   How difficult can it really be to hit something the size of a Republic cruiser?

 

Din glances over at you as he finishes securing the last item, a vibroblade, to his belt.  "I can hear those gears turning…"

 

You just scowl at him softly and he chuffs lightly. 

 

Stepping over to the side of the bed, he sits and his visor levels on your face again. "I can't have you there," he says after a moment. 

 

A delicate brow lifts curiously above one eye.  You don't say anything.  Just wait. 

 

"I don't want either of you anywhere near that thing. If you're there… if the kid's there… keeping you two safe will be my priority over anything else."

 

Din lets the implications of that hang in the air between you and, after a moment, you nod softly.  A tiny sigh puffs past your lips. "All right.  We'll stay in town."

 

The last thing you want to be is a distraction. 

 

He leans over and very lightly bumps his helmet against your head.  "Thank you, Sweetling."

 

You exaggerate a wince, rubbing your forehead as if the beskar had thunked a little too hard and wrinkling your nose at him. 

 

Din pinches the side of your hip lightly in response as he stands.  

 

With a surprised eep! , you scoot across the bed, away from that pinch and level a pout his way. 

 

Chuckling, Din shakes his head ruefully as he starts towards the door.

 

" K'oyacyi ," you call after him softly. 

 

He stops in the doorway to look back at you.   "One of these days… soon, Cyar'ika … you're going to tell me why you know that," he says with a smile in his voice. 

 

You smile softly at the most recent addition to your nicknames and you give a gentle nod. 

 

As he disappears into the hallway though, your smile fades and you sigh lightly, fidgeting with your ring.  "And one of these days, I just might be brave enough to tell you," you murmur quietly. 

 

"Kid's awake!" Din calls from down the hall, just before you hear the front door open and then close again. 

 

With a faint laugh and a shake of your head, you shuck off the blankets and go in search of your clothing. 

 

 

The town is way too quiet an hour later.  

 

Everyone has gone off to fight the monstrous krayt dragon and you're feeling more than a little useless.

 

You follow the green skinned foundling as he totters down the street, exploring every little thing that catches his eye.  You let him.   It's not like there's anything better for you to do. 

 

Then, as you draw near to the cantina your brows arch at the sound of voices.  Young voices.

 

Scooping up the kid, you walk into the cantina to find a group of children.  They range from ages of about four to eleven and are of a few different species.  There's nine of them, running around and playing, delightfully oblivious to the danger their parents are likely facing at this very moment.   There is an elderly human woman sitting at one of the tables, watching them as she sorts through items strewn across the tabletop. 

 

The woman looks up at you, a little surprised, until she spots the child in your arms.  He's wiggling excitedly, watching the other little ones as they run around. 

 

"Ah, left behind with the bounty hunter's kid?  Heard he had one.  Wasn't sure I believed it until now," she says in a voice that crackles like dry desert soil.

 

You nod slightly, setting the squirming child down, much to his delight and the excited squeals of the other children.   They crowd around the little green thing eagerly with giggles. 

 

Smiling softly down at the diminutive group for a moment, you turn back to the old woman. Stepping closer, you can see she is sorting through medical supplies from several small boxes.  She doesn't seem to be having an easy time of it though with her twisted, gnarled hands, skin tough as leather from the heat, wind and sand of Tatooine. 

 

"Can I help?" you ask softly.

 

She gives a slow nod, her already wrinkled face gaining a few more lines around her eyes and mouth as she smiles a little.  "That would be wonderful.  My fingers don't work quite like they used to," she says in that gravelly voice. 

 

Returning the soft smile, you take a seat next to her.  "All right.  You supervise," you respond as you grab a box.

 

Her light laugh is just as crackled as her words.  "I always have liked being the boss!"

 

With a laugh, you settle in to help.   

 

There are several boxes of supplies gathered and you try not to think about how great the need for them may be by the end of the day.  With no word from the battle yet, it really could go either way.  It really hasn't been very long yet, though. 

 

It takes a couple of hours or so for you to sort the supplies for the old woman, whose name is Idni.  There's a lot of gauze, wrappings, ointments, gloves, becta strips and even two precious, expensive e-becta syringes.  Those would be saved for the most dire of cases.  Hopefully they won't be needed today. 

 

It takes a while longer than it probably would have otherwise, because Idni chatters at you the entire time, as old women are wont to do.   You smile though, glad for the distraction.   From time to time you also get up to help with the children and to check on the gremlin.

 

Idni, as you were suspecting, is the oldest of the townsfolk.   She's been unofficially dubbed the grandmother to the town's children and was asked to keep an eye on them during the attack today.   She seems quite proud of her honorary title and you smile as she describes giving all the little ones treats on the occasions that she can.  

 

It's well past noon when the first of the villagers begin to trickle back into town.   The news is… dire.  The fight against the beast started a short while ago and it wasn't going well.   These are the first to return due to injuries: a few broken limbs and some seriously caustic burns. 

 

You try not to let worry take hold in your mind and busy yourself in helping the injured.   Anything to keep from obsessing over how Mando is faring.  

 

He knows what he's doing

 

As more of the townsfolk come back, you begin to get a better picture of the battle, at least up until the point where each of them left for medical attention.   

 

A lot of people were lost early in the attack.   The beast had not been blown to bits by the buried explosives like they'd hoped it would be and had used some sort of acidic spray to simply disintegrate many of the villagers and Tuskans.  That explained the caustic burns on those that hadn't been as close. 

 

The most recent man to return tells you that, the last he saw of Mando and Cobb, the two of them had flown up on their jetpacks to a ridge at eye level with the thing and were shooting it with rifles. 

 

Your stomach twists in fear at that and it takes everything in you to give the man a reassuring smile when he winces as you wrap his scalded arm in gauze.

 

Finally, after about another hour, the sound of excited chattering and cheering comes in through the cantina entryway.   A few moments later, the last score of villagers pour into the cantina, talking excitedly and confirming that the beast is dead.  

 

Cobb trudges in at the tail end of the group, looking exhausted but smiling that dashing smile of his.  He spots you and lifts one hand in a wave before going to lean on the cantina bar.

 

You finish helping to set a Zabrak's dislocated shoulder and help him get his arm into a sling.  Then you eagerly head over towards the entrance.

 

Cobb, standing at the bar and sipping at a glass of spotchka, gives you a weary smile.   "Well, we did it.  The beast is dead and the Tuskans are pulling it apart as we speak."

 

Your nose scrunches up a bit at that, but you manage a small smile.   "That's good…"  

 

Your voice trails off though and your smile fades as you realize that no one else is coming through the entryway.  The color drains from your face a bit as you turn to look around the cantina.  Had you just missed him coming in?  Worry lines peak between your brows at the noticeable lack of shiny Beskar in the crowd. 

 

To your side, Cobb chuckles a little.   "He's fine, Darlin'. Went to jump into the fresher at the house.  Got himself covered in dragon gore."

 

Relief floods your features. "Oh!  Good!  Thank you," you say with a grateful smile, reaching over to give his arm a brief squeeze over his sleeve.   

 

Turning, you head back into the busy crowd, looking for anyone else in need of help, after checking on the foundling, who has been happily bouncing on Idni's lap for the last couple of hours. 

 

 

Mando walks into the cantina about thirty minutes later.  He has  changed his armorweave base layers and managed to rinse some of the guts and gore off his armor, though he'd grown impatient and there were still bits stuck here and there. 

 

He immediately spots you and his adoptive son, who's back on your hip now, as you sit and chat with a young man and woman who are talking excitedly. He can't hear what they're saying over the hum of the crowd, but you're listening intently. Spotting him, you pause your conversation just enough to give him a bright, relieved smile and lift a hand in a wave. 

 

Mando nods in return, a bit surprised to find himself smiling back at you even though he knows you can't see it.

 

As you return to your conversation, Mando turns to find Vanth standing at the bar.  Approaching the marshal, he watches as Vanth removes the last piece of Mandalorian armor and places it on the bartop with an almost affectionate pat.

 

"This was well earned," he drawls, smoothly. 

 

"It was my pleasure,"  Mando replies with a nod. 

 

Vanth holds out a hand to the bounty hunter.  "I hope our paths cross again."

 

Mando shakes the offered hand firmly.  "As do I," he says, sincerely. 

 

As they release their grips, Vanth points at the banged up green and brown armor on the bartop.  "Oh, and you tell your people that I wasn't the one tha…"

 

His words are suddenly cut off by the sound of your voice.  It carries over the hum of the crowd, somehow gaining volume.

 

"Wait-wait! Stop! Back up!"

 

Mando's head snaps around to look at you.  You're standing now, gaping at the young man across the table from you. 

 

"He… he did WHAT?!"

 

Next to Mando, Vanth mutters something that sounds oddly like "Uh oh" and grabs his drink off the bar.   Then he takes a wide step to his left, away from Mando, just as you spin to stare at that beskar helmet, your expression a mix of disbelief and rage.

 

"Oh, Dank Farrik ," Mando grumbles to himself. 

 

 

Three days later, the three of you trudge back into Peli's dock, weary and worn.  

 

The trip back should have only taken a day and a half, now that Mando knew the route.   But your trio had been attacked by bandits of some sort on the way.  Mando hadn't had any problem taking care of them, but the speeder had been damaged in the attack and was in pieces.   So, after Mando rigged up a makeshift yoke out of the bike's parts to carry the supplies on his shoulders, and with you carrying the foundling, you both walked the rest of the way. 

 

Once back to the Crest, you practically collapse on the open ramp in the shade and just close your eyes.   The child shimmies out of your grip and toddles down to Peli, who picks him up as she questions Mando about her busted up speeder bike. 

 

Eventually she drops the issue, once Mando pays her for the Crest's repairs and reminds her that he's the one that left the bike with her to begin with.  Then, she informs him that she may have a lead for him on some other Mandalorians and she'll send him a wave, with a finder's fee bill of course, once she has more information. 

 

Mando steps over you to carry the supplies into the Crest, lightly nudging your ass with the toe of his boot on the way by.  You swat harmlessly at his heel and he chuckles thinly as he continues inside. 

 

Peli steps up to stand over you, one hand on a narrow hip, with the other hip and hand occupied by the little goblin.  

 

"Hey." She says your name, nudging you with her boot now. 

 

Your eyes crack open to squint up at her.

 

"Hi, Peli," you squeak out, past sun-dried lips. 

 

Digging into a pocket, she holds out a data chip to you.   "Found those books you were askin' about," she says with a smile. 

 

You pop up at that, taking the offered chip excitedly.   "Oh, thank you, Peli!"

 

She grins, her surprisingly white teeth standing out in contrast to the dark dirt that smudges her features.   Holding the kid out to you, she nods slightly.  "No problem!  Do your homework and the next time ya'll stop in you can show me what you've learned!"

 

You laugh softly, pushing to your feet and taking the child from her.   "I will!"

 

Waving to you, she heads back into her garage as you head into the Crest. 

 

 

"What are you doing?"  

 

The ship had spent the night in dock on Tatooine, Din having decided that you both just needed to get some good rest before worrying about setting off again.  

 

You weren't about to argue with that.  Then you had actually woken up before him.  So, after taking a shower, you found a way to keep yourself busy until he woke up. 

 

You barely glance up from the fresher sink at the sound of his voice, quickly turning your attention back to the pauldron in your hands. 

 

"Washing it," you say with a slight shrug of your shoulders.  

 

You can hear him climbing up off of the bedroll but your focus remains on the well-crafted hunk of metal in your hands. You're scrubbing with a cloth at a particularly stubborn bit of dragon guts and Tatooine dirt that is clinging to the mudhorn signet. 

 

Stepping up to the fresher door, Din watches you for just a moment before his head tilts down to look at the pile of his armor at your feet.  It is all damp and shining again, except the piece you are currently working on. You've obviously been working at them for a while. 

 

The foundling is also at your feet, under the sink, and giggling occasionally as drops of water rain down on his head. Little, three fingered hands pat at the familiar pile of armor as the kid inspects his own reflection in the shiny surfaces. 

 

"You didn't need to do that," Din says, head lifting to look at you again.  "I was going to take care of it."

 

"I know…but now you don't have to," you respond, tossing him a brief smile. "Ah! Yes!" you cheer excitedly, as the last bits of gore and grime finally come loose.

 

Wiping the cloth over the entire pauldron twice, you lift it to the light to inspect it, before turning to Din.  You hold it out to him with a triumphant smile. 

 

"All done!"  You pause and then laugh lightly, a mischievous glint in your eyes.  "Unless you'd like to stick your entire head under the faucet, of course."

 

His deep chuckle rumbles through the modulator.  "No, thanks."

 

As he takes the offered pauldron from you with one hand, the other one catches your hand.  His thumb softly rubs over the thrum of your heartbeat at your wrist as he pulls you closer to him.  

 

"Thank you, Sweetling," he says softly, smiling gently behind the visor. 

 

But then, when he leans in to thump his faceplate against your forehead, as he's done so many times before, you squeak slightly and tug back from him. 

 

His head cants sharply to one side in confusion. 

 

Giggling softly, you wiggle a finger towards him, gesturing vaguely to his helmet, as you shake your head with your nose crinkling at the bridge. "Not until you clean that thing."

 

A growl comes from the helmet and you barely have time for your eyes to widen before his hands grasp your waist and haul you out of the fresher.  When he plants you on your feet on the deck, you expect him to get into the fresher to fix the issue.  

 

Instead, you suddenly find yourself squealing and trying to fend him off as he does his best to nuzzle the offendingly filthy helmet into your chest and stomach, all while insisting in a muffled voice something like " Hold still, woman, I'm trying to clean it like you wanted!"

 

"Not on me!" you yelp, trying to fight off giggles as well as him, swatting and shoving at his shoulders with your hands. 

 

Finally, after stealing a brief squeeze of your butt, he lets you go with a laugh. 

 

You make a face and grumble, trying to use the rag still clutched in your hand to wipe at the grime he has successfully gotten onto your shirt.  Hands dropping down to your sides a moment later, realizing it's hopeless, you turn an exasperated look his way.

 

"Ew," you say, deadpan.  Then you roll your eyes and sigh at him.   "Maker, you are a dope sometimes."

 

Din's deep laugh echoes through the hold. 

 

 

Later that evening, all three of you are in the cockpit, finally ready to leave the desert planet behind.  The kid is strapped in and playing, Din has since showered and all of his armor is clean now, and you changed into a new shirt hours ago.  You've been seriously contemplating burning the old one all day,  while Din was busy finalizing his plans for your next stop. 

 

"Where are we heading anyway?" you ask, as he brings the Crest out of Tatooine's upper atmosphere and heads towards the nearby hyperspace lane. 

 

"Rodia," he says, with faint disdain in his voice. 

 

You arch an eyebrow at him in the reflection of the transparisteel viewport. 

 

"Karga sent coordinates for the Rodian we missed on Somos.  He went home."

 

" To Rodia?" you ask, incredulously.   "That's a bit… obvious, isn't it?"

 

"Yeah, but he'll definitely have the advantage there."  Din shrugs slightly.  "It's only going to be about a day and a half to get there.   Rodia is pretty close."

 

The continued displeasure in his tone has you studying his reflection curiously, as if the hard lines of that beskar helmet are suddenly going to start revealing the nuances of emotion from the face hidden behind it. 

 

"What?" he asks after a few moments. 

 

A faint laugh escapes you.  You hadn't realized you were staring.  "Just… something in your voice.  You don't like Rodia, do you?"

 

The helmet shakes side to side slightly.  "No.   It's… hot and humid.  Mostly swamps.  Which I hate.  Really hoping the bastard sticks to one of the cities."

 

You snicker softly and just nod, falling silent as Din continues to make flight adjustments until finally sending the ship into hyperspace. 

 

Then, after switching on autopilot, Din turns his chair to face the kid.   He leans towards the foundling and holds out the small silver ball from the end of one of the control levers.  The little one trills with excitement, dropping the wooden dewback he was playing with and taking his favorite toy from the bounty hunter's hand. 

 

Watching the little exchange, you can't help but smile again.   There's such a gentleness to Din whenever he's dealing with the kid. It's hard to miss and even harder to not feel like your insides melt a little every time you see it. 

 

Turning to you, Din's gloved fingers drum together between his knees, which his forearms are braced on.   

 

Your chin rests on your knees as you wait, curious.

 

"When we get to Rodia, I want you to come into the city with me.  I think they're even less likely to be upfront with me than on Somos, so I'll need your ears for anything they might be whispering and trying to hide."

 

You smile slowly.  "Like last time? I'll pretend to only speak Basic?"

 

He gives a curt nod. 

 

"Okay!" you agree, eagerly. 

 

Din chuckles softly.  Then he points a leather clad finger at you, growing serious again.   "First sign of trouble: you head straight back to the Crest, no matter what is going on with me."

 

Your lip catches between your teeth for a moment but then you nod sharply.  "Alright. Straight to the Crest."

 

With a faint nod of his own, Din sits back in his chair, his attention turning once again to the kid to watch him play for a few minutes. 

 

Toying absently with the ring on your pinky finger, you shift and tuck your legs under you on the jumpseat. A smile tugs up the corners of your mouth in the comfortable silence that settles over the three of you as you look around the familiar cockpit.

 

It's good to be back here. 

 

You're a little surprised at that thought, to realize you've actually missed the Crest over the last couple of weeks.  The old vessel has definitely grown on you. 

 

When your eyes finally drift back down to your armor clad companion you freeze, finding him watching you. 

 

A few moments pass before you end up arching a brow at him, suddenly nervous from his scrutiny.  "What?"

 

His shoulders raise in a faint shrug.  "Just… wondering what brought on that pretty smile."

 

You laugh softly, blushing a little and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, for no better reason than to have something new to do with your hands. 

 

"Well… I was just surprised that I… kind of missed it here," you admit with a sheepish shrug.  There's a slight tick of his head but, before he can respond, you continue hurriedly, looking past him and out the viewport at the hyperspace lights. "I mean, if someone had told me… eighteen months ago… that I was going to end up bonded on a bounty hunter's ship?  I would have thought they were insane."

 

Din studies you for a moment and then chuckles lightly.  "Makes sense.  You were expecting to be… what? Wining and dining dignitaries?"

 

The bridge of your nose scrunches up a little in distaste but your laughter is genuine in response.  "Yeah.  Something like that, at least."  One of your shoulders lifts into another shrug.  "It's what I was born and raised for, after all."

 

He smiles thinly behind the visor, leaning back comfortably in his chair and stretching his feet out to brace against the frame of the cockpit door next to you, one booted ankle crossed over the other. His fingers interlace and rest on his stomach. 

 

"Is that what you wanted?" he asks. 

 

You blink at the unexpected question, your brows furrowing a little.  "'Wanted'?  No… I suppose not.  I never really thought about what I… wanted ."  Again, you shrug.  "It's just the path that was before me."

 

Din gives you a slight nod in acknowledgement.

 

After a moment, you give a wry laugh and gesture to the cockpit around you both.   "Is this what you wanted?"

 

He considers that for a few breaths.   "For the most part," he says.  "I was raised in the Mandalorian Fighting Corps but I always did work better alone."  His helmet tips up and to the side a bit as he looks around the cockpit too.  "A soldier's life didn't suit me."

 

Your lips quirk up into a smirk.  "Issues with authority?"

 

He cocks his head at you slowly, perplexed. 

 

You giggle softly, shrugging with your palms turned upward.  "What? You're on the run from the Empire. It's a logical leap."

 

A faint chuff escapes the helmet and then he shrugs again.  "I can take orders.  I just…prefer to handle those orders on my own and in my own way, if possible."

 

You give him a soft smile. "Somehow, I'm not surprised."

 

Both of you chuckle a little at that, but then Din sees the humor slowly leave your eyes, replaced by curiosity. 

 

"What now?" he asks with a hint of amusement. 

 

"It's common for Mandalorians to become bounty hunters?"

 

"It was once," Din answers after a moment of thought.  "But after the purge… well, there just aren't enough of us anymore to say it's 'common'."  He pauses when your brows knit together in surprise. "Why did you think it was?"

 

Now it's your turn to consider your answer. "Well, I suppose because it didn't seem likely for two Mandalorian bounty hunters to visit Sardecia if that wasn't the case," you answer with a shrug. "It's not like we were a common stopping point for organized crime or anything," you add with a wry laugh. 

 

The way that Din's head cants in confusion has you arching a brow at him again. 

 

"'Two'?" he asks skeptically.  "What do you mean 'two'?"

 

"I mean the number after one," you quip, earning you a jab in the thigh from his booted toe.  You squeak slightly and then giggle, rubbing at the spot.  "What else could I mean? There was another Mandalorian bounty hunter that visited Sardecia a while back."

 

With a smirk he says, "Seems unlikely."  Then, he chuffs at your indignant scowl.  "When?"

 

You nibble at your lip in thought.  "About… six years ago now, maybe six and a half."

 

Din's chuckle rumbles softly from his chest.  "Sweetling… that was me."

 

Your reaction isn't exactly what Din is expecting.   You go very still and all emotion simply disappears from your face, even from your eyes for a moment. 

 

"What?" you ask slowly, your voice suddenly sounding hollow.

 

His helmet ticks to the side again, this time in concern.  When he answers the humor is gone from his voice too, as he studies the expressionless features of your normally animated face.  He responds cautiously, "I was on Sardecia six years ago.  Hunting a quarry.  That's…why I thought of it last year, with the kid. "

 

You blink at him, slowly, and then your eyes gradually drag away from his helmet and lower to your hands in your lap. 

 

"That… no.  No.  That…couldn't have been you," you whisper numbly, and so softly that he almost doesn't hear it. 

 

Din watches you closely, his position still casual with his feet propped up on the door frame.  Everything in him is tense now though, with unease tugging at the edge of his mind, warning him to tread carefully. 

 

"It's unlikely there was a different Mandalorian there," he says.  "Especially around the same time that I was."

 

When your eyes raise to meet his then, Din frowns behind the opaque visor.  The blank expression that was on your face is gone, replaced by an uncertainty unlike any he's seen in your eyes before. 

 

You swallow, fighting a dryness in your throat.  "It-it was you… in the park that day?"

 

Din exhales softly as his feet gently drop to the floor. He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he watches you. Slowly, he nods.  "In the capital city… Kaiylar," he confirms.  "Quarry went there to wait for me, after visiting his mother. That's why he wanted to go to Sardecia…before jail."

 

Your lips press together hard then as you softly nod at his confirmation, your anxiousness obviously increasing. 

 

"Sweetling…" he says, his baritone voice coming softly through the modulator. He resists the urge to reach out to you.  Right now he'd swear you're like a scared ash-rabbit, about to dash away if he gets any closer.  "What am I missing here?  We didn't meet that day… I'd remember."

 

There is the faintest movement of your head, side to side, as you shake it negatively.  "No," you whisper, your voice on the edge of cracking, like fragile porcelain, " We didn't meet that day."

 

Din scowls again, studying you as he considers the emphasis you put on that first word.  "Someone else at the park?"

 

You nod slightly again, swallowing hard.  You know that you could just tell him.  Jog his memory.  But part of you wants to hear him say it, if it's true, to hear it confirmed that he was the Mandalorian you were told about all those years ago. 

 

He looks down in thought, just for a breath, and then he straightens sharply.  

 

"The little girl?"

 

A strangled sound passes your lips, half gasp and half sob.  You close your eyes, head tilting down as a tear slips through your lashes and carves its way down your cheek.  It follows the angle of your jaw before dripping off of your chin to land on your clasped hands. 

 

There it is.  The confirmation you aren't sure if you actually wanted to hear or not.  Does it really matter that it was him?  Somehow, it feels like it does, but you're not sure why. 

 

" My … little girl," you finally choke out.  You open your eyes to stare down at your hands again, twisting the ring on your pinky. 

 

Din goes still for a moment, feeling like a blade is shoved into his gut at the devastation in your voice and the shine of tears in your downcast eyes. 

 

"Your…daughter," he says softly, more a statement than a question. 

 

His eyes involuntarily slip down your frame, stopping at your lower stomach as he remembers the very faint, surgical scar across your belly.  He's never pressed you about it, as you seemed to want to avoid the subject when he'd first shown curiosity. And, after all, he hasn't explained his own numerous scars to you either.  He looks back up to your face. 

 

"Saisha," you whisper with a nod as another tear tumbles over your lashes onto your other cheek. "My little girl's name… was Saisha."

 

His head slants slightly as Din searches his memory of that afternoon on Sardecia.  "She introduced herself as… Sai," he recalls.

 

You blink a few times, more tears spilling over. Swiping the back of your hand across your cheeks, you swallow against the dryness in your throat and look up at him again finally. 

 

"She… she told you her name was Sai?"

 

The helmet ticks downward once in a quick nod. 

 

Licking your lips a little, your gaze shifts to look past his shoulder, out the viewport and at the passing hyperspace lights.

 

"I suppose…I-I shouldn't be surprised," you say, voice shaking.  A thin, sad smile tugs up the corners of your mouth.  "She told that t-to people she liked.  And she definitely liked you."

 

Again, his head cants a bit.  "She did?" he asks in quiet surprise. 

 

You sniff against the tears and nod, looking back at him.  "Without a doubt," you say.  "Do you know how to tell if a six year old likes someone?" He shakes his head slightly and you smile softly.  "By their drawings.  For… months after that day, I received… almost exclusively… terrible little drawings of a Mandalorian."  You give an emotional, soft huff of a laugh.  "And over those months…she made me upload every book, story…hell, even sagas and poems…that we could find about Mandalorians.  There wasn't much… but she devoured them."  You stare at him for a moment, biting your lip.  "You… fascinated her."

 

Din swallows hard at that, finding himself fighting a bit of a lump in his throat.  Then, his helmet tips down towards the floor for a moment and he chuffs a quiet laugh through the modulator, almost sounding embarrassed.

 

Your lips press together then in a thin smile, before your brows peak in confusion for a moment.  "Was your armor different back then? Brown?" you ask softly. 

 

Din nods, looking back up at you just from the edge of his visor.  "Most of it was.  Upgraded just a few weeks before you and I met."

 

Another sad smile tugs at your lips and you nod slightly. "Saisha would have liked the upgrade.  She told me…" You take a deep, steadying breath. "Told me her favorite part was the shiny helmet."

 

Another faint chuff escapes through his modulator. 

 

Your head drops back then against the jump seat and you close your eyes, sighing softly as you grow quiet and lose yourself in memories.  Memories that you haven't allowed yourself to think about in…so very long.  That soft, sad smile continues to dance across your lips, despite the tears escaping the corners of your eyes.

 

Din just watches you, recognizing your need for quiet.  He's glad at the moment for his helmet, knowing that his face would probably be giving away his every thought right now.  One moment he's smiling softly, thinking of the curious young girl and the almost never-ending questions she'd asked him that day.  Then he scowls, his chest feeling like it's in a vice as he watches the pained expressions that flit across your face in brief moments.  He knows that he's missing details.  He's also guessing at what some of those details are and dreading that his guesses may be correct.  

 

After a few minutes of silence, a light, halting laugh escapes you.  "By the way, for a little while… you were not a Mandalorian, according to Saisha."  Your lids barely crack open and you look at him from the corner of your eye without moving your head.

 

His head cocks, just like you knew it would. 

 

"Oh?  What was I?"

 

"A 'Mandoorin'," you say with a tiny snicker. 

 

There's a long, stunned pause, and then he laughs.

 

You smile a little brighter, closing your eyes again and sniffing softly as you shake your head. "I was so confused when I saw her that night.  I couldn't figure out what the hell a Mandoorin was." You nibble at your lip and smile softly at the memory.  "It took about a week for me to get her to pronounce it correctly."

 

Din chuckles thinly and gives a rueful shake of his head. 

 

A look of realization crosses your face then and you give a strained laugh.  "You know, it's ironic really."  Din's helmet cants again and you give him a wry smirk.  "You've asked how I happened to learn some Mando'a. I've been… conveniently able to avoid answering because it meant talking about her, and I wasn't ready to," you admit.  "But it turns out… all this time… it was because of you ."

 

He pauses, staring for a moment before tilting his head back against his seat and giving a wry chuckle of his own.  "Small galaxy," he muses softly. 

 

A quiet minute passes again, the silence between you only broken by the soft contented murmuring of the child as he plays.  

 

Then, as another tear slips down your cheek, you smile lightly.  "Thank you…" you say softly.

 

His confusion shows in the angle of his helmet.  "For what, Sweetling?"

 

You lick your lips slowly as you consider how to word your answer. "For… She told me the 'Mandoorin' was…nice," you say with that faint smile still in place,  your voice thick with emotion.  "Most adults brushed off her questioning after the first couple.  They didn't…have the patience for all of her curiosity.  You did.  So… thank you." 

 

Din nods slowly, absently rubbing his hand at the side of his neck.  "Of… of course," he says, still never really comfortable with receiving gratitude, even from you. 

 

You look over at the foundling on the other jump seat then.   He's been watching you both periodically between playing with his toys, his big eyes curious and his ears tilted down slightly.

 

"You do have a soft spot for kids, don't you… 'Mandoorin'?" you ask, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. 

 

His helmet twists slightly towards you in what you've come to recognize as slightly warning, but then he chuckles softly.  

 

"Don't let it get out."

 

You smile softly.

 

"Wouldn't dream of it."

 

About then the little goblin starts to whine, looking back and forth between the two of you.

 

"Bed time," you and Din both say at the same time and then pause before chuckling together softly. 

 

You unfold yourself from the chair and step over to the kid's seat, tapping his tiny nose, caressing a big ear and humming softly to soothe him.  Then you unstrap him and pick him up.  As you do, Din slips past you and drops down into the cargo hold, waiting at the base of the ladder.  You carry the toddler over and hand him down to his adoptive father, before you climb down. Immediately, Din hands the child back to you and the little one snuggles into your chest as you hum softly, swaying with him as you slowly walk around the small hold.

 

Din leans a shoulder against the wall by the ladder, watching you as you lull his child to sleep and considering the things he's learned about you in the last hour.

 

Some questions have definitely been answered, but others have followed in their wake.  He debates with himself, trying to decide if he should ask those questions or not. 

 

As you tuck the goblin into his hammock, about ten minutes later, Din takes in a deep breath, exhaling slowly.  

 

You hear the air hiss past the helmet's filters and pause briefly as you close the sleeping rack door.  Slowly, you turn to face him, and the angle of his helmet and the set of his shoulders tell you what's likely coming. 

 

"You… have questions," you state, softly. 

 

Din sighs again lightly, but he nods in confirmation.  "Yeah."  He pauses and then shakes his head negatively, saying gently, "We don't have to though, Cyar'ika… "

 

Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth for a moment as you consider.   

 

You can guess what some of the questions will likely be.   Do you really want to answer them now?  Then again, do you really want to answer them later?

 

Sighing, you decide it's better to just get through as much at once as you can.  

 

With a hard swallow,  you nod slightly and gesture to the bedroll.  

 

Both moving over to it, Din takes a moment to remove his gloves, cowl and cape, tossing them onto the crates.  Then, he sits on the foam roll with his back up against the bulkhead wall.  You settle down beside him and then snuggle into his side when he lifts his arm to offer the space.  Your head rests against the cool metal of his cuirass and your hand lays on the padding over his abdomen.  His arm wraps around your shoulders, firm and supportive. 

 

With a shaky breath you suddenly realize just how much you need this closeness right now.  Especially with the topic looming before you. 

 

You're both quiet for a bit, as if each contemplating how to proceed.   

 

Reaching over with his free hand, Din takes hold of yours. He turns it just slightly, so his calloused thumb can gently brush over the thin, twisted bands of silver that make up the ill-fitting ring on your pinky. 

 

"Hers?" he asks simply. 

 

Catching the corner of your lip in your teeth, you nod slightly against his armored chest.  "Yes.  It was… one of her favorites," you respond softly, watching as his hand dwarfs yours.

 

"I'm… guessing she's not just waiting for you, back on Sardecia?" 

 

Your shoulders shake minutely as you bite back a silent sob, closing your eyes against the fresh sting of tears.  "No," you breathe out.

 

Din just nods in response.  He slips the hand at your shoulder up to gently curl against your neck, his fingers resting tenderly against the beat of your heart.  His thumb rubs up and down the back of your neck, along the top of your spine. 

 

It takes a minute or so for you to find your voice again, and when you do it is taut and fragile. 

 

"It was… five years ago," you say. "My hu…" You pause for a moment and Din's hand stills on your neck.  Your lip curls a bit in a sneer to yourself before you start the sentence over, bitterness joining the strained tones.  "Her father… decided, while I was away with my patents, that th-the tail end of a… Galactic wide war, was the perfect time to ta-take my daughter to meet her uncle."  You take a deep, shaking breath.  "He lived on Gerrenthum."

 

You can feel Din tense slightly against you.  "'Gerrenthum'?" he repeats. "In the Anoat Sector… five years ago?"

 

Swallowing against the lump forming in your throat, you barely nod. 

 

" Dank Farrik ," he growls softly.  "He took her right into the Iron Blockade?"

 

You nod again. 

 

The Iron Blockade had been a section of space around the Anoat Sector that remnants of the Empire had cut off in the year following the Emperor's death.  They'd been trying desperately to keep the planets within the area's different systems under their control.  It had led to many skirmishes and full out battles with the freshly forming New Republic, until the sector was freed.

 

Of course, that had been months after your shukking idiot of a husband -a term you used very loosely on the rare occasion that you thought about him- had decided to travel to the area. 

 

Din's hand that is holding yours curls around your smaller hand gently.  You can feel his chest rise as he takes a deep breath and you steel yourself for the question that you know is coming. 

 

"What happened, Sweetling?"

 

Even knowing it was coming doesn't make thinking about those days any easier though.  A soft, crying whimper passes your lips, your body jerking slightly in his arms as a new wave of tears fills your eyes, blurring your vision.  

 

"They… they came out of hyperspace… ri- right in the middle of a… dog fight," you choke out.   "Axi… he wasn't a fighter pilot.  Kriff, he was barely a pilot…" You sniff as the fresh tears cascade over your lashes and down your cheeks. "Probably didn't e-even know how to turn on the shields."

 

Cursing softly under his breath, Din releases your hand, only so he can gather you closer.  He pulls you up onto his lap and notches your head under his chin, arms wrapping around you as he tries to give you as much connection as he can.  

 

Your fingers curl into the edges of his armor, clinging desperately to the solidness of him and the safety of his arms.  The story tumbles out of you now like a Hoth avalanche.

 

"The um… the 'authorities'," the word passes your lips with obvious contempt, "told me that a stray bolt… hit their transport alm…almost as soon as it came out of hyperspace."  You bite your trembling lip for a moment.  "They co-couldn't even confirm which side shot it.  But… it was just… gone ," you murmur, gasping out the last word. 

 

Squeezing you tightly with one arm, Din slips his other hand up over your hair, pressing his palm against your head and holding you to him. "Kriff…I'm so sorry, Sweetling," he rasps quietly, voice strained and jaw clenched. 

 

You try to catch your breath, but you can't seem to past the tears.   "One idiot," you whisper bitterly, "and one misplaced shot… changed everything that I was.  With one bolt… I was no longer a mother.  No longer a…"  You stop short then, hesitating. 

 

Din stills beneath you, but his hold on you remains firm.   After a moment, he asks softly, "A wife?" 

 

Biting at your lip again, you barely nod. You can feel him take a deep, slightly stuttering breath then, and you swallow hard.  

 

But then he gives you another firm squeeze.  "It's alright, Cyar'ika ," he assures you gently.  "I never did ask."

 

You sigh shakily, releasing your death grip on his armor to move your arms around his torso as best as you can from your position across his lap.  You tuck your head softly against his neck as you say quietly, "He… W-we were never close. But, if… if it was still a factor in my life… I would have told you."

 

"I know."

 

His quiet confidence and support seem to break something in you then.  Your frame trembles in his arms as soft sobs slip past your dry lips.  Finding the strength to deny them is getting harder.

 

Din renews his hold on you, hands splaying across your body.   His baritone voice murmurs to you softly, soothingly, against your hair.  "Don't fight it, Sweetling.  I'm here… I'm not going anywhere.  You're safe.  Let it out."

 

And just like that, the dam, which you hadn't even realized you'd been holding back for five years, simply crumbles. 

 

 

A while later, Din gently lowers your shivering body onto the bedroll, on your side, careful not to wake you.  He moves away briefly, only long enough to remove his armor.  Then he lays down behind you, pulling your thin blanket over you and carefully curling his body around yours, as if he can shield you from your grief stricken memories. Even in your sleep, you still whimper softly and he has no doubt your dreams are haunted right now. 

 

His jaw aches from clenching his teeth as he'd listened to your story, a mix of anger, sadness and confusion digging like claws into him.  

 

You were a mother.  You had been married. 

 

And the man that had played a role in both circumstances had taken both away from you. 

 

Din's gut churns with anger for your loss. He can't find it in himself to give a damn about your lost spouse, and from the little you said about the man Din is fairly sure that none of your tears are for him anyway.

 

But watching you cry for your child, Din felt every wrenching sob constrict in his chest.

 

Criminals? Thugs? Storm Troopers?  Slavers? Any of those, he could fight for your sake and would, in an instant.  He doesn't know how to fight a memory though.

 

He doesn't think he's ever felt so helpless as he did while holding you, until you finally cried yourself to sleep.  Not since the day of his parents' death anyway, when they lowered him into a cellar just before a droid bomb killed them. And he'd only been about ten years old then. 

 

With a heavy sigh he realizes that he's angry at himself, too, for that pang of jealousy he felt when you had confirmed being married.  Well, being a widow.  Din has always known he can be a bit over protective of people close to him.  With you, he knows that he's even downright possessive at times. 

 

But what right did he have to be jealous of a dead man?

 

A dead man that you had been married to and had a child with.  

 

Din's jaw clenches again, painfully, and he forces himself to take a few steadying breaths as he watches your shoulders rise and fall with your own breaths. 

 

You're here now.  Here with him. 

 

What that means, or could mean, he's not sure.  And at the moment he doesn't know if he can come up with an answer that actually makes sense, so he pushes those contemplations aside, for now. 

 

As a fresh tremble courses through you, Din's arms tighten around you gently, trying to offer comfort in your sleep. But he feels you take a deep breath and then sigh softly.  

 

He lifts his head to look at your face, which is turned away from him.  Your eyes are open again, staring at the bulkhead, though he can tell you're not really seeing it. Carefully he lifts a hand to softly brush a few strands of hair away from your damp cheek.

 

"I'm sorry if I woke you," he says softly,  hoarsely.

 

You shake your head a little.  "You didn't."

 

Gradually you blink, your eyes coming back into focus on your surroundings.   Shifting in his arms, just enough to twist slightly, you look up at him over your shoulder.  Your eyes, a bit red and still shining from the tears, slowly move over the faceplate of his helmet, as if studying him or seeing him for the first time. Then you meet his eyes through that dark visor and a small, sad smile curves up your lips. 

 

"I'm glad it was you," you whisper, your voice cracking tenuously. 

 

Din swallows hard, and you can see it without his cowl on.  His hand at your waist squeezes just a little harder as his head tilts.  "You are?"

 

Your lower lip trembles faintly as you nod. You run the tip of your tongue over it and then press your lips together for a moment in an attempt to stop the shaking. 

 

"I'm glad… you got to meet her.   And that she got to meet you," you whisper, breathlessly.  

 

His eyes search your face for a few heartbeats, and then he smiles faintly.  Tipping his helmet forward, he rests the top of the faceplate against your forehead gently. "So am I," he rumbles, tenderly. 

 

Smiling, you turn more in his arms, slowly, careful not to break the connection with his helmet as you do.  Your arms slip around him and for a few quiet moments you just gaze up into the reflections of the visor that fills your vision. 

 

Then, your eyes close and you let out a soft sigh, the steadiest breath you've managed all night, as you settle into his arms. 

Notes:

Possible trigger warning: discussions of the death of a child

Chapter 21

Summary:

We've got some fluff. We've got some drama. We've got a little violence. We've got more angst.

It's a pretty long one too...

Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos!
I live for them, I love them!

I hope you enjoy!

 

Tumblr username: Keeshya6

Chapter Text

Rodia is…ugly, you decide. 

 

You'll never tell the inhabitants that, of course, but the swamp covered planet is far from pretty in your estimation.  With muddy and muted shades of green and brown making up the majority of the landscape, even in the water, there's not much to look at that doesn't seem kind of sickly to you. 

 

As you step off of the ship's boarding ramp into one of the planet's domed cities, you can't help agreeing with Din's assessment from yesterday.  Hot and humid, he had said.  Really, it is like walking into a wet sponge.  

 

Din steps down next to you, the foundling's closed crib hovering behind him.  As he does, you make a face of displeasure, jaw dropping and tongue out as if in a pant at the heat.

 

"Bleh…"

 

A chuffing laugh passes the helmet's modulator.  "I warned you."

 

You laugh softly too, your nose scrunching up in continued distaste. Pausing, with a teasing smile, you let your eyes dart down the length of him.  "You're not going to… keel over on me from heat exhaustion in all of that, are you?"

 

Smirking behind that unreadable visor, he reaches over and pinches your side in response.  "No, you brat, I'll be fine."

 

You eep! at the tickling pinch, but when you try to jump away he catches you around the waist and hauls you closer.  He pinches at your waist a few more times and you giggle, pushing at his chest in vain to escape him. When he finally stops and just holds you there against him, you pout up at his helmet as you work to catch your breath.

 

The pout would probably be more effective if your shoulders weren't still shaking slightly with suppressed laughter. 

 

Din grins as he watches your endeavor to look up at him disapprovingly. It's a relief, seeing the humor in your eyes again and hearing you laugh.  He hasn't quite been able to figure out how you're feeling since last night, not really having a chance to check in with you as he piloted the last leg of the trip.  So, all day he's felt the need to be careful, even delicate with you… and delicate isn't exactly his area of expertise. 

 

Still, relieved as he is to see you smiling, he grows serious as he looks down at you, hidden eyes searching your face.  He can tell the moment you notice, because the laughter fades and your head cants up at him curiously, along with one of those trim eyebrows raising. 

 

"Are you feeling up to this?" he asks. 

 

Your eyes narrow up at him for a moment, before you smile softly in realization and nod.  Both hands lift to rest on his biceps and you push up onto your toes to lightly bump your head against his helmet. With the height difference though, you end up doing so below the center of the visor, drawing a chuckle out of him. 

 

"Yes," you say, smiling at his concern. "I'm not a porcelain doll, D-..."  You stop, lips pressing together as you glance around the space port.  No one is very close, but still. Looking back up at him, you smile again. "... Mando. I'm fine.  And… I think, having something else to focus on will be good for me anyway," you finish with a shrug. 

 

Another smile pulls at his mouth.  He had never actually asked you to not use his real name in public. He had intended to, but the first time the situation came up he was pleased to find that you had come to the realization on your own.  Your recognition of the value he places on his privacy, that you know him that well, and seeing you catch yourself here before saying his name, spreads a warmth across his chest that he can't quite explain. 

 

Mando nods, giving your waist a squeeze before releasing you.  Reaching into a pocket of his belt, he holds out a small, familiar device. 

 

"In case we get separated," he says. 

 

A soft frown forms on your face as you reach up to take the offered comlink.  You fit it into your ear, even as you grumble under your breath about it being a "Traitorous, little, bantha dung machine…"

 

Mando's laugh is loud as he leads you away from the closing Razor Crest and you briefly stick your tongue out at the back of his head.

 

 

The streets of the Rodian city make you a little dizzy at first, because they are high above a swamp.  The structures are all built on top of tall columns, joined by intersecting bridge-streets.  Vines and moss climb up the stone columns and would almost make them pretty, if not for that muddy tinge to them. 

 

Stepping back from the first edge, you pause for a moment until the dizzy spell passes.  You're not usually prone to vertigo, but you really hadn't been expecting to see such a drop below you.  Blinking a few times, you take a deep breath and jog to catch up with Mando and the kid's floating crib. 

 

"So… what did this quarry do?" you ask as you walk alongside him. 

 

He glances your way as he leads you down one main road and then turns onto another.  "Grand larceny.  Stole a star yacht and then jumped bail."

 

You nod slightly, following him off the main road onto a smaller one, and then another.   "Is he dangerous?"

 

He stops in front of a door to a small dwelling, tiny really.   Glancing back over at you, his head cocks to the side incredulously.   " Cyar'ika , do you really think I'd bring either of you along if he was?" he asks as he pushes the foundling's pod over to you.

 

A soft smile tugs at your lips and you shrug, taking hold of the floating crib.  "Maybe not… but I know you wouldn't let anything happen to us, either way."

 

For a moment he just looks at you and you think he might be smiling behind that unreadable metal.  After a few heartbeats, he just nods slightly and turns his focus back to the task at hand.

 

As he moves towards the door it suddenly slides open and he takes a quick step back, his blaster appearing in his hand.   When nothing else happens, he gestures for you to stay outside as he steps through the doorway. 

 

Tense moments pass, for you at least, until you hear Mando's voice through the entryway. 

 

"It's clear."

 

You hesitate before stepping into the diminutive dwelling, pushing the pod ahead of you.  

 

The house feels even more cramped on the inside.  One room, possibly smaller than the cargo hold aboard the Razor Crest, appears to serve as kitchen, dining room and bedroom, filled with a mixed mess of items from all three.  There's a little fresher off to one side.  And that's it.  

 

Mando positively dominates the tiny house just with his presence. 

 

He's leaning into the fresher, moving a few items around before stepping back out into the main space. He crosses his arms casually, visor leveling on you.  After some consideration, his head cants to one side. 

 

"What do you see?"  There's genuine curiosity in his voice, along with a touch of amusement. 

 

You blink a few times, caught off guard.  "Oh. Well… I wasn't exactly expecting to play detective," you quip at him, earning a chuff in response, "but okay."  Your face screws up with determination as you release the kid's crib and turn a slow circle to examine the room again. 

 

Mando smiles as he watches you through the visor. 

 

After about a minute, you shrug as you turn back to him.  "In my very… unprofessional… opinion, this seems like a dead-end."

 

A chuff escapes him.  "Oh?"

 

You roll your eyes at him, certain that he's already come to the same conclusion.   Probably much faster than you did. 

 

"Yes… there's dust everywhere, and the air is stale," you say, your nose crinkling a bit.  "That door probably hadn't been opened in weeks."

 

He studies you for a moment before smirking and nodding. "Good job," he says, heading towards the door. 

 

You try not to be too proud of that. 

 

As he moves past you, you catch his arm and he pauses, helmet turning down your way. 

 

"What did I miss?" At the tilt of his head, you sigh at him with an eyebrow lifted again.  "Come on… you started this.   What did I miss?"

 

Mando shrugs.  "Nothing you could have known."

 

You still don't release his arm, or let that incredulous look leave your face. 

 

Chuckling softly, he lifts up the bounty's fob. He turns it on and scrolls the holo past the Rodian's image, to the profile description beneath, and then holds it up for you. 

 

It takes you a moment to find the relevant line and then you sigh, letting go of Mando's arm.  "'Known to be fastidious'," you say, looking around the messy room.   "He didn't do this."

 

"No," Mando says, nudging you to follow him out, the pod trailing behind.  He points at the door's control module as he passes it.   "Controls had also been shorted out. That's why it opened like it did.  Someone ransacked the place weeks ago… probably when they heard he was on the run.   Easy target for petty thieves."

 

You lean down to look at the control panel, noting several small scratch marks, before following him back into the street.  "So…you knew it was a dead end even before you went in."

 

He nods as he starts towards the main roads again and you fall into step beside him. "Wasn't really expecting him to just be sitting at home," he responds. "But I was hoping something would narrow it down."

 

Nodding a bit, you chew at your lip in thought.  "So what's next?"

 

"Hit the market.  Ask around."  There's a pause as he considers something.  "I'll circle around and go in on the opposite side from you, so we can cover more ground."

 

"What if they're only speaking Rodian near you?"

 

Mando thinks on that for a breath.  "I'll catch a recording of anything that looks suspicious.  Play it back for you later if we don't find anything else."

 

You nod.  "All right."

 

For a few minutes, you both fall silent as you walk.   Then you glance at him curiously.  "Is this what you typically end up doing on these hunts?" you question.  "I was honestly expecting more… I don't know… door breaking, chase scenes… blaster shots…. less investigator noir." 

 

Mando chuffs softly at that.  "Each hunt is different," he says with a shrug. "Though the door breaking ones are a bit more fun."

 

You shake your head, laughing at him softly.   

 

 

You pick your way through the market a short while later, enjoying the sharp contrast of the vendor filled square compared to the rest of the city.  Hell, the rest of the planet as far as you can tell. 

 

Here, there is color everywhere!  Any color you could imagine.  Reds, blues, yellows and purples dominate the spaces between the buildings, as awnings above the vendor stalls or as vibrant clothing worn by the vendors themselves to draw the attention of customers.  

 

And the smells!  Sweet pastry scents. The aroma of savory, spicy meat. Floral candles.  The tart smell of citrus fruit.  They all waft together deliciously in the air and manage to dull the planet's natural damp scent.

 

It all rings of a familiarity that you can't quite put your finger on though.  Sardecia didn't have these types of markets, at least none that you'd ever visited. 

 

Then, as realization dawns, you look across the square to where Mando stands, talking to a pair of young Rodians, the foundling's pod hovering at his elbow.  They're at least 150 feet away, surrounded by vibrant colors.  There is also a plethora of people between you, mostly Rodians with a few other races here or there, but Mando still manages to stand out in the crowd.

 

You smile softly as you watch him for a moment before going back to perusing vendors' wares, and listening to the conversations around you.   Many of them happen to be about the Mandalorian, but mostly they are comments on his armor and wondering how many credits he might have to spend today.  Nothing useful. 

 

The next time you glance his way, Mando is walking with the crowd again, parallel to you.  He pauses now and then to show the bounty puck holo to someone before continuing on. 

 

You reach up to your ear, lightly pressing the call button, as you pause to idly admire some merchandise.  A moment later and his baritone voice fills your ear. 

 

"Got something?"

 

You hesitate, realizing this probably should have waited.  "Umm…well, no.  Sorry, it can wait."

 

There's a slight chuff over the comm. "Too late.  What is it?"

 

Nibbling your lip, you glance his way again and, even though he's facing to your left and appears to be talking to a vendor, you can feel his eyes on you. 

 

"I… I just realized that I never…" You pause, swallowing hard and then smiling to a food vendor that offers you some fruit, which you politely decline.  You continue past the stall.  "I don't think I ever thanked you," you continue, your hands fidgeting, "for getting me off of Nar Shaddaa.  So… thank you."

 

There's a long silence over the comlink and you bite your lip again softly, daring another glance his way. 

 

He's talking to a few different Rodians, before beginning to move again.  When he speaks over the comm, his voice sounds strained.  "Uh, you don't need to…."  He pauses again briefly.  "You're welcome. What…brought that on?"

 

You resist the urge to gesture at your surroundings, since he's not next to you and it would look a bit odd to anyone else.  "This place.   It reminds me of the market on the surface of Nar Shaddaa, when you brought me up…"

 

"Ah," is all he says and you just smile softly to yourself. 

 

A few awkward moments of silence pass before you hazard another look towards him.    He's watching you again and your lips press together, one side quirking upward.

 

"Back to work over there, Mandalorian," you tease, breaking the tension.  "Keep staring and people might actually start to notice me."

 

That gets a reaction and you can see the sharp tilt of his head, even from this distance, as he resumes moving through the crowd. 

 

"Oh, really?"

 

You snicker softly.  "Yes.  Really."

 

"Keep bossing like that, Sweetling, and you're liable to get yourself in trouble again."

 

"Oh, promises, promises," you purr, earning a faint growl over the comm before he cuts the call off and you try not to giggle too loudly. 

 

 

About another half an hour passes before you call Mando again. 

 

"Yeah?"

 

He sounds hesitant, like he's half expecting more cheek from you. It makes you smirk and tempts you to give a bit of sass in response, but you decide better of it.

 

"I've got something.  I'm taking the east exit and heading towards the ship."

 

"On our way." 

 

You take your time weaving back through the vendors, smiling sweetly when one catches your eye and politely declining their offers.   Once you make it out of the market, you keep a leisurely pace back towards the docks, until Mando and the floating pod catch up to you. 

 

He falls into step beside you easily, shortening his naturally longer strides to do so. 

 

You toss him a smile, waiting for a group of Rodians and one human to pass by before speaking. 

 

"One of the meat merchants is his uncle," you say softly.  "His wife came over while I was nearby to tell him that the Mandalorian is after his nephew. So, he sent her to call him…and tell him not to leave the Stornekk swamp for the Jhekk forest just yet.  They'll let him know once it's safe."

 

Mando doesn't respond at first but finally sighs and mumbles, "Dank Farrik… knew I was going to end up out in a Maker-damned swamp."

 

You snicker. 

 

He reaches over to you then, pausing to pull you closer and lightly thump your head with his.  "You did great,  Sweetling.   Probably saved me two days of interrogations."  He gives your waist a squeeze before releasing you to continue on to the docks. "Let's get to the Crest.  I'll take us closer to the Stornekk before heading out."

 

This time, you let yourself preen a little with pride as you follow. 

 

 

"Maker, take this damn planet, it is boring!  And… take… take this, too!" you holler into the quiet as you chuck the datapad down onto the bedroll.  You had seriously considered throwing it across the hold, against the bulkhead wall, but decided against it at the last moment, opting for the softer foam that won't break it.  It does bounce though and then lands face down next to you. 

 

With a heavy sigh, you flop backwards onto the bedroll, throwing your arm across your eyes.   

 

A moment later, tiny three-fingered hands pat at that arm, poking you with pin-prick claws.

 

You open one eye and lower your arm a smidge, just enough to look up at the foundling as he stands on the bed above your head.  He looks very concerned at your outburst, big eyes wide and big ears dipping towards his shoulders. 

 

Laughing thinly, you reach up to pat the top of his wrinkled, green head. "It's okay…"

 

He tilts his head, very much like his father does when he's curious,  and it makes you laugh a bit more. 

 

"It's just the… manual for this boat," you explain, though you're pretty sure he won't actually understand.  "You know, I speak six languages?  Six!  Did you know that?  And that thing…" you jab a finger towards the datapad, "...is complete gibberish!"

 

The little gremlin smiles at your exasperation and plants his tiny hands on your forehead.  He leans down, looking very seriously into your eyes, from upside down, and proceeds to babble at you for about a minute straight. 

 

When he finally stops, you burst out laughing and reach up to tap his nose.  "Yes!  That!  Gibberish, just like that."

 

You reach down to grab the discarded datapad, fumbling for a moment because you're not actually using your eyes.  Once you find it, you hold it up to the kid, ignoring the fact that it's upside down to him.   

 

"Would you care to translate?"

 

He taps little claws on the screen, trilling and gabbering incessantly as the blue light illuminates his cherub face. 

 

"See?  That's what I thought!"

 

Your laughter echos in the hold as you play along with the little guy for a while, glad for the entertainment in what has been a fairly dull three days, ever since Din disappeared into the swamp after his quarry.

 

The comlink, which has been sitting on a crate for days, as silent as the void of space, chirps twice. 

 

"Oh!" Your forehead nearly smacks the kid as you drop the datapad back down onto the bedroll and leap up. "Sorry!" you cringe at him, as you grab the comm and stuff it into your ear, pressing the button. 

 

"Razor Crest: you kill 'em, we chill 'em!" you answer, trying your best to sound serious.  Maker, extended bouts of boredom really do bring out the worst in you.  

 

There's a long, drawn out pause on the other end of the line, before Mando's gruff voice breaks the silence. 

 

"Incoming.  Five minutes."

 

The line goes dead. 

 

You blink in surprise, the smile vanishing from your face.   

 

"All right," you mumble with a shrug, looking down at the child.  "I guess it wasn't funny."

 

Walking over to the bed, you scoop up the kid and his toys.  You kiss his forehead and tap his nose, telling him to be good as you put him into the sleeping rack and close the door behind him.   Then you move to your bedroll.  You fold it over on itself, towards the wall, opening up the pathway to the carbonite frames from the boarding ramp.  Lastly, you settle yourself on top of one of the crates and wait.

 

Only a couple more minutes pass before the boarding ramp gives a protesting groan and begins to open.  A wave of humidity and heat fill the space and you grimace.

 

Should have tucked myself into the rack with the kid.  Yuck, that's gross. 

 

A moment after the ramp sets down, Mando trudges up it, dragging a pale turquoise skinned Rodian behind him in manacles.  The Rodian stumbles at the lip of the entrance and Mando yanks him along, towards the carbonite frames.

 

Mando looks…miserable.   Well, technically he doesn't look much different.  Muddy, yes.  Definitely.  Otherwise he's still a statue of well-crafted beskar though. 

 

But there's something in the way he walks through the hold, and in the set of his shoulders.  He's tired.  Understandable after three days of hunting, in which time he probably didn't get any sleep, but still, there's more to it than that and you're not quite sure what.  

 

Pulling the Rodian forward, Mando reaches a hand out to the controls on the empty carbonite frame.  He punches a few buttons and the machine gives a loud, deep beep.  An error. His leather glove creaks as he balls his free hand into a fist for a moment and then tries to enter the code again. 

 

Another loud dissenting beep.

 

Your head tilts a little in concern as you watch him struggle with the controls.  "Would you… like some help?" you ask softly. 

 

"No!" he snaps at you over one smudged up shoulder.  

 

You flinch, scowling at him.  

 

Behind him, the Rodian glances back and forth between you two for a moment. He stops to study you, head canting when he spots the tattoo on your neck.  He nods slightly, then looks back to the bounty hunter before looking down at his cuffed hands. 

 

"Just wait, girl," the quarry mumbles to himself, in Rodian, "you won't have to put up with that much longer."

 

Your eyes widen and you shift nervously on top of the crate. 

 

"Mando…" you say with a warning tone. 

 

"No," he says again, turning to jab an orange, leather-clad finger at you.  "Shut up. I'm busy," he snarls, and then turns back to the frame. 

 

Brows pinching together, you gape at him. 

 

What the hell? you mouth silently. 

 

The Rodian gives a watery sounding chuckle and then nods at you, almost conspiratorially.  

 

Fear suddenly grips at your chest, digging in, washing over you.  Your eyes dart back and forth between the fumbling bounty hunter and his all-too-calm quarry.  Your jaw clenches tightly, lips pressed together, as your debate with yourself over what to do. 

 

He gave you an order.  An order.  He doesn't do that often.  And you've given him your word that you will follow those rare orders. 

 

But every moment that passes, watching him uncharacteristically botch entering a code you know he's used hundreds of times before, you struggle to keep that promise. 

 

Because something is very wrong. 

 

You're just about to give in to your struggle, lips parting to speak up again, when Mando spins towards you again.  He teeters a bit as he does.

 

"Did you…do something to this?" he demands, his voice thin and uneven as he points at the frame.

 

You shake your head quickly.  "No. Mando…what is…"

 

He cuts you off, barking, "Then, why isn't it…!  is it…"  

 

His voice falters, almost unintelligible, as he shakes his head slightly. 

 

"Sw…Sweetling…?"

 

And he collapses to the deck like a felled tree.

 

A startled cry rips past your lips at the same time that the Rodian gives an excited whoop.  

 

The sound dies in your throat as you stare down at Mando's still form,  laying on his side.  You remain perched atop the crate, frozen in shock.

 

The Rodian, however, does not have that problem.  He steps right up beside Mando and leans down, searching the bounty hunter's belt as he talks to himself in his native language.

 

"That took long enough.  Jeez.  He's a big guy though.  Guess it's not too surprising…"

 

He finds the keys to the manacles and frees himself, dropping the manacles to the deck with a clang and rubbing his wrists.  His hands run up and over the leathery, pebbled skin on his head, his saucer-esque antennas twitching.  Bulbous black eyes turn to you and his snout pulls into a smile.

 

"Serves the nerf-herder, right, hm?" he says, giving a watery laugh again and looking down at Mando. 

 

All the while you just stare.  Your throat feels tight and air is proving difficult to pull in.   The edges of your vision start to darken as you fight to find your breath.  Your mind is a jumble and you can't seem to grasp onto one coherent thought to ground you, not even the simplest one that you need of Move.

 

And then the Rodian mumbles "I wonder…" and leans down, reaching for the beskar helmet. 

 

That does the trick. 

 

The yell that escapes you then isn't even coherent as you leap off the crate and shove the unsuspecting Rodian away.  He stumbles back, his heel catching on the edge of your folded bedroll and he falls over it, flailing.

 

You crouch down at Din's side, pushing him onto his back and digging your hand beneath his cowl.  Your fingers find the pulse point beneath the curve of his jaw and you nearly cry out in relief at finding a heartbeat, even though it is far too rapid.

 

Pushing aside your fear then, you glance back at the Rodian, a snarl curling your lips. 

 

Sputtering indignantly, the  Rodian crawls off the pile of your bed and pushes to his feet.  He spins back towards you, and freezes.

 

You stand between him and Mando now, the pistol that was on the bounty hunter's hip gripped in your hand.  It's leveled at the Rodian's right, compound eye. 

 

His hands slowly raise upwards. 

 

"What…did you do?" you hiss at him. 

 

"Nothing… I didn't do anything…" he responds hesitantly. 

 

"Don't lie to me," you growl. 

 

"I'm not!  I swear!  I didn't do anything to him."

 

Eyes narrowing at him, you try to think clearly, your breaths shallow.  Then your eyes drop to his hands and arms, held up between you in the universal symbol of surrender. 

 

A thought dawns on you and you swallow hard, your stomach gripped in a new fear. 

 

What if I can't turn it off again?

 

With a brief glance back at Din, you shove that fear aside too. You spin back to the Rodian and snarl, stepping closer. Before he can react, your free hand reaches out to grasp his wrist.

 

You lean in, snarling again.  "What did you do?"

 

"Nothing!"

 

You let your mind open as he answers, reaching for the Force for the first time in months. It feels like a stutter within your nervous system at first, disjointed.  But then it coalesces into a feeling of warmth, pulsing from your connection to the Rodian. 

 

You nearly laugh in relief that it works the way it's supposed to.   But that urge dies immediately when you realize it also means he's telling the truth. 

 

Your brows pull together into a hard scowl as you look at him. Sometimes, picking the right question is the key.

 

"All right. What happened to him then?" you clarify. 

 

The Rodian gives an exasperated sigh. "I don't know!"

 

This time, pulses of cold sluice up your arm.

 

"You're lying," you snarl.

 

His bulbous eyes widen for a moment,  but then he gives another sigh, throwing up his free arm.

 

"Why do you care, woman?  Isn't he your owner?  Give it a little time and you'll be free of him!"

 

Fear threatens to drown you at hearing that but you stamp it down.  Instead, you lower the pistol and pull the trigger, scorching the deck beside his right foot.

 

A squeal of shock comes from the Rodian as he hops on one foot for a moment with you still gripping his arm. He looks down at his unmarred foot and then back up at you in disbelief.  

 

"You shot at me!  Even he didn't shoot at me!" he gasps, pointing at the prone bounty hunter. 

 

You glare into his black eyes. "I have more incentive," you say, a little too calmly.

 

His big eyes blink at you a few times before he hangs his head slightly, sighing to himself. "Maker, why did I have to end up with the one slave owner in the galaxy with a slave that's fallen for him and isn't happy to be free?"

 

You start at that, your brows shooting up.  "What?!  No!  I… you…"  you sputter, and then just choose to ignore it as you can't figure out a good response to such a ridiculous statement.  You lift the blaster to level on his chest again.  "What happened?!" you snap in his face. 

 

He is looking at you in shock at finally realizing that you understand his language.  And then he cringes, pulling back from the blaster but not out of your hold. 

 

"Okay!  Okay!  He… he got stung by a Gavscorp on the way here!" he says, and warmth pulses up your arm. 

 

Good.   Now we're getting somewhere. You glare at him.  "What is that and what does that mean?"

 

He shrugs slowly, almost sheepishly.  "Um… big, nasty bug with ten legs and a stinger on its tail." He hesitates to continue until you aim the barrel of the gun pointedly at his shoulder. "Victims pass out… get a raging fever and then… die?"

 

You freeze for a moment, breathing heavily as warmth seeps up your arm from his. 

 

No…

 

Taking a deep breath, you snarl, "How do I stop it?"

 

"Will… will you let me go if I tell you?"

 

You lean your face closer to his.  "I won't shoot you… before freezing you in carbonite.  How about that?"

 

Normally, you know that you're not an intimidating person.  But holding a blaster and having conviction in your eyes seems to do wonders to change that in this case as the Rodian sags a bit.   You also know that you're lucky the Rodian is just a petty criminal and not someone more inclined to violence.

 

"All right," he sighs.  "First, you…you have to get the stinger out.  It breaks off in the victim and will keep poisoning him."  To your relief, warmth moves up your arm as he speaks.  "By then, he'll probably have the fever and it'll… basically, slowly cook his brain.  So, to stop that, you'll have to get him completely cooled down before seizures start.  Then, keep him cool until the fever breaks. If small seizures start, you have a little time.  Maybe two hours or so.  If big ones start though… well, there's really nothing to do except say goodbye at that point."

 

When he falls silent, you take a shaking breath.  "Okay…" you jab the barrel of the gun at him.  "Get in the frame," you point at the carbonite frame Mando had been trying to use earlier. 

 

"Oh, come on!" he protests.

 

Out of patience, you snarl slightly as you look down, lower the gun again and pull the trigger.  The red bolt of energy does strike the Rodian's foot this time, going through, and scorches the deck beneath it. 

 

He howls in pain, stumbling back.  You grab the front of his shirt and use his lack of balance against him, shoving him into the frame.  He's not much taller than you and he's skinny, so he's surprisingly easy for you to push into place.

 

Once again you are very glad that he's the quarry you're having to deal with, rather than something like a competent killer. 

 

You enter the sequence to start up the carbonite freezer, pausing before pressing the last button. 

 

Your eyes narrow as you shove the barrel of the pistol into his ribs, drawing his attention away from the searing pain in his foot.

 

"I swear, to the Maker," you snarl, "if he dies, I will unthaw your lizardy hide and gut you myself."  

 

He sputters at you, compound eyes widening. "Bu-but they want me alive!"

 

"I'm not the bounty hunter," you retort, leaning in as you glower at him. "I. Don't. Care."  

 

The quarry gapes at you. 

 

Your hand hovers near the freezer's controls.  Then, instead, you reach out to grasp his forearm once more.  "Did you leave anything out?"

 

The Rodian's head shakes rapidly as he stammers a "No" and warmth pulses up into your arm. 

 

"Good."  

 

Releasing him, you punch the final button on the carbonite freezer, hoping you remembered the sequence correctly from watching Mando. It whines for a moment and then hisses loudly to life, cutting off the Rodian's final attempt to reason with you.

 

Barely pausing to make sure he's frozen, you rush out from between the hanging frames and it takes you a moment to find Din's still body in the mist left by the machine.  Falling to your knees at his side, and dropping the pistol to the deck floor, your fingers dig under the back of his neck to tug his cowl and cloak loose.  You let them fall beneath him as you frantically press your fingers to the side of his neck again.

 

His pulse bounds rapidly against your fingertips, bringing you a shred of relief at knowing he's still alive.  You also know the speed of his heartbeat isn't a good thing, nor is the fact that he's warmer than usual to the touch.   But at least he has a pulse.  One worry at a time. 

 

You lean down to press your forehead against the top of his faceplate, your eyes searching the opaque visor.  "Din?"  You pause.  "Din, if you can hear me… hold on… please.  I'm going to fix this."

 

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself as you sit back on your heels, you sort through what you need to do in your head, creating mental bullet points to guide you.   

 

Remove armor. Remove clothing.  Find the stinger. Remove the stinger. You cringe at that thought but move on.  Treat the wound.  Lower body temperature before seizures start.  Keep him cool until the fever breaks. 

 

With another calming breath, you set to work. 

 

You pull off his bandolier and belt first.  Both are awkward to maneuver past the armor on his slack frame.  Next, his boots.  Then, magnetic clasps unlock as your fingertips find their releases beneath each piece of armor; first the thigh guards, then the vambraces and pauldrons. You toss each piece aside with less care than you would normally.  

 

When you finally remove the cuirass from Din's chest, casting it and the padding beneath it away, a soft plunking sound makes you pause. Looking down at the floor between his side and your knees, you find a small, clear plastic bag. It must have been from between the armor and padding, or perhaps the padding and his shirt. 

 

Picking it up, your breath catches in your chest, eyes widening a little.

 

"How…?" you whisper. 

 

"You do lovely work," you had told the little, elderly Rodian woman at the market three days ago.  She had chittered in pleasure at the compliment, pointing out several pieces that she thought would best compliment your 'odd human coloring'.  The comment made you smile in amusement but you nodded, examining the recommended pieces. 

 

When you picked up the last one, your jaw went a little slack in awe. The necklace was beautiful and delicate.  It was a single teardrop shaped pendant made of a deep purple stone, with thin rivulets of silver snaking through it.  An intricate web-like weave of silver wire hugged the top third of the stone and a simple silver chain held it from the teardrop point.  

 

Seeing your awe, the little saleswoman had tried to convince you to buy it.  Of course, you didn't have any credits. She just clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she took the necklace back from you and turned her attention to paying customers.  You couldn't blame her. 

 

Your eyes dart down to Din's unmoving helmet and then back to the necklace in the small bag.  Biting your lip, you shake your head slightly, your brows peaking.  "You weren't… anywhere near me," you whisper.  "How did you…?"

 

You stop, mid-sentence, shaking your head harder. "Now's not the time," you remind yourself, setting the bag aside. 

 

Removing his armorweave clothing proves to be more difficult than you expected.  It seems that any other time you've 'done the work' to strip Din of his clothes it was even more helpful than you realized, not just preferable, that he was awake.  Even if all he did to help was slightly shift his weight. Peeling his pants down his inert legs is trouble enough but pulling his shirt off the deadweight of his torso, arms and up over the helmet is practically a workout. 

 

Once you finally have him stripped down to just the helmet and base layer shorts, you sit for a moment to catch your breath with his head on your lap. 

 

You give a shuddering sigh, looking down at him and swallowing against a lump in your throat. 

 

"O-okay," you rasp. "Where's the stinger?"

 

Carefully lowering Din's head to the floor, you move to lean over him from the side again.   Starting at his shoulders, you glide your hands down his arms, one at a time.  You inspect his skin by sight and touch, turning his arms this way and that way under the cargo hold's lights.  Then you move to his torso… his hips… his thighs… his shins.  

 

Stuttering breaths escape you the longer the search takes and you press your dry lips together.  It feels like hours have passed as you look for the damned thing.  You hold back the burn of frustrated tears that threaten to cloud your vision.   

 

Where is it?! your thoughts scream, but you don't dare to let it pass your lips, as if vocalizing the question will cause the thing to hide itself even more.   But then… There!   A faintly raised ridge of flesh at the top of his left calf, just below the crook of his knee.  That has to be it!

 

Sighing with relief, you release his leg and slide back up to his side near his waist.  Your hands grasp at his thigh, just below the hip, and at his shoulder.  You pause for a moment, looking down at his terrifyingly still helmet.  

 

You'd give anything at that moment for it to tilt at you in that familiar, and sometimes annoyingly cocky, way of his. 

 

It takes a couple tries, but you manage to push him over to lay half on his side and half on his stomach, giving you easier access to the back of his leg.  Scrambling to your feet, you rush over to the first aid kit on the wall and pull down the whole thing, dropping it onto the floor and then kneeling down again between it and Din. 

 

You lean over his leg, carefully running your hand up his calf again to find the raised spot.   There's a small puncture in his tan skin, just at the top of the ridge created by the broken stinger.  It doesn't appear to go very deep and your sigh softly in relief at that.   At least you won't have to go digging into his flesh too much. 

 

Throwing open the lid of the kit, you pull out becta strips, bandages, gauze, sterilizing alcohol, and tweezers.  You pause at the portable cauterizer, biting your lip.  After a moment's consideration, you leave that in the kit.  Hopefully, the becta strips will be enough and you won't need that. 

 

Leaning over to the pile of his gear, you pull a knife from his belt.   Then you sit cross legged next to his calf, pouring a bit of the alcohol over the blade and then over the tweezers as you consider the spot below his knee.   

 

"Okay… okay," you murmur to yourself, "you can do this.  Shallow cut… only enough to pull it out.  Just like a splinter…"  You pause, jaw clenching.  "I hope."

 

Steeling yourself, you glance up to Din's helmet and whisper an apology before you focus on bringing the tip of the knife against his skin. 

 

Several minutes, and a larger cut than you'd hoped for, later and you're finally able to draw the black stinger out of the muscle of Din's calf with the tweezers.  There are barbs along the stinger that forced you to cut more than you'd hoped.  You couldn't just pull it out without shredding the skin and muscle around it.  A clean, carefully placed incision seemed like the better option, as much as you hated doing it.  Luckily the stinger had entered his skin at an angle, rather than straight in.  The deepest part of the cut had ended up only about half an inch in, but the cut was at least three inches long. It made you feel ill, having to cut into him like that, despite being as careful as you could.

 

Pressing a clean bandage over the bleeding, you hold the stinger up to the light with the tweezers to examine it.  It's nearly four inches long and wider at one end.  The wider end is jagged, from breaking free of the Gravscorp's tail, no doubt.  The narrow end is hollow, like a hypodermic needle.  

 

As you watch, a drop of clear venom begins to bead at the tip of it.  You quickly press the stinger into one of the used bandages at your side, careful to avoid jostling the venom free before it is wrapped up.   

 

A few minutes later and you are cleaning up the mess of medical supply wrappers, carefully throwing them and the maker-damned stinger away into the disposal unit.  You would have left the clean up until later if not for that stinger.  With the way things are going, you'd end up stepping on it and paralyzing yourself right next to Din. 

 

With his calf wrapped in becta strips and bandages, you gently pull him onto his back again.  You lean in to press your ear to his chest, to listen to his heart.  It's still beating rapidly.  You only listen for a moment though before hissing and pulling back, looking down at him, wide eyed. 

 

You've been so focused on removing the stinger, and treating the resulting wound, that you hadn't noticed just how much his body temperature has already spiked.  His chest feels searing hot to the touch and a sheen of sweat glistens across his golden skin. 

 

"Fuck," you mumble, "Fuck-fuck-fuck…"  Panic grips at your chest and your breaths come shallowly as your mind turns into a jumbled mess.

 

You brace your hands on the deck beside Din's shoulder, squeezing your eyes closed and dropping your head down between your arms.  Making yourself take deep breaths, you try to force a calm into your mind before it overwhelms you.  

 

No time to panic now.  Calm down.  Din needs you.  Calm down.  You can… fall apart later.  Calm!  Down!

 

Heaving a breath, your swallow hard and shove that panic into a corner of your mind, locking it away for the moment.   Compartmentalizing has always been something you could do, for good or bad.  So… you'll deal with the panic later. 

 

Pushing to your feet, you look down at Din, your lips pressed together as you take a couple more steadying breaths.  You force your focus back to your guiding list. 

 

Armor, clothes, stinger, wound. All done.  Now… I need to lower his temperature and keep it down. 

 

Worrying at your lip, you consider your options.  Short of freezing him in one of his own carbonite frames, which you're not sure would actually work even if it was a serious option, you can only think of one possible way to cool him down.  You step over him to the fresher door and reach in to turn on the cold water.

 

As you turn back to him, you pause. "Oh, kriff… the kid," you mumble. You can't forget to take care of his kid during all this.  Especially with not knowing how long this could take. 

 

You step over to a supply crate quickly, grabbing a ration bar, and then back across the hold to the sleeping rack.  The door opens with a hiss and big, brown eyes look up at you in concern from just inside the compartment.  The kid's bat-wing ears droop downward as he peeks past you, immediately focusing on his father's prone form.  

 

Pressing a hand gently to his tummy, you keep the foundling from climbing out of the rack.   You set the ration bar down on the sleeping pad and gently move the kid farther from the door. 

 

"Stay here," you tell him.  "I'll take care of him. I promise."

 

The child coos up at you, his little green face gaining extra creases with his concern. 

 

You give him a smile, hoping it's reassuring, as you close the rack's door.  Then, your rush back over to Din.

 

With deep breaths to prepare yourself, you hook your arms under his armpits and lift.  An oof escapes you at the effort and you're barely able to lift his torso half off the deck.  His skin feels like fire against yours. 

 

You grunt as you start to drag him towards the fresher.  "You know," you wheeze, chuckling softly to yourself, "normally I really… really appreciate all those… muscles..."  You pause at the door to the fresher, to catch your breath and to steel yourself for the cold water.  "But, Maker, you are heavy."

 

With a heave, you pull him up into the fresher, and gasp loudly as the cold water hits your back.   Gritting your teeth, you gather as much strength as you can and drag him the rest of the way inside, finally bumping into the back wall.  It's like ice through your wet shirt and you hiss.  Blinking water out of your eyes, you slide down into the corner and tug Din's limp body up just a bit higher.  Then you let him fall back against you. 

 

Your thighs bracket his ribs as you hold him beneath the steady, cool stream, his helmet resting back against the front of your shoulder.  Breathing heavily, you watch as currents if water travel down the hard edges of that helmet and the lines of muscle over his torso.  With how hot he feels against your chest and thighs, you were half expecting to see the water steaming off of his skin.

 

With a thin, wry laugh at yourself, you shake your head and close your eyes.  Then, your head leans back against the wall. 

 

"Now… I guess we just wait," you whisper, the words lost in the hissing of the shower and the hum of the water reclamation unit as it kicks on near the nose of the ship. 

 

 

You sit with him like that, soaked through to the bone, as minutes turn into hours which slowly creep by.  The fresher's automated timer clicks off several times, and each time you shift his weight against you so you can reach up to turn it back on. 

 

As the second -or perhaps it's the third- hour passes, fear begins to gnaw at the edges of your calm.

 

Why am I not freezing? you wonder.

 

You should be.  After sitting beneath that cool spray for hours, you should be so cold that your teeth ought to be chattering.  But you're only mildly uncomfortable. 

 

Your eyes widen as you look down at Din.  Heat is still radiating off of his skin and you realize that he's actually been keeping you warm beneath the cold spray.  In fact, he may be even warmer than when you first pulled him into the fresher, but it was so gradual that you hadn't noticed.

 

The water isn't working.  At best, it is slowing the fever down, but not cooling him. 

 

As if to confirm your suspicions, the first wave of tremors make their way through his body. 

 

The shaking is minimal but it works through him quickly until his entire body is trembling against you.  It's so minor, from deep within him, that you might not have even noticed if you weren't holding him. 

 

"No-no-no-no!" you gasp, biting back a sob and holding him tightly until it passes, about twenty seconds later. 

 

The sob escapes you then as your eyes squeeze shut and you thump your head back against the fresher wall in frustration, twice. 

 

"Think!" you order yourself, desperately trying to replay the Rodian's words through your memory. 

 

"You have to get the stinger out, or it'll keep poisoning him."  Did that.  "It's like the fever slowly cooks the brain.  So, you have to get him completely cooled down and keep him cooled down until the fever breaks. If the little seizures start, you don't have much time.  If big ones start… well, there's nothing to do except say goodbye."

 

Another sob comes out of you as you remember those last words.  But then you grit your teeth and shake your head. 

 

"No!  That's… not happening!" you growl.   Your hand wraps around the top of Din's helmet and you press your forehead against the side of it, eyes closed tightly.  "Ple-please, fight, Din," you plead. "You stubborn Mandalorian, please…"

 

When your eyes open, met with their own reflection in that shiny beskar, you go still.

 

"Cooks the brain," the Rodian had said. "Get him completely cooled down…"

 

"Dank Farrik," you whisper. "It's in his head…"

 

You pull your head back from his and stare for a moment at that cold, hard helmet.  Brows pinching into a peak, you can feel panic gripping at your chest like a vice, your breaths turning shallow once again.

 

With the helmet on, you cannot get him cooled down enough to break the fever. 

 

With the helmet on. 

 

"Fuck…" you whimper, "Oh, kriff…"

 

The fresher gives a chunking sound and shuts off again.  You go to reach for the controls but then stop.  It's no use to start it up again if it's doing no good.  Staring at the helmet that rests on your shoulder, you barely manage to keep from sobbing again as your mind desperately claws for options. 

 

Can you even consider it?  Really?

 

Hands trembling, you reach up to the edge of his helmet.  Fingertips search, and find, the release for the seal.  But then you pause, your stomach twisting up painfully, and you rest your forehead against the beskar again, eyes screwed shut.

 

Din's Creed means everything to him!  He lives by it with more conviction than you've seen in anyone else throughout your entire life.  Hell, you just prevented that sniveling little Rodian from removing his helmet a few hours ago because you knew that would be a breach of his Creed. 

 

And now… you're going to remove it?

 

Your hands drop from the helmet to his shoulders as tears blur your vision and streak down your cheeks.

 

"I d-don't know what to do…" you whisper against the cold, unforgiving metal, your breath ragged and condensing on it.  "Din, I can't… I don't want to lose you too…"

 

Opening your eyes, you stare again into the reflection as you dig into your memory for every conversation the two of you have had about his helmet and his Creed.  There haven't been many.  You've purposefully tried not to pry.  But now you pluck at each little comment you can think of, every mention or action he's made that has anything to do with the kriffing thing.  Anything that might show you another option. 

 

You inhale sharply, going still for a moment again as a memory flits through your mind, creating an idea. 

 

Could that…work?

 

Pulling your head back, you look over his helmet again and then let out a shaking breath.  

 

"Maker, I hope so..."

 

Only hesitating for another moment, you tip your head down to press a kiss against the fevered skin of his shoulder.  

 

"I'll be right back."

 

Shimmying your way out from under him, and carefully laying his shoulders and head back against the wall, you step over him and out into the hold.  Your arms wrap around your torso as the cold finally hits you and sends a shiver down your spine. 

 

Chewing at your lip, you move to pick up the knife you had discarded earlier, after using it on Din's calf.  Then, you consider your clothing and shake your head dismissively.   The weave isn't nearly tight enough and the pale tan is too light.   

 

Darting over to the small drawer where the rest of your clothing is, you pull it open.  None of those will work either though, you immediately realize. They are all made of a similar material to what you are wearing now.  You dismiss the idea of digging out one of Din's shirts.  Most of them are armorweave and made with the express purpose of being difficult to penetrate, much less cut. 

 

Pressing your lips together, you kick at your bedroll as you try to think, battling with the growing panic that pounds at the door you keep shoving it behind in your mind. 

 

"Oh!" you gasp, dashing back to the drawer of your clothing.  You yank the drawer open further  to get to the back of it and you pull too hard, sending the drawer clattering onto the floor along with all of its contents.  With an angry groan, you toss aside shirts and pants until you find the item you want.  It had been buried in the back of the drawer, of no use to you anymore. 

 

Your mother's black dress. 

 

After only a second of hesitation, you bring the knife up to the seam between the shoulder and one long sleeve of the gown.  The sharp blade cuts through the material easily and the rest of the dress drops back down to the ground. 

 

"Sorry, Ma'ma," you mumble, as you hold the severed sleeve up to your eyes and tilt your head up towards the cargo hold lights.  You can see a vague outline of the lights through the cloth.  

 

Puffing out a frustrated breath, you snatch up the dress again and cut the other sleeve free.   Then you hold both sleeves over your eyes and look up again. 

 

Nothing.  Not a single shred of light gets through the material of both sleeves.  

 

Sighing with relief, you lower the cloth and then move to slip Din's knife into its sheath on his belt.  Before moving back into the fresher, you peek in at the child.  

 

Thank the Maker, he's asleep.

 

Stepping up to the fresher door, you look down at Din's still form again and make yourself take several slow, steadying breaths.  Your eyes drag down to the cloth draped in your fist and you bite your lip so hard that you taste copper from breaking the skin. 

 

Fear grips at you, your chest constricting as you consider the chance you're about to take.  You're praying, to whoever might listen, that there is a loophole here…and that you're not about to break every thread of trust that this man has in you.  You can barely breathe at the thought that you might, very possibly, be wrong.

 

When… you convince yourself it is when and not if… he wakes up and discovers what you've done, you can only hope he'll still trust you.  Hope that he'll ever look at you the same way again, rather than avoid looking at you all together. 

 

There's only a sliver of hope in you; one you can barely hold on to as it quavers inside you, and as dread settles into your stomach like a gaping pit, ready to swallow you whole. 

 

Your abused lip shudders as fresh tears sting your eyes while you pick your way over his body.  You pull at his shoulders and slip back down into the corner behind him. 

 

Swallowing hard and orienting yourself to the fresher controls, you take a deep breath.  Shaking hands lift the black sleeves to your eyes.  You tie them carefully behind your head, adjusting the knot a few times to make sure it's secure, and then shifting the cloth so it covers from the tip of your nose up nearly to your hair line.  You press your hand against the makeshift blindfold, testing if it moves easily.   It doesn't. 

 

With another deep breath, your hands move to the edge of Din's helmet again.  They're still trembling as you press the release and the seal hisses.  Then, you gently lift the helmet free.   

 

"Please, don't hate me…" you choke out.  

 

After an unsure second, you toss the helmet towards the entrance to the fresher as carefully as you can.  You don't know how sensitive the internal parts are to water, so you figure it's best to get it away from the spray.  You hear it clatter against the deck and roll a bit, making you wince.

 

As the fresher hisses back to life a moment later, you shiver against the contrasting feeling of his searing heat and the cold water that hits your head and shoulders.  

 

Nibbling at the corner of your lip, you place your hand on his shoulder.  Then you slowly move it up to the back of his neck and, after a brief hesitation, over his hair.  

 

Wavy hair.   Softer than you were expecting.  

 

Your hand trembles as it moves over the dampening locks and then you press your hand gently against the top of his forehead.  You hold him there, beneath the spray, head back against your shoulder. His breaths are shallow and it is several moments before it dawns on you that you can hear each one now. 

 

It takes every bit of your self control then to not brush your fingertips downward, over the details of his face, as if you could paint yourself a mental image of him through touch. 

 

No.

 

You feel like you're standing on the edge of a sword as it is, with his helmet off and several feet away.  If, by some miracle, you've managed not to break his vow tonight, you're not going to take the chance that having even an idea of what he looks like could tip the scales back the other direction. 

 

So, you sit with him, still as possible, and touching as little of his head as you can.  Only when the fresher needs to be turned back on do you move.  

 

Your mind wanders as you sit there, holding him against you.  Dread continues to claw at you and you're unable to keep yourself from considering all the things you are risking. 

 

Will you ever hear a kind word from him again after this?  Or his laugh?  Will he tease you again?  Hold you or touch you?  Trust you... ever again?  

 

How long might it take him to seriously consider selling your contract once he wakes up?

 

And why does every question that burns through your mind feel like a knife digging into your heart?

 

A silent sob shakes your shoulders beneath him as your head tips back against the cold metal wall.  The cloth over your face is soaked from the water and now your tears mix with it. 

 

Then you go very still and quiet, biting your lip as your eyebrows knit together beneath the blindfold. 

 

Was… was that damned Rodian right?

 

" Kriff… " you whisper, into the hiss of the fresher, your head turning slightly to press your face against Din's wet hair.

Chapter 22

Summary:

The angst continues! Let's see where it leads.

Thank you all so so so much for your comments! They mean the world to me!

Tumblr username: Keeshya6

Chapter Text

Nothing. 

 

There is nothing.

 

At least, that's how it seems. 

 

Din cannot sense anything.  There's no light, so there's nothing to see.  No sounds to hear.  No sensation of anything to feel…to smell…to taste.   There is nothing. 

 

It's how he would imagine the deepest black of space to be, if he could just float in it, unhindered.

 

It's almost peaceful.  

 

There are rare, occasional flashes of… something.  It's always distant and doesn't take hold long enough for him to grasp onto with any concrete thought.   

 

A brief flash of light, like when someone turns on a lamp in a pitch black room.  It would be blinding if it wasn't immediately gone again. 

 

Then an instance of pain, so quick that he can't even pinpoint where it might have been on his body.  And then he realizes that he can't actually feel his body, his limbs, and he knows that should worry him, but he can't seem to dredge up the concern. 

 

A sound.  Again, so swift that he's not sure if he actually heard it.  But it almost sounded like…crying.  Is someone weeping?  Who would cry for him?

 

But mostly, it's just the indistinct lack of anything. 

 

He floats in that void, no solid thoughts and no senses hounding him. 

 

It is peaceful.   So why does it feel so… wrong?

 

 

Exhausted.  

 

It is the only word you can think of that describes your current state of being and yet it feels so entirely inadequate. 

 

You sit with your back against one of the crates in the cargo hold, your head in your hands.  The black cloth still covers half your face and you've gotten somewhat used to moving around the hold without your sight.  At least you're not bumping into things as often today as you were yesterday. 

 

It's been nearly forty hours since Din collapsed, and you've been awake for every minute of them.   Plus, you had been awake for almost twenty hours prior to his return, just because sleeping without him nearby had proven surprisingly difficult. 

 

And now you can barely keep your eyes open.  The makeshift blindfold doesn't help either.  The black behind the cloth is so very inviting.  

 

Maybe… just a few minutes…

 

When your head drops forward,  you jerk and sit up with a start, forcing your eyes to open wide behind the cloth. 

 

"No!" you hiss at yourself, pushing to your feet.  You force down the near hysterical sob that threatens to escape you, shoving it behind that door in the corner of your mind; the one that has been keeping the fear and the panic at bay for the last two days and feels like it's ready to splinter. 

 

You stumble a bit as you straighten and then carefully cross to the bedroll.  When your toes hit the foam, you crouch.  Palms slide over the bed until your fingertips find Din's bare arm. Then, you move your hands to his neck and forehead, and whimper softly. 

 

The fever hadn't broken, like you'd hoped.   It had only waned for a while, and now his skin burns beneath your touch again. 

 

You mentally battle the hysteria again until it is safely tucked away.   And then, forcing your sleep deprived brain to at least pretend to be calm, you hoist him up with your arms under his and drag him back into the fresher.  Just as you have with every spike of his temperature for the last two days.

 

Punching the controls, you gasp as the water rushes over you again.  Well, that kind of woke you up.  Then, you slip behind him again, against the wall, holding him back against your chest so the cooling water can run over his heated skin, over his head. 

 

If the fever doesn't break soon though, you know you'll lose him.  Because you just don't know how much longer you can keep yourself from simply passing out. 

 

Then, who will get him under the cold stream of water?

 

 

The second time you wake with a start when the fresher chunks off, you have a moment of sheer terror slice through you. 

 

How long have I been asleep?

 

Your hands fly upward to the sides of Din's head and then to his forehead.  

 

The fever still hasn't broken.  But, at least he's not any warmer, maybe just a touch cooler.

 

Your forehead rests against the side of Din's head and your eyes close tightly in frustration behind the cloth.  Locks of his wet hair tickle the thin strip of exposed skin between your hairline and the blindfold and you use that sensation to ground yourself.

 

Swallowing hard, you wriggle out from behind him.  You carefully lean Din up against the back wall before you turn the fresher on again.  

 

You nearly topple over as you stand and have to brace your hands on the walls to either side to steady yourself.  Then you step out of the fresher and close the door. 

 

You stand there for a moment, stock-still, your forehead against the cool metal door as you focus on your breathing.  On controlling it, as your anger and frustration threaten to boil over. 

 

But finally, you let them.  Just for a moment. 

 

A scream bubbles up from your belly and rips out of you as you turn away from the fresher door, tearing off the blindfold and chucking it to the deck at your feet. 

 

" Kriffing, Maker-damned bug! " you snarl towards the closed ramp, as if the offending insect is waiting right outside the ship for its venom to finish its work. Then, that snarl turns into a shriek. " YOU CAN'T FUCKING HAVE HIM!"   

 

Collapsing to hands and knees, sobs pull from you, wracking your already exhausted body and burning in your lungs.  Water drops from your hair to wet the deck floor along with your tears as your head hangs down. 

 

A few minutes pass, your cries and the hum of the fresher the only sounds in the ship.

 

Then, a different, muted sound penetrates through your decline into despair, drawing you back from the edge of that pit that has been eagerly waiting to devour you. 

 

Soft thumping against metal.

 

Swallowing around the tightness in your throat and pushing down a fresh wave of sobs, you rake your sleeve across your eyes to wipe away the tears and slowly lift your head.   

 

The thumping comes again, from the closed door next to the fresher. 

 

The foundling. 

 

It has been a few hours since you've checked on him. 

 

Sighing shakily, you push to your feet and stagger over to the sleeping rack.  It opens with a clunk when you push the button, revealing the little green child standing right inside. 

 

His big eyes look up at you with an intensity that you've rarely seen in them before.   He immediately launches into a stream of babbling, little clawed hands gesturing wildly. 

 

You stare at him for a few moments, your frazzled brain actually trying to decipher what he's trying to say.  As if the only reason you can't understand is because you're so tired.

 

When you realize that's what you're doing, you can't help a slightly sardonic laugh at yourself. Then you reach down and pick the kid up. 

 

Just for a moment.   You need the connection to another animated being for just a moment.   

 

Maybe he does too, after being stuck in that cupboard sized space for the better part of forty hours..  He reaches up to your face with tiny hands, his palms pressing to your cheeks on either side of your mouth. He murmurs something and leans his little head in towards you, that intense look still in his eyes. 

 

And that's when you sense it: the gentle pulses of Force energy coming from the touch of his diminutive paws. 

 

It whispers across your skin and through you in waves, slipping into your fatigued mind and clearing away some of the blurriness.

 

Your breath catches shakily, eyes widening as you stare back into those big, dark eyes. 

 

"Sweetie," you whisper, leaning your head down to rest your forehead against his wrinkled one.   "Can… can you help?"

 

As soon as the words pass your lips you feel a little silly for it.  How can a small child help with a fever coursing through a grown man?

 

Yet, your mind is calmer than it has been for several hours, and you know it's the kid's doing.  And…he did help heal your connection to the Force months ago.  Would healing Din be any more or less difficult?  In fact,  hadn't Din once mentioned the kid healing a fatal wound…or is that just your mind grasping desperately for any hope?

 

But…what could it hurt to let the kid try?

 

"Can you help?" you ask again, uncertain if he even understands you. 

 

He babbles something up at you insistently, then turns his head to look around.  His big ears nearly smack you in the face, but you pull your head back just in time with a short-lived huff of laughter. 

 

Growing serious quickly, you bite your lip and nod.   "Okay, Kid.  We'll give it a try.   I'm going to put you back in the rack… just for a minute."

 

Setting him on the thin bed, you see him pout up at you just before you close the door and then hear him grumbling at you through the metal.  

 

"Just a second, baby boy," you say as you scoop up your makeshift blindfold and tie it into place over your eyes again.   Then you push it up slightly, just enough to locate Din's helmet by the wall.  Picking it up, you step back to the fresher door before tugging the blindfold back down. 

 

Stepping into the fresher, your bare toes feeling the way around Din's legs, you stop next to his thighs and turn off the stream of cold water.   Crouching down beside him, your free hand reaches out to splay against his chest, feeling his heartbeat and the heat of his skin. The water hasn't done much this time around, barely cooling him.  

 

You take up the helmet in both hands and carefully align it to the crown of his head.   Then you slide it down into place, until you can feel the line of his jaw under the edge of the helmet. 

 

You lean back slightly and push up the blindfold.  Then,  you freeze for a moment, before bursting into hysterical giggles. 

 

Trying to catch your breath, you pull the cloth back down over your eyes and grasp the helmet again.  You lift it off of Din's head, turn it 180 degrees to face the correct way, forward, and slide it back into place. 

 

When you push up the blindfold this time, you're glad to see the opaque visor rather than the shiny back of the helmet. 

 

"If you were awake, I know I'd never live that one down," you muse with a tired, tiny laugh. 

 

Shaking your head at yourself, you carefully shift your weight and grasp him under the arms again.   As you pull him out of the fresher, you realize you're not going to be able to do this many more times, if at all.  You're shaking beneath the weight of him now.

 

"Maker, I hope this works," you mumble as you drag him onto the bedroll and gently let him slip from your arms.

 

A moment later you've retrieved the child from the sleeping rack and you are both sitting on the bed beside Din's still form.  Big brown eyes watch his father's head for several breaths, as if the foundling is waiting for the beskar helmet to turn and look in his direction.  Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at that thought but you hurriedly swipe them away. 

 

You hold one of the kid's tiny hands as he shuffles a little closer to Din, that three fingered paw gripping onto two of your fingers.  The kid's other hand reaches out and comes to rest on Din's biceps. The little one pauses then, looking back and up at you.  His big eyes shine with worry and those bat-winged ears are drooping lower than you've ever seen towards his shoulders.

 

A soft, encouraging smile touches your lips as you give him a nudge.  "You can do it, honey," you say. "You've got this."

 

The wrinkled little face scrunches up then with adorable determination, and for once you feel fairly certain that he did understand every word you said.  Turning his head back towards his father, he leans in a little as his eyes close. 

 

Then your breath catches as you feel the strength of the energy flowing through the foundling, through your connection with him as he continues to grip your fingers.  The Force pulses around him, and you would swear you can even feel it in the air. 

 

How had you never noticed how strong his connection to the Force was before this?

 

Oh…well, my own connection was in pieces for so long…and then I didn't open myself up to it again after he helped fix it.   At least… not until all of this…

 

Lost in those contemplations, it takes several moments for you to notice the shift in the energy around the child.   Then your eyes widen, as you realize he's drawing strength in the Force from everything around you.  You're not sure how far his connection can reach but you're fairly sure he's drawing energy from the swamp around the ship.  From the trees, vines, moss, grass.  From any creature that has ventured near. 

 

Even from you. 

 

The clarity you had felt from his healing touch starts to fade again as he draws that energy back out of you to push into his father's body.  Your brows pinch together as you fight the instinctive urge to recoil from the draining feeling. 

 

No.  You're certain the kid would not take that energy from you unless he needed to.  You're not sure how you know that with such certainty, but you just do. 

 

The pulses within the Force around you begin to fade rapidly then and you watch as the kid teeters a little.  You catch his little body just before he falls over, scooping him up into your arms.

 

Globe-like eyes look up at you briefly, and he babbles something softly, before the little one slips into a deep sleep.

 

Blearily, you look from the kid in your arms to Din.  You reach out one hand to touch his chest gingerly. 

 

He's still hot but, unless your mind is playing tricks on you, you're fairly sure his temperature is at least a little lower than it was when you pulled him onto the bed. 

 

Carefully, you push to your feet and carry the little one back to the sleeping rack.  You press a kiss to his forehead and murmur a thank you against his little wrinkles.  After laying him in his tiny hammock, you close the rack and walk back to the bedroll. 

 

Kneeling beside Din again, your hands press to his chest once more, then to the sides of his neck.  You bite your lip, uncertain of any change. 

 

With a sigh you tug the blindfold down over your eyes, making sure the knot is tight at the back of your head.  Then you gently lift his helmet free again and set it to the side.  

 

It clatters onto the deck, startling you, after tipping off of the edge of the bedroll, where you'd accidently set it.  You roll your eyes behind the blindfold with a sigh as you listen to it roll further forward in the hold before stopping somewhere several feet away. 

 

Shaking your head slightly, you focus back on Din.  Your hands glide up from his shoulders, one stopping to press against the side is his neck again, just under the hinge of his jaw.  The other hand moves up over his damp hair and over the crown of his head to press against the top of his forehead.  You're still being very careful about not touching any more of his head, or rather his face, than you need to. 

 

You try to concentrate through the haze in your brain, struggling to determine if there really is any change in his temperature yet.   With a heavy sigh, you realize it still might take time for any change to be noticeable from the child's attempt.

 

Pushing to your feet, you stagger back until you bump into the supply crates.  Your palms brace on the edge of a crate as you half lean and half sit.  Then, you clench your eyes closed tightly and your fingers grip the crate tightly.  You focus your senses on those two sensations, trying to ground your mind against the fatigue. 

 

"Okay…" you say slowly, "I'll give it… fifteen minutes.   Hopefully… hopefully that's enough time… to see a real change."

 

Just fifteen minutes…

 

 

Din's subconscious wants to linger in that floating void as his perceptions begin to reconnect.  It is so calm and peaceful, after all. But as soon as a concrete thought forms in his mind, the memory of that void washes away.  

 

That concrete thought is that he's acutely aware of his limbs and wishes he wasn't.  An ache courses through them as unconsciousness slips into awareness and he can feel his brows furrow as he moans softly. 

 

Why the hell am I so sore, he wonders, just wanting to go back to sleep. 

 

He lays still, gradually becoming more cognizant, and unhappy with every new ache that comes with it.  His eyes slowly drift open and he winces at the brightness of the cargo hold lights.

 

" Kark," he says, the word coming out as a faint croak against how dry his throat feels.  When did he last drink water?  He can't remember.

 

With a groan, Din turns his head to the side, away from those glaring lights.  He'll need to check on the wiring.  Those shouldn't be so bright. As his head turns, he reaches across the bedroll, instinctively searching for you in the space you normally occupy beside him as he wakes. 

 

But that side of the foam pad is oddly cold and empty.

 

Blinking against the haze of waking up and the shine of those lights, he scowls softly.  He moves to sit up and search for you but stops halfway, bracing back on his elbows from a wave of dizziness. 

 

"What the hell?" he mumbles, trying that again, but slower, once the dizzy spell passes. 

 

Sitting up, he looks around the hold slowly, eyes narrowed. With his elbows resting on his bent knees, he drops his head into his hands, groaning and eyes closing, his fingers buried in his hair. 

 

Then, he freezes. 

 

Those fingers curl into fists in his hair, feeling the tug on the locks as if testing to make sure what he's feeling is real.  His eyes snap open and he finally recognizes that everything is brighter because it's not filtering through a visor, and he hasn't been in this part of his ship without that visor in nearly a year and a half.

 

"What in fucking hell?" he snaps. 

 

Releasing his hair, his head jerks up, despite the brief wave of dizziness that causes.   He looks around sharply, scowling, as he searches for any sign of his helmet… or of you.

 

Pushing to his feet shakily, he steps off the bedroll towards the ladder to the cockpit. Maybe you're up there and he can get some kriffing answers.  He stops, a sharp hiss escaping him as pain lances up his leg and he nearly falls.  He looks down at that leg, noticing the bandages. 

 

"What the fuck?!" he growls into the silent hold, bracing himself on the bulkhead.  

 

Once he feels steady he looks around and pauses again, finally noticing the chaos of the cargo hold near the ladder.   His armor is in a haphazard pile, except his helmet.  The drawer of your things is pulled out completely and clothes are everywhere.  There's a rusty stain of blood on the deck near his armor.  

 

His stomach clenches for a moment in a flash of fear that pushes through his building anger.  Were you hurt somewhere?

 

That flash disappears though as he realizes that the blood is most likely from his own leg, whatever the hell happened there.   

 

Swallowing around the thick feeling of his dry throat, Din's jaw clenches as his eyes move around the hold again.

 

Then he spots you.  He would swear you weren't there just a minute ago. 

 

You're on top of the far crate, sitting up with your back pressed into the corner by the closed boarding ramp. Your knees are pulled in tight, arms wrapped around them, and your forehead rests on top of your arms. Your hair cascades around you in complete disarray.

 

He stalks across the hold towards you, as quickly as his unsteady legs will carry him.  His fists clench at his sides as rage wells up, in a way it hasn't in years, much less at you.

 

His palms slam down on the top of the crate to either side of your bare feet, mostly due to his anger but partially because he needs the support for a moment, more than he'd realized at first. 

 

You visibly flinch as his hands land on the crate, a muffled squeak escaping you.  You don't make any other move though, keeping your head buried in your arms. 

 

Din's not sure if the fact that you refuse to look at him now, now that he's awake, makes it any better or worse. 

 

"What…?" he starts with a snarl, then starts again.  "How could y-…?"  His head drops slightly, his hair barely grazing your arm, and his jaw clenches. "What the fuck happened?" he finally gets out, loud, through gritted teeth.

 

 

Why?  Why did you let yourself fall asleep?!

 

If you had managed to stay awake, just for a while longer, you're sure this would be going differently.  You would have noticed his fever break. You would have been able to put his helmet back on him before he woke.  

 

Instead, you wake up to the sound of his voice for the first time in days, and the unmodulated words are filled with fury.

 

Your heart drops into the pit of dread in your stomach as you come out of the fog of sleep,  curled up on top of the crates against the wall, which you don't even remember doing.  It doesn't feel like you've slept long, maybe a few hours.  It's not enough to chase off all of your exhaustion, but it is enough to take a tiny bit of the edge off.

 

You can hear Din as he stands angrily and walks towards the ladder, away from you , hissing in pain.  Probably from the leg wound you'd given him.  As he moves away, you unfurl yourself just long enough to press your back into the corner and curl up again, waiting. 

 

You bite down on your lip, hard, as you bury your face into your arms. It opens up the cut on your lip from the first day of this nightmare, and you press your tongue against the tender spot, tasting copper again and focusing on that as you fight to keep your emotions in check. 

 

You knew this would happen, a cruel voice in your head scolds.  You knew you were taking a chance… and that you were probably wrong. 

 

Your eyes squeeze tightly closed behind the blindfold that you're still wearing as you struggle to deny the threat of fresh tears.  Your eyes feel so raw from crying. 

 

You just want it to stop.

 

When his hands drop onto the crate, it jolts and startles a sharp yelp past your lips.  But then you press your abused lips together. 

 

"What the fuck happened?" he demands after a couple of rage-laced false starts.

 

Your fingers clench into fists where they rest over your knees. Gritting your teeth, you take in a shaking breath, barely pulling your head back from your arms so your voice won't just disappear into your lap.

 

"Yo.. you collapsed… just af-fter bringing the Rodian in," you stammer out. 

 

Din scowls sharply.  He doesn't even remember getting back to the ship.  But he doesn't care about that at the moment.

 

He leans into you slightly, his voice a low snarl. "You know that's not the part I'm asking about."

 

Your mouth trembles, in fact all of you trembles, as you try to find the best way to explain past the bleariness in your head. 

 

"You…you were stung by something," you choke out into your arms.  "Th-the venom knocked…you out and-and gave you a fever that kept getting worse.  If I…didn't find a way to keep it… from…"  You swallow hard.  "... from basically co-cooking your brain, it was going to kill you."  Your voice finishes a tiny bit stronger, a hint of the determination you'd felt over the last few days creeping in.

 

Din is breathing shallow, jaw clenched and fingers curled into fists on top of the crate.  "So, you… took off… my helmet," he states lowly.  Pushing off the crate, he paces in front of you, his fingers raking through his hair.  "Did you not know that I'd rather die than break my Creed?" he snaps.

 

You flinch at the increasing volume of his voice, a soft sob finally managing to slip out of you.  Turning your head to the side, towards the boarding ramp, you rest your cheek on your arms.

 

"Yes," you croak out, "I knew.  I just… hoped there might be some leeway…"  

 

"'Leeway'?" Din stops near the other end of the row of crates, staring back at your curled up frame incredulously.   "What the fuck kind of leeway could you have been hoping for?"

 

You're shaking with your barely contained emotions, near to drowning beneath the fear and panic that has been held at bay for days. 

 

Chin trembling, you release a stuttered breath. "Th-that maybe… maybe if I-I didn't see your face… it would still be okay."  A soft sob half escapes you and you bite it back, bitterly.  "I'm… I'm so sorry…" you choke out. 

 

Your apology is met with silence for long moments, making the pit in your stomach grow painfully.   Only the sound of his shallow breaths lets you know he's still standing a few feet away. 

 

When Din finally moves, it's only a couple steps before he's standing in front of you again.  He's still for several heartbeats.  Then a halting breath huffs out of him as he reaches for you. 

 

You flinch at the unexpected brush of his fingers against your cheek, a tiny squeak of alarm slipping past your lips.  The touch falters for a moment and then calloused fingers curl under your chin and he urges your head up.  You give in after a brief hesitation, tilting your face up towards his. 

 

A jagged sigh meets your ears. 

 

" Dank Farrik, Sweetling," he whispers hoarsely, and your breath catches in your throat at the unanticipated endearment.  "I couldn't see the kriffing blindfold… not with your head down."  There's another pause and you swear you can feel his eyes roaming over your half-hidden features.  "You… haven't … seen my face then?"

 

It takes a moment for your addled mind to make sense of the shift in him.  When it catches up, you swallow hard and shake your head emphatically.   

 

"No.  Of… of course not," you say.  A little indignation even wells up inside you then and you pull your chin back, hidden brows knitting together.  " Kark , Din. I… I defended your Creed within five minutes of laying eyes on you," you choke out.  "Did you… did you really think I'd just casually throw it away?"

 

Din leans heavily against the crate then, both hands braced on top of it again.  "It… was hard to know what to think…waking up like that," he responds.  There's still an edge to his voice, but the anger seems to be slipping away. 

 

Licking your lips, you nod slightly after a moment to concede to that point. Your trembling chin lowers to rest on your arms and you tilt your head in his direction.  "What… does this mean then?" you whisper, still gripped with dread to even ask the question. 

 

Several heartbeats pass silently as Din watches you, considering.  When he finally answers, his smooth baritone has lost that edge completely and is softer, though slightly unsteady.  "It means that… my Creed is not broken," he says.  He lifts a hand again to brush your cheek and the edge of the blindfold.  “You…” He swallows hard. “You did good, Cyar’ika .”

 

Air hisses, stuttered, as you inhale shakily, your eyes squeezing closed. A soft whimper escapes you as your body sags and your chin drops down so your forehead can fall onto your arms again.  You tighten your hold around your knees, forcing yourself to take steadying breaths and once again stamping down the emotions that are threatening to overwhelm you. 

 

Neither of you need that right now. 

 

Din leans into you then, until your arms and the top of your head lightly rest against his chest.  His hand rests on the back of your neck, rough fingers tangling into your hair until they bump into the cloth and knot of your blindfold, hidden under the disheveled locks.  He huffs a faint laugh.  This could have gone so much easier if he'd just been able to see the blindfold right away when he woke up.  

 

You lower one arm from around your knees and reach out blindly.  Finding his side, your fingers curl against his ribs.  "I… I didn't mean for it to go like that… when you woke up," you whisper, with that uncanny ability you sometimes have to know what he's thinking.

 

"How did you mean for it to?" he asks, tilting his head down.  Din lets his nose and mouth just barely nuzzle against your hair then,  breath caressing the strands.  He inhales deeply, taking in your citrus and honey scent.  Usually he only catches a faint whiff of it when he takes off his helmet in the cockpit, or when he uses the fresher shower right after you do. The intensity of it now catches him off guard and he bites back a moan. 

 

You nibble at your lip, shivering slightly at his closeness.  "I… I had planned to…put your helmet back on you… once I knew the fever broke," you whisper.  When he stills against you, you quickly add, "Not… not to hide what I did.  But… that way I could have explained it… without you having the-the shock of waking up like that."

 

Din relaxes after a moment, accepting that explanation.  "What changed?"

 

One shoulder lifts into a tiny shrug. "I-I guess I just… finally passed out."

 

He straightens slightly, looking down at you in concern.  "Were you… stung, too?"

 

Your head lifts, tilting in confusion.  "No…?  Oh.  No, I was just… tired," you say, downplaying just how tired with a shrug.   

 

Studying you for a moment, Din's brows pull together.  "How… long was I out, Sweetling?"

 

You hesitate.  "Umm… I lost track, but… almost three days, I think."

 

There's a long pause as Din just stares at you.   "Three days?" he chokes out.  Then, at your affirming nod, his hand lifts to cup your cheek.  "How much of that have you been awake for?"

 

Again, you hesitate, chewing at the corner of your lower lip.  You know he has a tendency to take the galaxy on his shoulders with any new problem and you don't want to add to that with something as minor as your sleep.  Still, you can't bring yourself to lie either. 

 

"All of it," you finally whisper, shrugging nonchalantly.  "Accept the last couple."

 

" Kriff , Sweetling," he murmurs. 

 

Then without warning he's pulling you closer to the edge of the crate.  You squeak once in surprise, then again as he hooks his arms under your bent knees and behind your back, lifting you up against his chest. 

 

"What are you doing?" you gasp out. 

 

"Taking you to bed," he rumbles softly.  

 

Your breath hitches at that deep tone.  Then, he's talking again but his voice is softer and you're not sure if he's still talking to you or to himself.  You suspect it's to himself though, the words so soft that normally they wouldn't even make it past his helmet's vocoder.  " Sweet kriffing-perfect girl, takes care of me for days…  just… let me take care of you."

 

You smile softly, eyes closed behind the cloth as his unmodulated voice washes over you and you finally feel like you can let yourself enjoy it. 

 

Din kneels as he steps onto the bedroll and he lowers you down.  Partway down though, he suddenly loses his hold on you and you drop about the last two feet with an eep! escaping you. He ends up braced on his hands and knees, one hand on either side of you, arms shaking slightly. 

 

"Fuck!  I'm sorry, Sweetling," he gasps out.  

 

With his anger ebbed,  the adrenaline spike he'd experienced has finally faded away, too.  The soreness he'd woken up with is making itself known again.  He can't hide the slight tremor in him as he leans over you, catching his breath. 

 

The shock fades quickly and your hands raise up to press against his chest in concern.  You worry at your lip when you feel that faint shaking. 

 

"Din, you… you need rest too.  Actual rest.  Not venomous-bug-sting-induced unconsciousness."

 

He takes a deep breath, chest expanding beneath your hands, and then exhales it shakily in a faint laugh.  "You… may be right."  He pauses.  "I need some water though," he says, swallowing hard.

 

Lifting a hand, you gesture vaguely to the side.  "There's a canteen next to the bed somewhere, by the bulkhead."

 

Din glances up and spots the canteen, nodding.  He leans over to grab it and then shifts his weight to sit next to you, with his back against the bulkhead.  He takes a long drink of the water, sighing with relief when he finally puts it down.  "Oh, that's good."

 

Giggling, you turn to crawl up closer to him against the bulkhead and curl into his side, his arm instinctively wrapping around you.  "I tried to give you water.  It didn't work out."

 

His soft chuckle shakes your head on his shoulder.  "What do you mean?"

 

"It's… just a little difficult to give someone water, if you can't see or feel where their lips are," you say with a little laugh. 

 

Din looks down at you, head canted and eyebrows lifting.  "'Or…feel'?" he repeats, the second word lilting up into a question. 

 

You go still against him, licking your lips.   "Well…yeah," you answer with a shrug.  "I… I didn't want to… take any other chances with your Creed… if it's about knowing what-what you look like."

 

He stares at you in surprise, his eyes roaming over your face.  Even through the cloth he can see that your brows are pinching together in uncertainty, fueled by his silence as the moments stretch out.  And you keep darting your tongue across your lips, or biting the bottom one, nervously. His gaze lingers on your mouth, his jaw tensing, as he lifts his hand to catch your chin. 

 

"It's really… just about seeing me, Sweetling," he rumbles softly, the pad of his thumb brushing across your lower lip. 

 

Your breath stutters at that soft caress, a tiny shiver coursing through you.  For a moment,  you lament to yourself at his words, that you hadn't taken the opportunity to touch his face when you'd first considered it. 

 

But then, all thought is dashed away as he leans into you… and his lips brush across yours. 

 

A tiny mewl escapes you.

 

Then, to your immediate horror, it's followed by a giggle as you pull back in surprise. Your hand flies up to your mouth as you bite back the last of that sound and then go completely still, eyes widening behind the opaque cloth. 

 

Din freezes too, staring down at you as an array of emotions battle in him, likely playing across his face. 

 

"Well, okay…" he says softly, breaking the silence after several moments pass, "I guess… that's something I'm not good at."

 

"Oh, no!" you gasp, finally finding your voice again.  You shake your head quickly. "Tha-that's not it, Din," you say rapidly.  Your hand slips up from his chest, up the side is his neck, and, after a moment of hesitation, comes to rest against his jaw and cheek.

 

He flinches at the unfamiliar touch, but then sighs softly, leaning into your palm with his eyes closing for a moment.  When he opens them again, Din looks down at you, uncertain.

 

"What then?"  He pauses.  "And keep in mind, Sweetling… my ego is hanging by a thread here," he says, even though he smiles softly as he does. 

 

Your heart feels like it skips within your chest at actually being able to feel that he smiles,  in the way his cheek moves beneath your hand. 

 

Swallowing hard, you nibble your lip as you move your thumb against his skin.  You brush it across his cheek and then, tentatively, over the lines of his mouth. 

 

His breath stutters against your hand.  "Sweetling?" he whispers. 

 

Licking your lips, you smile softly up at him as your thumb grazes across the space above his upper lip. 

 

"Since I can't see you, Din… I just… could have used a little warning about the mustache."  You smile gently, biting your lip against another nervous giggle.  "I don't mind facial hair… but, if it surprises me… well, it is going to tickle."

 

Several heartbeats pass in silence before you can feel his face break into a grin and a laugh shakes his torso beneath you, drawing your own laughter out to join it.  He leans his head down, his forehead lightly bumping yours, like he so often does with the helmet on. 

 

"Sorry," he mumbles softly. "I don't… I've never…"  His voice falters then as he swallows hard. 

 

You grow a bit more serious then, still smiling though, as you nod in understanding, nibbling at your lip again.  Tilting your face up to his a little more, your other hand slips up to card into his hair.

 

He goes still and quiet, his breath stuttering at the foreign sensation.

 

The tip of your tongue darts out across your lower lip, your heart hammering in your chest and up into your ears.  

 

"Do you…" You swallow against a lump in your throat.   "Do you want to…try that again?" you whisper.  "I can show you."

 

He only hesitates a moment before rasping out a soft "Yes."

 

With a bright smile, you slip your other hand into his hair with the first one and guide him down to you.  You tilt your head to brush your lips over his cheek first, the stubble of the last few days a welcome sensation beneath your lips. Then you press a soft, chaste kiss just at the corner of his mouth and you can feel his breath stutter against your cheek. 

 

Din's arms slip around you, somehow pulling you in closer to him, just shy of actually dragging up onto his lap.  You wouldn't have thought getting closer was possible with how near you already were. But he seems to manage it, fitting your body up alongside his.  

 

As he does, he turns his head quickly,  eagerly seeking your mouth after that chaste, teasing press of your lips. 

 

Your fingers curl into his hair, drawing a faint hiss out of him as you hold him in place.  His breath dances across your lips as they hover just shy of his, but he holds still, accepting your lead.  You can feel the tenseness rolling through him though, and you're no longer sure if it's the fatigue or the anticipation causing the occasional tremble.

 

"Easy."  Your breath hitches.  "It's better if… if you savor it… especially with the first one," you whisper.

 

The faintest sound escapes him then, his breath stuttering against your skin, and you'd swear it almost sounded like… a whimper.  

 

You barely manage to follow your own advice after that, having to sharply tug at the reins of your self control to keep from just crushing your mouth against his. 

 

Instead, you angle your chin up slowly, your lips finding his to brush over them; grazing across his skin for a long moment before you finally press in, firmly slotting your lips against his. 

 

Din goes very still beneath you, holding you tightly to him.  It is only the slightest additional pressure of his mouth against yours, and the shuttering inhale of his breath, that confirms that you have his rapt attention. 

 

Then, you move; you just slant your head slightly, changing the angle of that tender kiss, your lips soft as silk against his. 

 

Something in that small change pushes past Din's hesitance.  He comes alive against you again and his hand rakes up your spine until his fingers bury into your hair.  Following your example, he tilts his head first one way, then another, trying different angles of pressing his lips against yours.  Your fingers loosen in his hair, even as his grip in yours tightens, freeing him to explore the curves of your lips with his own.  

 

There's uncertainty in his movements at first.  A little unpracticed awkwardness.  But he doesn't get discouraged.  In fact, you'd swear it makes him more determined.  You can't help a soft smile against his lips, imagining that he's using the same determination in learning to kiss you well, as he did in learning to hunt bounties. 

 

If his success with bounty hunting is any indication, you know your Mandalorian is going to be an expert in no time. 

 

My Mandalorian. 

 

Finally, you pull away, needing to catch your breath, your head pushing back into his palm.  It takes a moment for him to let you go, but he does and you break the kiss gently, adding another quick peck against his lips to ease the disappointment of the separation.

 

You don't go far, lingering close enough that you both can still feel the other's breath on your skin, a bit more shallow now than a few minutes ago. 

 

Din shudders, tilting his head so his forehead rests against yours again.  "I… uhh… Dank Farrik ," he whispers, "that's…wha-what I've been missing?"

 

You smile brightly, nipping at your lip with a faint giggle.  "Yeah…" you say softly, "well, part of it anyways…"

 

His brows arch and you can feel it, with his forehead still resting against yours. It makes you snicker a bit more, your nose crinkling up.  Din can barely see it from where your nose disappears under the blindfold. 

 

"Show me?"

 

A tiny whimper escapes you at the soft request, your breath hitching.   But you hesitate, and you can feel his head tilt when he notices. 

 

"What… what's wrong, Sweetling?" he asks.

 

There's hesitancy in his voice, and something else that takes you a moment to recognize, and is a surprise when you do: vulnerability.

 

"Nothing," you say quickly, as your fingers curl around the back of his neck and you lift your head to press a soft kiss against his cheek again.  "Nothing is wrong, " you insist, though you can feel his concern.  "I just… I know us, Din…" you say with a coy smile tugging up your mouth.  "Much more and… we won't want to stop.  Normally…"  A shoulder lifts in a shrug.  "...normally that wouldn't be any issue.  But I…I just know I don't have more in me tonight… no matter how much I may want to."  Your lip catches between your teeth.  "I'm even having trouble keeping my eyes open right now," you lament softly. 

 

Din studies you for a few moments, licking his lips and catching the lingering taste of your lips on them. After a few seconds of consideration, he smiles slowly.  The hand buried in your hair pulls you a touch closer, his lips almost brushing yours. 

 

"I'll make you a deal, Cyar'ika ," he says, voice dropping low.  "Just one more… like before."  His smile turns into a grin when he feels you shiver in his arms.   "Then, we will go to sleep."

 

You pause for a moment, expecting more, and your brows lift behind the black cloth.  "That's the deal?"

 

His deep chuckle sends a thrill down your spine.  "No, Sweet Girl, that's the first half.   The second half is that, tomorrow, you're going to tell me everything that happened.  And after that, I expect a more… thorough… lesson."

 

You swallow hard, biting back another whimper, as he leans in to graze his lips against yours. 

 

"Deal?" he rumbles. 

 

Oh, Maker, I may have created a monster.

 

"Deal," you squeak out, just before his eager lips crush into yours. 

Chapter 23

Summary:

Hello, Lovely Readers! I am so so sorry that it's been so long! Life and other projects kept coming up, but we're back!

Continuing with the aftermath of the last few chapters.

CW: Angsty angst, fluffy fluff, panic attack and breathing issues with hyperventilating

I hope you enjoy!

Tumblr: Keeshya6

Chapter Text

You wake up with an oof! as the air is suddenly knocked out of you. 

 

Eyes snapping open on instinct, your breath catches in your throat as you realize you can see the cargo hold around you.   You shouldn't be able to!  You'd gone to sleep with the blindfold on and it had been securely tied and pulled under your hair. 

 

Immediately, you clench your eyes closed again, thankful that you hadn't woken up facing a helmet-free Din.  Well… somewhat thankful.

 

Oh… I shouldn't be thinking like that.  Never did before…

 

Pushing away thoughts of seeing him without the helmet, your hands reach for the thing that landed on you, forcing the air from your lungs so abruptly. 

 

Your fingers meet muslin cloth and wrinkly skin with downy soft hairs.  Humming a soft laugh, you find the kid's nose carefully and poke it.  He's laying half sprawled across your stomach, like he'd tried to take a flying leap right onto you but only made it part way.

 

"Well, that was a rude awakening, Little Gremlin," you grumble at him, but you're also giggling as he nuzzles into you.

 

With one hand resting on the kid's back as he snuggles, your other hand lifts to feel around you on the bed for the missing blindfold. 

 

You turn your head then, eyes still closed, at the sound of footsteps coming down the ladder from the cockpit. 

 

There's a soft tsk-ing sound as Din steps closer to the bed.  "Hey, Kid… I told you to leave her alone."

 

You can't help it, don't even realize you do it at first, but you pout softly at the sound of his voice.  Your eyes crack open and your hand ceases its searching. 

 

Din towers above you, dressed in a fresh set of base layer armorweave… and his helmet.  

 

You already miss the sound of his unmodulated, baritone voice.  Hell, if not for the child laying across you, you might consider making an offer to practically live in the blindfold, if it meant you'd get to hear him like that more often. 

 

The beskar helm cants down at you and a soft laugh chuffs out of it at your pout.

 

"What?"

 

You smirk and just shake your head a little as you sit up, gathering the foundling up into your arms.  "Oh… nothing…"

 

You really shouldn't let your imagination wander like that, you know.  It makes things more complicated.  Things that had been relatively simple and straightforward.  

 

Until this week. 

 

Din considers you for a moment but then shrugs, letting it go.  Dropping into a crouch beside you, he reaches a hand out to stroke one of the kid's bat-wing ears. 

 

"We're enroute for Navarro.  It'll take a few days to get there," he states and you nod.  Then a huffed chuckle comes through the helmet. "He's been bouncing around the karking cockpit like a rubber ball for the last couple of hours," he says, with more affection in his voice than the words might otherwise suggest.  "I was trying to let you get more rest.  I'm… hell, I'm not even sure how he got back down here."

 

The kid looks up at you, wide eyed and cherub faced.  

 

You snicker at the gremlin. "Oh, it's fine," you murmur, leaning in to rub your nose against his.  "I probably deserved the dive bomb for keeping him cooped up in the sleeping rack for days."  

 

Turning your head then, you look up at Din.  With one arm holding the kid, you reach the other out to rest your hand softly on Din's chest.  "How are you feeling?"

 

His hand moves to take yours from his chest and he lifts it, bringing your palm against the hard lines of his helmet as if to press a kiss there through the T-shaped visor.   "I'm fine,  Sweetling," he rumbles softly.

 

A tightness forms in your chest for a moment, holding your breath hostage, at the tender gesture.  A gentle smile curls your lips and you nod, meeting his gaze through the durasteel.  You know he won't admit to it if he's still not one-hundred percent, but you won't press the issue unless you have to, trusting his judgement in his own abilities.  Your fingers curl against the cold metal at the cheek of the helmet, absently tracing a small portion of one of the ridges with your index finger.  After a few quiet moments pass, you let your hand and eyes slip down from his and back to the child in your lap, who looks up at you both eagerly and babbles.  

 

 

Din smiles behind his visor, watching as you rub the kid's big ears, one after the other, and babble back at him.  He'd almost swear the two of you were actually having a conversation with how convincing the sounds you make are.  It probably has something to do with your gift for languages, that you can make gibberish sound so authentic.

 

Fuck, he loves watching you with his kid.

 

That thought makes him pause, his brows knit together in uncertainty, even as a light smile lingers on his lips and an unfamiliar warmth spreads across his chest.

 

He faintly shakes his head, ignoring the sensation and the questions that rise up in the back of his mind with it.  For now, he's just glad to have the moment to enjoy with you and his foundling. 

 

After a couple more minutes of you and the kid 'communicating', Din winces.  The aches in his muscles and joints are making themselves known again as he crouches there, from whatever-the-hell happened the last few days.  Huffing a sigh, he reaches out to you, his fingers brushing hair back from your cheek.

 

When you look up at him with eyes that are still tired but very attentive, he can't help smiling again. Leaning in, his helmet rests against your forehead.  He watches your eyes drift closed for a moment as you smile gently.

 

"Are you good with him for a bit?" he asks.  "I'd like to take a shower."

 

You give a tiny nod, but then, you surprise him with a faint, derisive snort. "Just… a heads up… you may have to wrestle me into that thing in the next few days, before I step into it again willingly."

 

His head pulls back and sharply cants to the side, scowl hidden.  He pauses for a long moment, stuck between confusion and chucking.  "Not that I mind having any excuse to get my hands on you, Sweetling… but why?"

 

You smirk at him and give a thin snicker. Shaking your head slightly, you try to wave him off.  "Long story… probably better suited to when you're done."

 

He considers you for a moment, and is about to press the issue when he cringes at a fresh twinge in his knee. 

 

"Alright," he concedes, pushing to stand up and go find a towel.  With towel in hand a few moments later, he stops at the threshold to the fresher and looks back at you again.  "I do want to know though."

 

You give him a single nod and faint smile in agreement before he turns to disappear into the fresher. 

 

 

You watch Din as he steps away from you to gather up a towel and then go into the fresher.  A soft smile graces your lips at his words and you nod. 

 

But as the fresher door closes,  and you lose sight of him, a moment of panic grips at your chest.  Your breath comes in a stutter and your swallow hard, closing your eyes tightly. 

 

"It's okay," you murmur to yourself and then repeat it several times.  "It's okay… He's okay, " you say with more conviction than you actually feel.   

 

A small, clawed hand comes up to rest on your cheek, even patting it a little as the foundling tries to comfort you. 

 

A little, strained laugh escapes you and you lean down to rest your forehead against the kid's with your eyes still closed. 

 

"Thank you, Little One," you whisper to him, your voice cracking a bit.  "Thank you…for bringing him back to us…"

 

The child coos up at you softly, both tiny paws resting on your cheeks now. With a thin smile, you focus on that connection, forcing your breaths to calm and your fingers to unclench from the little one's robe.  You sit like that with the kid for a while.  

 

Then, you go very still at a sound from behind the fresher door.

 

It takes you a moment to realize what it is, your brows peaking in confusion and you look down at the child in your lap. 

 

His head tilts towards the fresher, big ears twitching curiously. 

 

You giggle softly.  It's not your imagination then.  The kid hears it, too.

 

Din… is humming. 

 

You don't recognize the song.  It's low and muffled by the barrier of the fresher door.  

 

There's no doubt, though: the Mandalorian,  bounty hunter feared across the galaxy, is humming in the shower. 

 

A giggle burbles up in you.  You've never heard him humming. If he does it normally, you've never noticed.  Then again, you've usually busied yourself with other things when he's showering or he's done so when you're asleep.

 

You swallow hard, choking back the giggle and listening along with the kid for a few more moments.  Nibbling on your lip, you gather the foundling close and push up to your feet.   You step over to the fresher and inhale deeply.  You can smell Din's soap, drifting out of the fresher along with a hint of steam from the shower through the imperfect seal of the door.   

 

Shifting the kid to your hip, you rest your head against the door, like you had yesterday.  Or was that the day before?  You're not sure. 

 

But this time…this time is different.   This time the other side of the door isn't filled only with the sound of the water running.  This time Din isn't unconscious on the other side, slowly dying. 

 

This time you can hear him moving.  You can hear him humming. 

 

This time…you know he's okay. 

 

Another giggle bubbles up in you, despite your best efforts to keep it down. You can't seem to stop it as it tumbles past your lips. And then more keep coming. 

 

Moving away from the door, you step to the side and sink down to the floor again, with your back against the bulkhead, below the closed sleeping rack.  The kid sits in the cradle of your bent knees, eyes wide as he looks up at you. 

 

The soft laughter continues to escape you, and rapidly takes on a note of hysteria. You keep looking at the child, swallowing hard, and then looking back over to the fresher door.  Each time you do, another hysterical giggle comes out, followed by a half-sob as you whisper to yourself, "He's okay…" repeatedly. "He's okay."

 

Finally, after several minutes pass, the delirious laughter fades, dissolving into full sobs as you squeeze your eyes shut and hug the foundling close.

 

—-

 

After washing up, Din lingers under the spray of the water longer than normal, bracing his palms against the wall and just letting the hot water ease the aches and twinges in his muscles and joints.  Best he can figure is that the days of minimal movement, while he was unconscious, just left everything tight and stiff.  

 

Maker, that feels good. 

 

When he finally lets the spray shut off, he grabs the towel from the shelf by the door and rubs it over his hair with one hand, as the other wipes condensation off the mirror over the sink. 

 

He pauses to study himself, turning his head from one side to the other.  

 

For the first time that he can remember, with anyone , he wonders what you would think if you could see him.   

 

Would you like his brown hair and eyes?  Of all the humans he's met across the galaxy, that seems to be the most common color combination.  So, nothing special there, right?  What about the curve of his nose, or the lines that show at the corners of his eyes if his expression is anything other than neutral? 

 

His mouth quirks to one side and he shrugs at his reflection.   It's pointless to wonder.

 

After drying off, he drops the towel and tugs on his base layer pants again. Then he resumes the scrutiny of his face in the mirror, scratching blunt fingernails over the stubble on his cheeks.  After growing for a week, it's almost through the coarse stage, nearly ready to qualify as a beard.

 

That brings to mind his first, embarrassing attempt to kiss you last night.   He huffs out a rueful laugh, rubbing his fingers over his lips and the hair above them.  Would you prefer him clean shaven?  You said you didn't mind it.  His tongue darts over his lips as he considers it, and then he's briefly lost in the memory of the feel of your lips against his. 

 

He blinks and gives another thin laugh at himself.  He's not usually prone to this kind of idle wondering.

 

Back on task, he decides he's going to shave.  The beard.  He likes the mustache, even if no one ever sees it.  The beard, however, will get annoying under the helmet before too long.

 

So, he sets about going through the motions to shave.  

 

It's a sort of ritual for him: getting the supplies down from the highest shelf by the door and setting them out, running the water, lathering up, scraping the blade of an old-fashioned, double edged razor over his skin.  He's always enjoyed the act of shaving.  It's almost a guilty pleasure for him, allowing himself to give focused attention to his own face now and then, since no one else can.

 

Once finished, he puts everything back in its place.  Then, he rubs some aftershave over his cheeks, jaw and neck. He likes the leather scent of this brand.  It cuts into the sharp scent of metal in the helmet, softening it.  As he smooths it into his skin, he considers his hair in the mirror.  It's probably going to need to be cut in a week or two. 

 

Din stops then, head cocking towards the door as he goes still. His brows pull together into a scowl.

 

What is that sound?

 

Reaching down, he turns off the faucet.  As soon as the hum of the running water dies away, and he can hear clearly, his heart drops like a stone into his gut.

 

Crying.

 

He can hear you crying. 

 

A strangled " Fuck, " comes out as he yanks his helmet up from the floor.  Shoving it on, he wrenches the door open and rushes out of the fresher, before the helmet's seal even finishes hissing. 

 

He stops short.

 

The bedroll is empty. So are the crates you're often perched on. 

 

A sob drifts up from his left and he spins towards you.  

 

You're curled up with your knees pulled in, nearly in the corner under the sleeping rack, your entire body shaking.  It's a similar position to how he'd found you last night, on top of those crates.  This time though, the kid is wrapped up in your arms, poking up through the blanket of your disheveled hair. 

 

The child is patting his little hands on your head and shoulder, trying to console you.  The foundling lifts his head, eyes wide with worry, to look up at his father when he comes barreling out of the fresher.  

 

Din closes the meager distance to you in an instant and drops down, ignoring a sharp twinge in his knees.  Big hands reach out and you hardly make a sound in surprise as he pulls you both towards him.

 

He chokes out your name, and then "Sweetling?"

 

 

You can't stop.  No matter how you try.

 

It's like the door in the back of your mind was splintered, and then shattered into a hundred pieces.  Every emotion you've shoved down for the past four days, barely letting them peek their ugly faces out, are escaping and bowling over you in endless waves.

 

Your chest is tight and your stomach is twisted up.  It's so hard to catch your breath.  In fact, a few times it feels impossible. 

 

When Din rushes out of the fresher you don't even hear him.  Then he's beside you, drawing you closer.  He's calling to you, says your name and the endearments he uses for you, several times, but his voice sounds so far away, muffled by a rushing sound between your ears.

 

You slump against his bare chest as he pulls you in, your hold on the child loosening.  The little one clambers out of your arms with the help of one of his father's hands, and plops himself down a couple of feet away.  He looks both exasperated and concerned, his eyes even bigger than usual and his ears drooping drastically.  

 

With the kid free of your death grip, Din focuses back on you.  He says your name again, gently propping you back up against the wall so he can sit facing you, his legs bracketing you.  He pushes unruly hair back from your face with both hands as he tries to look into your eyes.  Your pupils are so dilated they are consuming your irises, and you aren't focusing on anything.  Your chest and shoulders shake as you gasp for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

 

" Cyar’ika," he says, voice strained, "Sweetling, please… please , look at me."

 

His voice sounds like it is traveling through water, it's so muffled to your ears.  But you do hear him, somewhere deep in your disjointed mind.  It takes everything in you to force yourself to find and focus on his visor, the edges of your vision blurred and darkening.

 

"D-Din?" you gasp out.

 

Your voice is so small, and so meek, the sound of it makes Din's chest feel like it's cracking open. 

 

He holds your chin with one hand, keeping your eyes on his helmet.  Pushing down the neckline of your shirt a bit, his hand presses to the center of your chest, to let you feel his skin against yours.  Your breaths are so shallow and your heart is beating so rapidly beneath his palm that it wouldn't surprise him if you pass out. 

 

"I'm here, Sweetling," he says, forcing his voice back to a calm timbre. "I'm here."  He pauses.  "And I need you to breathe for me.  Can you do that? Take a deep breath for me?"

 

You really do try.  You don't like to disappoint.  But all you can manage is a few shaky breaths that are hardly deeper than the ones you've been taking.   "I…I-I can't…" you squeak out, shaking your head. 

 

Din bites back a curse.  He risks releasing your chin then and takes one of your petite hands in his.   He brings it up to the center of his chest, pressing your palm over his sternum with his hand covering yours. Then he takes a deep breath.

 

"Yes, you can.  Breathe with me, Cyar’ika," he says, his voice firm and gently commanding.  "In."  His chest expands again, pushing against your palm.  "Out."  His chest lowers beneath your hand.  "In… Out," he repeats several times, exaggerating his breaths.

 

Your eyes slip down from his helmet to his hand covering yours against his chest. Blinking away the blurriness of fresh tears, you focus on that connection and on the feeling of his other hand pressed against your sternum.

 

It takes several attempts and a few minutes, but you finally manage to match your breathing to his.  His voice guides you the entire time, through each inhale and exhale.

 

When you look back up to his visor, eyes clearer with pupils nearly back to a normal size, Din sighs in relief.  He lifts his hand from over yours and cups your cheek, calloused thumb wiping away tears even as a fresh one tumbles over your lashes. 

 

"There's my girl," he says softly.  "Good girl.  Just breathe."

 

Your breaths are shaky but you nod and keep taking them slowly, even trying to give him a tiny smile.  

 

Din pulls you to him then, drawing you into the crook of his lap.  You settle between his bent legs, your own draped over his thigh.   His arms cradle your torso and he notches your head under his chin, holding you to him, all while you keep concentrating on your breathing. 

 

Closing your eyes, you let yourself focus on his chest lifting and falling against your head and shoulder.   The sensation continues to ground you and gradually your breaths become steadier.  

 

You lose track of time as the two of you sit like that, his strong body wrapped around you, feeling for all the galaxy like a shield against the turbulent emotions that keep poking at the edge of your psyche.  Trembles still course through you and tears spill down your cheeks, but they both grow softer and less constant the longer you stay in his arms. 

 

After a while, the foundling coos at you both curiously.  When you look over at his globular eyes, he twitches his ears at you and you huff a tiny laugh.  It’s difficult to be too upset when looking at his adorable face.  He reaches one tiny palm out towards you and you can almost immediately feel a small pulse of Force energy. 

 

You quickly shake your head at him. “No,” you croak out and then clear your throat.  “No, sweetie.  I don’t need that.  No.”

 

The little one seems to contemplate that for a moment and then lowers his hand back onto his tiny lap.  He sinks a bit into the muslin of his robe, his mouth disappearing behind the soft cloth so his green face is only visible from the nose up.

 

That brings another soft smile to your lips.

 

You can feel Din tilt his head above you to look at the kid, and you can feel his chest vibrate in a low chuckle.   Then, he turns to look down at you.  So, you lift your chin slightly to look up at him through your lashes and the disarray of your hair.

 

“What happened, Sweetling?” he asks gently after a few quiet seconds.  Your brows draw together and, when you don’t have an answer, he expounds on the question.  “You seemed fine when I went into the shower."

 

The pinch between your brows deepens into a frown as your eyes search for his behind that dark visor.

 

“‘Fine’?” you repeat in disbelief, voice so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear you.  Your lower lip trembles as you take a deep breath, struggling now to keep one particular emotion -anger- at bay, and failing.

 

“‘Fine’?” you say again.  “No… n-no, Din.  Nothing has been ‘fine’... for days .”  You swipe angrily at a tear, looking down for a moment.  “'What happened'?”  Your eyes snap back up to him as your petite fingers curl into a fist and you pound the side of it against his chest twice in rapid succession.  “You happened!”

 

Din jolts a little at the strikes.  From surprise.  Not because they came even close to hurting.  His hand instinctively snaps up to catch yours though, by the wrist.  He holds it there, his head cocking sharply to the side as he looks down at you.

 

You swallow back a strangled sob and scowl at him.  “You almost died, Din!” you snarl into that inscrutable helmet, through gritted teeth. More tears find their way down your cheeks in rivulets and the fingers of your hand flex and unflex into a fist, despite his hold on your wrist. 

 

He swallows hard, the cant of his head softening.  His thumb pushes in between your clenched fingers and he tries to rub your palm soothingly.  “I’m right here, Sweetling.  I’m alri-...”

 

“No!” you interrupt, snapping at him, and he jerks slightly.  “Do not try to downplay it, Din.  You don’t… you don’t know!”

 

You can feel his scowl in return.  “Then tell me,” he says, with a frustrated edge to his voice.

 

Anger and despair war in your head and chest as you fight to keep breathing calmly.  Looking down at his hold on your wrist, you tug slightly, but he doesn’t release you.  That makes you scowl up at him again, your jaw clenching.

 

Din sighs, the gentle woosh of it coming through the helmet’s filters.  Rather than release your hand though, he lifts it and presses your palm against the cheek plate of his helmet, like he had earlier.  You’re still on the edge of panic, he realizes, and his frustration will not help.  So, he makes his voice calmer again.  

 

“Please, tell me.”

 

You continue to grimace up at him for a handful of moments, but you don’t draw back, or remove your hand from his helmet.  Then, taking a shaky breath, you squeeze your eyes closed and swallow around the lump of emotions forming in your throat.

 

“Y-you were dying… in my arms,” you whimper, biting your lip as you try to hold back at least some of the tears.  “Sl-slipping away from me… and I-I didn’t know how to stop it.”  Another stuttered breath.  Your eyes, a tumultuous mix of fear and anger, lift to his again.  

 

You can see a muscle along his neck tense as he clenches his jaw and then his throat bobs as he swallows hard.  Taking a slow breath, Din lowers your hand from his helmet down into your lap…and then his head follows your hand.  You watch him in confusion, until the seal of his helmet hisses, and your eyes widen for a moment before snapping shut.

 

What is he doing?!

 

He lifts the front edge of his helmet, just barely, keeping his face well below your field of view and hidden from the child behind your bent knees. Then your breath catches in your throat as he presses a kiss against the palm of your hand.  When he raises his head a moment later, the helmet’s edge is back in place and the seal hisses again.  Then he leans down to rest the faceplate against your forehead.

 

“I’m sorry, Sweetling,” he murmurs.

 

Your eyes open to search the reflections in his visor, as your fingers press into your palm, subconsciously savoring the feel of his lips there.  Exhaling a shaky lungful of air, you close your eyes again and whisper, “I was… so scared…”

 

His hand slips up to curl against the side of your neck, fingers intertwining with your hair. The pad of his thumb rubs over your heartbeat, beneath the corner of your jaw.  "I know," he says gently.  He pauses, licking his lips behind the visor.   "Can you tell me the rest?"

 

Your eyes open again to meet his, brows arched to crease your forehead against the metal.  A faint tremble returns to your lower lip as you inhale.

 

You really don't want to relive the last few days.

 

"I… I might get angry again," you whisper. 

 

"Are you going to hit me again?"

 

You pause.  

 

"Maybe…"

 

A faint chuff slips past the helmet filter and you crack a tiny smile. "At least you're honest," he says, before pausing in thought.  "Okay… let's at least get that out of the way for now then," he says.  " Why are you angry with me?"

 

Your gaze drops to your hands and, after a moment, you realize that you've been absently tracing the spot where he kissed your palm.  That almost pushes away your anger.  

 

Almost.

 

But then you hold on to the frustration. Like he said, better to get it out now. 

 

Drawing in a deep breath, you bite your lip for a moment as you try to sort through all of the moments of frustration, anger and occasionally rage from the last few days.  Most of it wasn't towards him.  Most of it was about the bug or the situation in general.  But there were a few points… 

 

How can you explain it so he'll understand?  

 

"Because… because you were too stubborn to press a button for the fucking comms," you grind out. 

 

Din is quiet for a few moments.  "The comms?" he asks in confusion. 

 

You heave a sigh, facing that Beskar helmet again.  "Yes.  There is no... no kriffing way you couldn't have noticed the stinger that thing left in you," you say, eyes narrowed up at him.  "It was longer than my palm!  If you had just…. just let me know what happened, I could have been prepared!"  Clenching your jaw for a moment, your swipe away more tears. "Instead… you come stumbling back in with the bounty and then collapse.”  Each phrase becomes more clipped than the last, even as your voice shakes.  

 

"I don't… I don't remember any of that, Sweetling.  The last thing I remember is finding the quarry."  He pauses, trying to keep his own ire down at your accusations. "How can you be so sure I was just being stubborn?"

 

You huff a little scoff at him.  "Because you're the same man that will feed himself to a dragon… and let me hear about it from someone else."

 

He goes very still at that, his jaw tensing as he remembers your anger over the conclusion of the Krayt Dragon battle.  There had been a small argument about it, but in the end you had just thrown your hands up and declared him a 'brainless walking tea kettle' .  His unexpected amusement at that hadn't improved your mood, but it had ended the fight. 

 

The memory has a similar effect on him now and he chuffs a faint laugh.  "All right… can't argue with that point."

 

Your brows furrow for a moment, until you roll your eyes and laugh faintly too, guessing at where his mind had gone. 

 

A faint trilling sound to the side draws attention from you both.    

 

The child, having decided that the adults no longer needed him and were no longer entertaining, is now performing uncoordinated summersaults across your bedroll.  He's toppling onto his side halfway through most of them but he seems to be delighted with the results anyway. 

 

You and Din both chuckle at the kid's antics, watching him for a couple of quiet minutes and letting the little show ease the tension. 

 

After a while, nibbling the corner of your lip, you look up at the side of Din's helmet and study it for a moment.  When you reach up and grasp the edge it, pulling him to look at you, you can feel his slight jerk in surprise.

 

You just search that dark visor, before settling your eyes where you believe his to be.  

 

"When you're on a hunt, Din, I just…"  You pause, swallowing hard.  "I wish you would remember…you're not coming back to an empty ship anymore," you whisper, eyes shining again.  "There are two people waiting here for you. Two people th-that would be… devastated… if you didn't make it back."

 

With a slight tick of his head, you know he glances back over at the playing foundling.   Then he's focused on you again, and his arms  tighten around you just a smidge.

 

"I've made arrangements, Sweetling.  You'll both be taken care of if something happens to me," he says.

 

A soft frown creases the space between your brows.  "I…figured you had," you respond, and shake your head.  "That's not what I meant.  When… when I thought you were going to die, I wasn't scared because I didn't know what would happen to me."

 

The helmet cants again when you pause, worrying at your lip.  After a shaky breath, your head tilts down and you look at your hands in your lap again.  

 

"I was scared of… never hearing your voice again, Din," you say, your own voice cracking.  "Or your laugh.  Of… of never getting to watch you with the kid again, or fly the Crest , or…" a thin, strained laugh escapes you, "watch you swagger up the ramp with some lowlife in tow."  Your eyes go back up to that unreadable visor as a tear cascades down your cheek, the words just tumbling out now.  "I was scared of how much… just the thought of losing you hurts… an-and of how much I care, even if I…supposedly shouldn't," you finish in a whisper. 

 

Din is quiet after your voice trails off, swallowing against the unexpected lump in his throat.  He watches that tear travel down your cheek and his brows draw together.  There's a tightness taking hold across his chest, and an unexpected warmth that spreads at the same time.

 

You're scared of caring too much for him?  Of losing him?  What… does that mean?

 

Huffing an uneven breath of his own, he lifts his hand to catch your chin and his thumb draws a faint line across your lower lip. Then, he leans in, resting his helmet against your forehead as his mind reels, searching for the right response, but unable to find it.  He watches as you habitually catch that lip between your teeth, only to release it and wet your lips with the tip of your tongue.  His mouth opens and closes a few times before he sighs softly, lips pressing into a line. 

 

Kark , he's never been any good at expressing himself.  Not to mention he's still not sure what the hell it is he'd be trying to put into words anyway. Does he have an idea of what these feelings could be?  Sure.  Is it a solid idea yet?  No.

 

It's not as if any relationship he's had before, if they could even be called that, has compared to this in any way. 

 

The things he does know though, as he watches you bite your quivering lip again, is he cares more than he probably should too… and he doesn't give a damn about 'probably should'. 

 

That, and he needs to kiss you again.

 

He gives your chin a firm squeeze before he shifts beneath you, and you look surprised as he pulls away to stand. After a brief look at the foundling, who's still tumbling and bouncing around on your bedroll like a happy little porg, he holds his hand out to you. 

 

You look at that hand for a moment, uncertainty coursing through you at his continued silence. Then you place your hand in his and let him pull you to your feet. When he starts to back up into the door of the fresher though, you hesitate again, even pulling back slightly. 

 

Din pauses, his eyes searching your face.   He steps forward, close to you again, and rests his helmet against your forehead once more.  "Trust me, Sweetling?" he says.

 

There's another moment of hesitation before you take a deep breath, exhale shakily, and then nod. 

 

Taking hold of both of your hands, Din steps back into the fresher, pulling you with him.  As soon as you step over the threshold, he reaches past you and slides the door closed. 

 

The tiny room plunges into darkness and you squeak slightly in surprise. A faint chuff of Din's laugh fills the room and you level a half- hearted glare in his general direction.

 

"Can you see anything?" he asks, his voice soft, amusement still lacing through it. 

 

You blink a few times, realization dawning at that question, and you catch your lip in your teeth again.  With a steadying breath, you turn your head this way and that, blink again, and even lift your hand to wiggle your fingers in front of your face.  Then your hand drops back down to your side. 

 

"Not a thing," you answer. 

 

His chuffing laugh meets your ears again and you arch an eyebrow at him.   Well, you think it's at him.

 

"You can though, hm?"

 

"There are some uses to the helmet," he confirms.  "Although… I'm not particularly interested in any of those right now."

 

The hiss of the helmet's seal fills the small space and your eyes widen a bit against the dark, brows arching. It's followed by a metallic clang as he drops the helmet to the floor behind you, by the door.

 

Din steps further back into the fresher, pulling you with him by one hand.  His other arm slips around your waist and he tugs you in close to him.

 

Your heart starts to hammer as he manhandles you into the position he wants, and a nervous giggle escapes you.  Your free hand ends up splayed against his chest and you can feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, matching the increasing pace of your own.

 

His silence at your confession, and the seemingly sudden need to move, makes more sense to you now.  You've always known he's a man of action and few words, after all. 

 

Releasing your hand, Din lifts his to your shoulder and follows the curve of it inward until he can gently catch your chin.  Then he leans in and presses his lips against yours, tentatively at first.  But the tiny, delighted sound that escapes you spurs him on and he molds his lips over yours. 

 

It's only a moment before you begrudgingly pull back from that kiss though.  "Din… the kid…"

 

He releases your chin, slides his hand to curl into your hair and pulls you close again. 

 

"The kid's fine," he rumbles lowly, his baritone washing over you in the dark and making you melt at the smooth sound of it, unhindered by electronics. "Nothing much that he can get into out there."  

 

His chin tilts to brush his lips against yours again, his thin mustache lightly tickling your skin.  Thankfully, you aren't surprised by it this time, so you don't end up giggling. 

 

After only a moment longer, you relax into his arms with no desire to disagree, your hands sliding up from his chest, over his shoulders, and into his hair.  

 

It doesn't take long for everything about this to make you feel a bit giddy and lightheaded: the sound of his unfiltered voice, the feel of his breath and lips against your skin, the soft locks of his wavy hair slipping through your fingers.  All things you never expected to feel.  Things that you hadn't even let yourself daydream about, because they truly seemed impossible.  And now here they are, at your fingertips. 

 

And after the last few days, you need to feel him like this, to let your senses - well, most of them - assure your tortured mind that he is here and very much alive. 

 

"Besides," his voice breaks into your contemplations, "you still have to make good on last night's deal."

 

After a brief confused pause, a soft laugh passes your lips.  You cant your head to one side to pepper kisses across his cheek and then down his jaw, back towards his mouth. You smile softly against his skin.  He'd shaved this morning, all except that mustache, and now his cheek is smooth and supple beneath your lips.   

 

His low moan at your kisses drives you on.   If he could see the mischievous glint that comes to your eyes then it might concern him, just before you curl your fingers in his hair and let your nails faintly scratch across his scalp.

 

Din's whole body jerks at that sensation, a strangled sound escaping him as his grip on you tightens. 

 

With a smug little smile tugging at your lips, you pause the feather light kisses just at the corner of his mouth.  

 

"Are you sure you're ready for a second lesson, Mandalorian?" you purr softly.  Oh,  you're definitely feeling better now.  "I wouldn't want to overwhelm you, after all."

 

A deep growl comes up from his chest at your challenge.  "Little, kriffing tease," he grumbles, before he turns his head sharply to catch your lips with his.

 

You snicker into the kiss.  Then, you tilt your head slightly to change the angle of it more to your liking as the tip of your tongue slips out to trace the seam of his lips.  A gentle request for access.

 

Din stills for a moment, his breath hitching, before his lips part to your seeking tongue. 

 

With your fingers curling into his hair again, you press the softer curves of your body into the harder lines of his as you slip past his lips. His low moan is muffled into the kiss, mingling with your own, as your tongue drags along his. 

 

The feel and taste of him is heady.  Earthy and spices with a hint of mint.  You have no doubt you could happily lose yourself in kissing him for hours. 

 

With a groan, Din's hands slide down your sides, over the curve of your ass, and catch behind your thighs.  He hoists you up, settling you onto his hips as he turns to push you against the fresher wall, the increasing hardness of his erection pressing against the soft warmth of your clothed crotch. 

 

You break the kiss then as you gasp sharply at the sudden change.  The press of cold metal against your back and him, hot against your core, sends a wave of desire coursing through you. 

 

Proving how quick a learner he is, Din eagerly captures your mouth again and pushes his tongue past your lips. He traces over yours, delving in to learn the curves and lines in the warm depths of your mouth. 

 

Whimpering into him, you wrap your lips around his invading tongue and suck firmly.

 

Din's hips rut against yours in response, an animalistic growl escaping him to echo off the fresher walls. 

 

" Fuuck, " he groans a moment later as he draws back just enough to get some air, his breath stuttering over your skin.

 

Your own breath is labored as you grin into the darkness, licking your lips to savor the taste of him on them.  

 

Then your fingers fist into his hair, eliciting a hiss from him, as you pull his lips back to yours, before you both freeze.

 

A pitiful wail echos into the fresher from the cargo hold. 

 

Din buries his face into the curve of your neck as he groans, "Oh… come on,  Kid…"

 

Your giggle echoes off of the fresher walls before you go quiet again, listening to the kid's whines from the other room.  

 

At your giggle, Din gives a soft growl and grinds his hips into yours, causing your brain to short circuit for a moment and a whimper to tumble out of you.  Then he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, mouthing at the soft skin there, until the kid lets out a cry again.  When he huffs and finally lowers you to your feet, you bite your lip to keep from laughing again and take a moment to gather your wits.

 

"Actually, this is good," you say with a smirk.  "Listen to him."

 

Din stills against you.  It takes a moment but then you can hear the slow grin in his voice.  "He's tired."

 

Then you're snickering again as Din pulls away and the scrape of metal tells you he's scooped up his helmet.  A moment later the hiss of its seal fills the room just as he opens the door and you blink against the light. 

 

The foundling stops his cries to look over at you both.  He's laying dramatically against the edge of the bedroll on his back, little clawed hands grasping straight upwards at the air. 

 

You and Din both laugh at the sight and you shake your head, moving to the kid and picking him up. He pouts up at you over his robe's fluffy collar, before snuggling into your chest.  Giving him a gentle bounce, you turn to look back at Din, smirking and lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. 

 

He just chuffs a rueful laugh in response and shakes his head.

 

It takes a little longer than either of you hoped it would for the toddler to stop fighting sleep, as you pace with him.  So, while you do, Din tries to coax a bit more information out of you. 

 

"Sweetling?"  He keeps his voice low, to not disturb the child drifting in and out of sleep in your arms, and waits for you to arch a brow at him.  "Can you… tell me anything else that happened while I was out?"

 

You're quiet at first, considering.

 

Well… pretty sure the strongest of my emotions have already bowled us both over.   Guess I could try

 

Taking a deep breath, -which has the kid snuggling more into the cushion of your cleavage and makes you chuckle lightly- you nod at Din.

 

"Umm…," you hum softly as you try to gather your thoughts.  "At first, the Rodian was trying to convince me he did me a favor by not warning you…" you start.

 

And Din immediately interrupts.  "Wait...  He was awake ?" With the sharp cant of his helmet, as he looks over to the carbonite frames and then back, you know he's scowling. 

 

Lips pressed into a line, your head moves in a tiny nod. 

 

" I… didn't freeze him?"

 

A small, negative shake of your head.

 

" You did?"

 

Another nod. 

 

"How did you get him in there?"

 

You hesitate.  "With… your blaster."

 

There's a long pause then before Din's shoulders roll back slightly, his hand lifting to rub at the side of his neck.  You can feel him studying you, before a faint chuff passes through the helmet's modulator.  " Dank Farrik , Sweetling…"

 

He sounds… proud. 

 

You bite your lip, a thrill racing through you at his tone and a smile tugging at your lips. 

 

"Alright, now I need to hear the rest," he prompts you with a nod, crossing his arms lightly over his chest and leaning back against the bulkhead. 

 

You give a faint, nervous laugh, resuming your stroll around the hold, swaying with the foundling.

 

As you wander, you talk, telling him most of the details you can remember.  You leave out a few that don't seem important, like when he snapped at you.  He wasn't acting like himself at the time, after all. 

 

Din does occasionally stop you to ask questions, particularly regarding the events with the Rodian.  

 

"You…used your Force ability?" he asks at one point, concern coming off of him in waves with the way his body tenses.  "Did you know it would work?"

 

You shake your head slightly, swallowing hard.  "No.  But…"  You shrug.  "There was no other way to be sure he told me the truth."

 

When he's quiet at that, you continue.   And then a little while later…

 

"So, you shot twice?" He's looking over at the carbon scoring on the deck that you pointed out.  "A warning shot to get information… and then a shot to the foot to get him in the frame?"

 

"Yes…" you say.

 

He looks back at you and his head cocks to one side slowly.  That's his incredulous tilt. 

 

You only last a moment before laughing faintly, glancing down to make sure you didn't bother the kid.   He's not quite asleep yet, but almost, and he seems to be enjoying the sounds of the conversation. 

 

Your eyes lift back to Din.  "Fine," you huff quietly, despite smirking.  "The first time… I just missed, okay?  But he didn't need to know that!"

 

Din is quiet for a few seconds, but then you notice his shoulders are shaking.  You narrow your eyes at him and he snorts a faint laugh as he tries to keep quiet, his chin dropping down towards his chest. 

 

You stick your tongue out at the top of his helmeted head, only to yank it back in and plaster a neutral expression on your face when he looks back up at you. 

 

"Would you like to learn?" he asks through a soft chuckle. 

 

Your eyebrows jump upward in surprise and you just look at him.  Then, realizing you're staring, you blink and look down at the deck between you in thought. "Um… maybe," you say, brows knitting together as you look back up.  "Let me think about it."

 

He nods.

 

You continue then and Din listens intently, asking fewer questions through the rest of the story.  He does react though, nodding or slanting his head one way or another.  He grows particularly still when you stumble over the moment of your decision to remove his helmet.  You explain that you had hoped the blindfold would be enough because you remembered him lifting the helmet in Mos Pelgo, when you couldn't see him.  You know you're blushing as that memory, so once you finally get the words out you move on quickly.  You finish by explaining how the foundling had managed to show you that he could help… and seemed to have knocked you out in the process of actually helping. 

 

At that point, Din steps over to you, his hand lifting to gently brush the top of the kid's head.  "Thanks,  Buddy," he whispers.  

 

The little one shifts in your arms but doesn't wake from the touch and you smile brightly.  "Oh, thank the Maker, I think he's finally out."

 

A chuff passes the helmet's filters, and then he lifts his eyes to your face again.  "I have one question,  Sweetling," he says, while you carefully shift the kid in your arms and start towards the sleeping rack.  "How did you get to my blaster before the Rodian?"

 

You pause and look back at him over your shoulder.   Your brows pinch a little as you consider the question.  "He didn't seem interested in it, really… and when I shoved him away from you, he fell."

 

That beskar helmet cants again.  "You shoved him?"

 

Oh, forgot to mention that part…

 

A non-committal shrug lifts your shoulders as you turn to carefully lift the child into his hammock.  "Well… yeah," you murmur, "he was reaching for your helmet."

 

Din doesn't say anything in response and you just nibble at your lip, focusing on tucking the kid in.  You put the little, wooden dewback toy into the hammock with him, push up onto your toes to place a gentle kiss on his forehead and then step back to close the door. 

 

All the while, your mind is a jumble of self-doubt.  You figure that Din is probably thinking the same thing you were that night: how ironic it is that you decided to remove his helmet, and chance his Creed being broken, just hours after preventing someone else from doing so.  Regret squeezes at your chest and you wish you had come up with some other explanation.  

 

The last thing you want to keep doing is reminding Din that you made that choice for him, without any sure knowledge that his vows would be intact and knowing how seriously he takes those vows.

 

Inhaling deeply, you close your eyes for a moment to steel yourself before you turn back from the sleeping rack.

 

And nearly jump out of your skin with a shocked squeak at finding Din standing directly behind you, his head tilted at you, the dark T-visor filling your vision. 

 

"Let me make sure I understand, Cyar’ika ," he says, his voice a soft rumble from within his chest before the modulator gives it an electronic tinge.  "Not only did you go three or four days without sleep to keep me alive,  and took care of my kid while I couldn't…"  There's a slight pause.  "...you also shot a criminal and defended my Creed from him?  Oh, and you spent most of those four days in a blindfold, also to protect my Creed?"

 

Your lip catches between your teeth as your gaze dances across his visor and you give a faint nod.  

 

Then you gasp in surprise when everything goes dark as his hand covers your eyes.  The hiss of the helmet's seal hasn't even stopped before he's claiming your mouth and, when your brain finally catches up, you whimper and lean into his kiss. 

 

"Thank you, Sweetling," he husks against your lips, only drawing back a fraction of an inch.  "I… I don't know how I got so kriffing lucky."

 

At your demure smile and soft laugh, Din grins, watching as a flush creeps up into your cheeks.  His other arm snakes around your waist and he lifts you off your feet.  When you give another surprised squeak, he chuckles.  "Keep your eyes closed. "

 

You nod sharply, your tongue darting across your lips as his hand hesitantly lifts away and that arm joins the other around you.  Your heart speeds up in your chest, knowing he's right there, helmet off, and all it would take is one small movement to see him. But you shove that thought away, unwilling to even entertain it and just wanting to savor whatever you can get of him. 

 

Din's lips seek yours again in a heated kiss as he steps backwards, carrying you with him to the bedroll.

 

Maker, there's no where else in the galaxy that you'd rather be.

 

Chapter 24

Summary:

Hello! This is a slightly shorter chapter, picking up exactly where the last left off.

I meant to add more to it, but the next section of the story has me feeling a little stumped. So, I figured I'd give you all this part for the time being and take a few days to step away and reset my brain, so I can hopefully get the next bit going more smoothly.

CW: Smut! Lotsa smut! A little emotional angst. Mostly, it's a smutty chapter, ya'll

Hope you enjoy!

Tumblr username: Keeshya6

Chapter Text

"Do you need the blindfold?" Din murmurs into your ear.  He sets you back onto your feet on the bedroll, and tilts his head down to explore a line down the side of your neck with his lips. 

 

A tremble races down your spine and your breath stutters in a gasp as you lean into him.  It takes a moment for his question to click into your mind. 

 

"Uhh… mmm… yeah, pro-probably a good idea…" you stammer.

 

Din smiles against your skin before his lips find yours again in a brief kiss. "Alright. Stay here…"  And the moment he steps back and his hands slip away from your hips, you miss their warmth.

 

Keeping your eyes closed, you can hear Din move around nearby and you giggle softly at his grumbling.  "Where is it?"  You're about to respond when he huffs, "Oh, Dank Farrik , kid," and you hear him step off the bedroll and walk over near the ladder to the cockpit.  You smirk. 

 

Ah, that's why I couldn't find it this morning…

 

A moment later he's walking back over and steps up behind you. The soft cloth of the blindfold settles over the top half of your face and he ties it snuggly behind your head as you adjust it to make sure you can't see past any edges.   

 

Then, as your hands drop back down, his hand slips around to press over the cloth against your eyes.  He urges your head back and to the side, and his lips descend over yours.  

 

You could melt into him, leaning back against his strong chest with your head turned to that kiss over your shoulder.   A whimper slips out of you, lost into his mouth as his tongue demands entrance, which you enthusiastically give him. Meanwhile, your hand lifts up over your shoulder and finds its way into his hair, palm pressing to the back of his head as you return the kiss eagerly.

 

Din's other arm wraps around you, his hand splayed over your stomach as he pulls you more firmly into him.  His thumb brushes through your shirt against the swell of the underside of your breast and you shiver. 

 

As he moves to break the kiss, you nip sharply at his lower lip.  Din freezes, his breath stuttering.  You still for a moment too, eyes wide behind the blindfold.  Tilting your chin up a bit, you dart your tongue out to lick soothingly over the offended spot.  A silent apology. 

 

A low growl comes up from Din's chest and the hand over your eyes pulls your head back the other way sharply, so if you could see you'd be looking straight up at the ceiling.  

 

You gasp, at the sudden shift and then again as his mouth moves against your neck and his teeth catch the sensitive skin just below your pulse point. From the sting of the bite, you know it's going to bruise, even before he sucks at the tender flesh.  A mewl falls past your lips, heat spearing into your core as your body arches within his hold. 

 

When he pulls back, his breath dancing over your skin, he pauses to examine the angry blossom of color left behind.  A pleased rumble escapes him as he nuzzles his mouth over the mark. 

 

"How does your skin taste so kriffing good ?" he purrs into your ear, nipping at the shell of it. 

 

You wet your lips as another shiver lances through you. With a little giggle, you shrug.  "Good genes?"

 

Chuckling, Din grasps your hips and spins you to face him.  Then he's kissing you again, licking into your mouth, as he begins to peel away your clothes.  Your hands mimic his, working at his clothing, until you're both stripped bare except that black cloth across your eyes, and he guides you down onto the bedroll. 

 

His hands move everywhere.  Caressing the curve of your hips.  Tangled into your hair as he plunders the warmth of your mouth.  Palming your breasts as he nips down your neck.  Stroking your inner thighs, so close to the center of your arousal.  

 

You press into every touch, whimpering and mewling.  Your own hands dance across his skin, relearning every hill and valley of his body that you can reach.

 

And when his tongue meets the peak of your breast, the strangled cry that tumbles out of you has Din moaning against your skin.  

 

He looks up at you as he licks, and grins at the way your lips part as you pant for breath and your back arches to press closer to his mouth.  Obliging the wordless request, his lips close over your tit and he draws the nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly and rolling the tightened nub between his teeth.  

 

The soft gasps and breathless moans that steal past your lips are like a melody to his naked ears, unfiltered for the first time. 

 

Maker, he knew he loved the sounds you made before, but now? To hear them so fervent and raw is like a kriffing drug. 

 

Releasing you with a swirl of his tongue, Din moves to the other breast, taking as much of you into his mouth as he can.  Lips, teeth and tongue all work to draw that symphony of sounds out of you again. Sucking, licking, nipping; savoring the feel of that soft mound of flesh molded to his mouth.

 

Another swipe of his tongue and his mouth slips away from your breast.  He cups both tits in his large hands, thumbs caressing over the swollen peaks.  He watches as you bite your quivering lip, before he lowers his head again and presses a gentle kiss between your breasts. 

 

You whimper, hands reaching for him, slipping into his hair and nails scratching over his scalp. Din's low groan in response, against the softness of your belly as he trails kisses down your torso, makes you smile with a thrill.

 

He looks up at you again, his chin resting lightly on your stomach. 

 

You'd swear you can sense every inch of skin his gaze drags over, leaving a path of warmth in its wake that has your entire body feeling flushed. 

 

Nuzzling his mouth and nose into your tummy, and making you hold back a giggle when that mustache tickles your skin, he rumbles, "I want to taste you, Sweetling."

 

Your breath hitches at those words.  Then, your mouth opens and closes a few times as you try to come up with a response.   Finally, you let a smirk tug at your lips, hoping it hides your nervousness.  "And here I thought that was what you've been doing…" you coo prettily, while your trembling fingertips find the curve of one of his ears, tracing it lightly as you tease. 

 

It earns you a sharp bite just under your navel and a faint snarl.

 

You eep! in surprise and then press your lips together to keep from snickering.

 

"Are you getting cheeky with me?" he growls, but you can hear the grin in his voice. 

 

Holding in the laughter, though not very well, you cant your head curiously in his direction like he so often does to you. "That depends," you say, barely suppressing another smirk.  "How much trouble will a 'yes' get me into?"

 

He gives another playful snarl.  "Not as much as lying will," he counters, lightly pinching at your side.  

 

More squeaks escape you and you try to scoot away from those pinches.  Your hips and thighs are pinned beneath the weight of his chest though.  "Okay-okay! Yes…I was!" you squeal as you try to escape the tickling, pathetically unsuccessful. 

 

An instant later Din has moved back up the length of your body.  He pulls your hands above your head and, before you can react, you find your wrists pinned together under one of his hands.  Your breath is jagged as you try to catch it, still squirming a little under him. 

 

He chuckles darkly, his lips teasing at your jaw.  "I'm going to remember that sass later…" 

 

You go very still for a moment and then a giggle escapes you, your tongue darting out over your lips. Something in his tone suggests to you that you might not really mind if he does remember later. 

 

Din's lips find yours again then, his tongue chasing yours back into your mouth and drawing a wanton mewl out of you.  You arch up, pressing your hips to his and rocking against his half hardened cock. 

 

He groans into your mouth before he shifts his weight to the side, partially off of you.  You would have pouted at him, if you weren't still so distracted by actually being able to kiss him. 

 

"Now, like I was saying…" he growls a few moments later.  "I want to taste you, Sweetling.  Here."  He's quick to specify this time, dipping his free hand between your thighs.

 

You gasp as two fingers sweep through the damp folds of your sex, far too briefly for your liking.  

 

He takes another few moments to explore your mouth with another kiss, drawing more whimpers out of you before he pulls back, leaving you both a bit breathless.

 

"But," he continues, voice husky, "I'm going to need some… directions..."

 

At that, your entire body goes still and your eyes widen behind the blindfold. Your breath even stops in your chest as you bite your lip. 

 

"What?" you whisper.

 

Din's head tilts curiously as a little color drains from your face.  He watches you as he repeats gently, "Directions, Sweetling.  Tell me what you like..."

 

You turn away from him a bit at that as you worry at your lip and take a couple shallow breaths.  "Umm…" you hum, your jaw tensing.

 

Frowning, Din lifts his hand to your chin, catching it and turning your head towards him again. 

 

Your nervousness is obvious now and it doesn't make sense, considering the playfulness just a minute ago.  

 

"Sweetling?"  He pauses, and when you hesitate again he adds, "Talk to me."

 

You press your lips into a thin line for a moment, before you swallow hard and exhale shakily.  "I don't know…" you whisper. 

 

His brows pinch together.  "You don't know… what?"

 

A soft, huffing sigh escapes you.  "I don't… don't know what I like… with that," you stammer.  "I know you like it when I tell you… and-and probably especially this time.   But… ummm… I don't… I-I've never…" Your words fade as you nip at your lip in embarrassment. 

 

Din is quiet for a few seconds, his gaze darting over what he can see of your face, then down your body and back up.  His head tilts sharply. 

 

" Cyar’ika, no one has ever-...?"

 

You cut him off with a shake of your head.  "No…" you say sharply, feeling a fresh blush rising up from your chest. 

 

There's another pause.  "But you were-..."

 

"I know."

 

"You're…embarrassed by it." 

 

A statement. Observation.  Not a question this time, but you nod anyway. 

 

He's silent again for several moments and you can sense he's studying you.  Your hands fidget at your sides. Even though you can't actually see anything, your eyes are darting around behind the blindfold, anywhere but towards him. 

 

Then Din shifts his body again, over yours, and your breath shudders once more.   Bracing on his elbows to either side of you, his hands frame your face and he kisses you. It's a slower kiss this time, more tender than the fevered ones before. When he breaks it, he rests his forehead against yours. 

 

"Nothing for you to be embarrassed of, Sweetling.  Dank Farrik ," he says, voice soft and still husky, "I can't imagine what kind of kriffing idiot it would take to be married to you and not… not devour you at every opportunity."

 

Your lip trembles a little at that and then you giggle softly, your nose crinkling as your eyes close behind the cloth.  With another blush coloring your cheeks, you lift your shoulders in a shrug.

 

Din's chin tilts so he can kiss your lips again, tongue dancing with yours for a moment and making you mewl softly.

 

"May I , Sweetling?" he whispers against your lips. 

 

You lost track with that kiss.

 

"W-what?"

 

Smirking, his head tilts to the side and he groans into your ear, "I want to feast on you, until they can hear your cries in the next star system."  Din grins when he feels a tremble race through you.  He nips at the side of your neck, just below your ear.   "No rules tonight… no asking for permission.  We'll figure out what you like together."  He pauses, listening to the hitch in your breath.  "I just want to make you feel good, sweet girl," he murmurs.  

 

After another pause, he chuckles lowly.  "And with the noises I've gotten out of you with my tongue in your mouth… I'd love to find out what kind I can get with it buried between your legs."

 

Your core clenches and you whine as your hips lift against his with a will of their own. 

 

Another chuckle.  "Is that a 'yes'?"

 

"Y-yes!" you gasp out, almost before he finishes the question. 

 

With a grin, Din pushes up from you and moves back down your body. He pauses at your stomach, smirking at the mark left by his earlier bite, from when you got mouthy.  As he presses his lips to the spot, his hands caress down your hips and then your inner thighs, gently urging them further apart to accommodate the width of his shoulders. He inhales the musky, sweet scent of your arousal as you open to him and a deep growl comes up in his chest. 

 

You thrum with anticipation, head tilted towards him as if actually watching his descent.  You're exceptionally aware of every physical sensation and every sound as you wait within the dark sphere created by the blindfold.  Every brush of his fingers, that spine tingling growl, the press of his bare chest and shoulders as he moves lower, the warmth and huff of his breath on your stomach and then your inner thighs. You dig your fingers into the foam of the bedroll beneath you, doing your best to resist the urge to arch your hips up. 

 

Din slides his arms under your legs and presses his hands over the tops of them, at the crease where shapely hips and thighs meet.  He hesitates for a moment, to look up at your half hidden face, and smiles at the way your lips barely part and how your tits lift with each shallow, panting breath.   

 

Then he leans in and sweeps his tongue through the silken folds of your pussy.

 

"H-holy fuck!" you cry, hips jolting under the press of his hands and your head dropping back.   

 

He groans at that first delectable taste, savoring your sweetness on his tongue, his cock stiffening almost to the point of being painful.  His hips grind into the bedroll, for whatever bit of relief that will give.  Glancing up at you, he gives a wicked smile, before he drives his tongue into your blazing cunt. 

 

A searing flame of pleasure races through your veins as Din licks at you and you gasp for breath.  One of your hands is on his head, fisting into his hair, and you don't even know how it got there.  The other reaches above you, gripping white-knuckled at the edge of the bedroll like a lifeline, as you quiver. 

 

"Oohhh… kri-... swe-et Maker… Diiin…" you moan, trying to form any words that make sense.  " KriffingStars… th-that's… sofuckinggood !"

 

Din growls at the tug of your fingers in his hair even as he grins at your stammering and buries his face into your wet heat.  He alternates between tracing his tongue over the lips of your pussy and parting them with the flat of it, to lap at the slick of your arousal. 

 

Each stroke draws delightful sounds out of you that Din revels in: sharp gasps, wanton cries, moans so filthy that pride swells up in his chest. 

 

Knowing, without a doubt, how much you're enjoying this, has him feeling almost drunk on you.  Your reactiveness, blended with the sensations of your taste, texture and scent, is addicting.  At the moment, his own pleasure be damned, he could happily die with the flavor of your sex in his mouth, the press of your thighs against his cheeks, and the sound of your cries in his ears. 

 

His tongue delves into you over and over again.  Then, when his nose brushes over your clit, your hips buck up so hard that he almost loses control of them.  

 

Din pulls back sharply, to avoid a collision, at which you whimper.  Then, he grins.  

 

Adjusting his grip on your hips to one hand, he leans in again and the warmth of his mouth envelopes your clit.  He sucks firmly at the swollen nub, as two thick fingers shove into your dripping core and begin stroking.

 

For an instant, everything in the known galaxy feels like it coalesces into one place, drawn in with searing heat and unimaginable pressure to the space low in your belly and between your thighs.  

 

And then you fracture…and explode.

 

Your heels dig into the bedroll and your body arches up from it, as the unexpected climax slams through you like a comet.  Stars burst behind your eyelids and the keen that rips past your lips echoes off the hold's metal walls.  Lithe fingers grip so tightly into Din's hair that he hisses a bit, his breath flitting over your soaked sex and increasing your shivers.

 

As you cum, Din tugs his fingers out of your fluttering tunnel and he drives his tongue back home into your pussy, licking as deeply into you as he can.  He laps at you through the orgasm, your cunt clenching at the invasion and your clit throbbing beneath small strokes of his thumb. Unbelievably, he pushes you over the edge once more into another smaller but equally strong climax.  You'd swear you rupture into flames as you cry out.

 

Finally, coming down from the back-to-back orgasms, after what feels like several minutes, you whimper loudly and try to pull away from the now over-stimulating stroke of his tongue and fingers. 

 

Din lets you pull away a bit, though reluctantly.  He groans, his head resting against the inside of your knee as he looks up at your face.

 

Once you've pulled away that small bit, you barely move again, other than the rise and fall of your chest from shallow breaths.  Both  hands rest listlessly beside your head and soft tremors continue to course through you. 

 

It feels like you are floating, and you can't quite muster the willpower to come back down just yet. 

 

Licking his lips, and relishing the taste lingering on them that is distinctly you, Din smiles as he moves up beside you again.  A faint tick of your head towards him lets him know that you're not completely unaware, but the blissful smile tugging at the corners of your lips tells him you are close to it. 

 

With a silent chuckle, he gently maneuvers you onto your side, facing away from him, and you give a tiny murmur in response.   He's not sure if it's a sound of agreement or not, but you don't resist the movement.  His arms slip around you then and he presses in close behind you, curling his body against yours. 

 

" Kark , you taste amazing…" he breathes out, his face nuzzling into your hair. 

 

His voice only somewhat registers in your fuzzy mind, but when it does you snicker softly.  Your hands move languidly, fingers intertwining with his over your stomach.  "Th- thank you…" you whisper. 

 

Din stills for a moment behind you, before he leans his head down to pepper kisses across the back of your shoulder.  "My pleasure, Cyar’ika ," he rumbles. 

 

You lean into those feather light pecks with a soft smile, and then it's your turn to go very still for a moment.  The haze finally lifts from your mind, as you note the unmistakable pressure of his hard-on, caught between his stomach and the curve of your buttocks as you back arches.  Catching the corner of your lip with your teeth, a coy smile pulls at your mouth.    

 

Your hand slips out of his. You ghost your fingertips down the length of his fingers, over the back of his hand and his wrist, then up his arm, following the lean lines of muscles. 

 

Din's breath caresses the skin of your shoulder as he pauses, stilling again as every fiber of his being hones in on the journey your fingers traverse up his arm.   When they reach his elbow, slipping off to find his hip behind you, and trace down one side of the dipping V-line of muscle, his breath audibly catches beside your ear. 

 

"Sweetling…" he chokes out, "...you don't have t-... ohfuckinghell…

 

You can't help grinning, as he interrupts his own attempted gallantry, when your fingers wrap around his cock.  His hips jut into your touch, his forehead pressing against the back of your shoulder as he groans.

 

"Who said anything about 'have to'?" you purr, as your hand glides over the length of his rigid dick. 

 

A low moan comes up from his chest, muffled into your hair. 

 

Smirking, your grip on him tightens and you stroke him as firmly as you can from this angle.  His flesh is like hot velvet in your hand, pulling taut over his hardness with each downward push.

 

"Nnuuggh, Dank Farrik… that feels so krrriffing good…"

 

You can feel his breath quicken over your skin as your hand moves on him.  His fingers clench and unclench into fists against your stomach, until he slides them up a few moments later to palm and massage your breasts.

 

Gasping softly, you arch into his touch and soon the shallowness of your breaths matches his, your own arousal building anew. A sheen of sweat glistens on your skin and each of his breaths on your shoulder raises goosebumps across your body. 

 

After several torturous minutes of that mutual teasing, you decide enough is enough and, with a soft moan, you shift in his arms.  

 

Din's hold on your softens so you can move within the circle of his arms.  He's expecting you to either turn onto your back and try to pull him over you -which he definitely won't resist- or maybe even climb on top of him instead -again, there would be no argument from him-.  You surprise him though, and just shimmy upward on the bedroll a bit.  His head cants in curiosity, until you press your back flush against his chest, your ass near the top of his pelvis.   Then you curl your legs away from him slightly and reach back to take a hold of his cock again and guide him to your entrance.

 

Shuddering an exhale, Din's mouth brushes just below your ear as his hands slip down to get a gentle hold on your hips.  "You're sure, Sweetling?  Like this?" he rumbles into your ear.

 

Still holding his shaft, his cockhead notched against your wet slit, you turn your head over your shoulder as if to look at him through the blindfold, a tiny smirk tugging at your lips.  "Yes,” you purr, your hips rocking back, so the tip of him slips into you just a fraction of an inch.  Both of you moan.  "I wa-want you to take me… just like this."

 

"Take you?" he husks, drawing out the tension with a chuckle.  "You can…do better than that, Cyar’ika ."

 

You pout softly, rocking your hips again.  "Pl-please, Din."  You swallow hard against the dryness in your mouth. "I want to feel you… feel your cock in-inside me…please."

 

"Good girl," he groans into your ear. " Fuuck , I love it when…you beg for me."  Then, his grip on you tightens and his hips flex to sink his cock into your dripping wet core.  

 

A soft mewling sound spills past your lips, your body arching into his.  You release your hold on his turgid dick as he presses further into you, your hand moving to catch hold on his thigh.  Delicate nails dig small crescent moons into his golden skin at the blissful burn and stretch of him, inch by slow torturous inch. 

 

Din shudders against you, his mouth finding the curve of your neck to bite and suck at your tender flesh.  When your pussy clenches down on him in response, his strangled growl fills your ears and sends shards of delightful electricity arcing through you.

 

Once he's fully seated into your channel he pauses, savoring the feeling of you pulled close, heated, sweat slicked skin against his. He thrills in your cunt's hold on his throbbing length, buried inside you. 

 

" Kriff , you're tight…" he rasps.

 

At the sound of a soft, pleading mewl from you a few moments later, Din begins moving against you.  His strokes into you are slow and steady, almost tender, as he stretches and fills you again and again. 

 

Pleasured moans tumble out of you as he thrusts, your hips rocking back to meet him.  His groans mingle with yours, filling your ears. 

 

Lifting your arm, you reach back over your shoulder to card your fingers into his hair.  Your head turns towards him and Din meets your mouth in a desperate kiss, and soon the pace of his strokes quicken.

 

You gasp into his mouth when the head of his cock hits that devastating spot inside of you.  Your grip tightens into a fist on his locks, your pleading cries lost into the kiss until he breaks it, burying his face into your hair.

 

"Nnuuggh… Maker, you fe-feel so fucking perfect…" he moans, his voice trailing off into ragged grunts as he ruts his hips against your ass.  

 

A familiar coil of pleasure tightens in your belly, heat searing you as he drives into you repeatedly.  He is rapidly pushing you back towards the peak and you can't even form coherent words to encourage him. 

 

But then Din proves how well he knows your body and how to pull pleasure out of you.  When he feels your pussy shuddering around his cock, he growls lowly, and pushes a hand down over your stomach and between your thighs.  His fingertips find your swollen clit and he rubs over it firmly, in tight circles. 

 

"That's it… sweet girl, give it to me," he breathes against your neck.  "Soak my cock… cum for me."

 

Your entire body tenses into an arch as his voice rushes through you like a wave, the filthy words pushing you over the edge that his stroking fingers and cock have brought you to.  You scream his name as you cum, orgasm wracking through you as your body jolts in his arms.  

 

Din gasps as your cunt chokes his shaft.  He continues to move, fucking into you through your climax until he finally lets go of the tenuous control he's been holding.  He grinds his hips into yours, pouring himself into you with a strangled roar.

 

Minutes crawl by then, you both shuddering, coming down slowly from climax.  Your core flutters around his softening dick, as aftershocks course through you from the experience of three powerful orgasms.  

 

Din groans against the back of your neck, trembling at the over-stimulation to his cock, and finally moves just enough to pull out of you. Your whimper, at the empty feeling of losing him inside of you, has him chuckling softly.  He wraps his arms around you again, pulling you flush against him. 

 

Still shivering, you settle back in his arms,  making a soft humming noise of contentment as your fingers intertwine with his again. 

 

Grinning, he presses a kiss against your temple and another to the back of your shoulder.   Then he nuzzles his face into the soft locks of your hair, relaxing against you.

 

 

A couple hours later, Din is half sitting up, with his back against the bulkhead wall, unable to find sleep.  

 

You are curled into his side now, your head resting on his chest with a hand next to your cheek.  Soft, slow breaths pass your lips, dancing over his bare skin, with the occasional gentle snore that makes him smile.

 

He alternates between watching you and resting his head back against the bulkhead, not looking at anything in particular.  His calloused fingertips absently trace shapeless designs on your skin or brush down an unruly lock of hair, only to run it between his fingers for a moment. 

 

His mind keeps careening through the events of the last few days, detailed out by replaying the conversations the two of you have had since he woke from that venom-induced coma.  

 

One moment he's staring down at you in awe, still finding it hard to believe what you went through to keep him alive.  He can't think of anyone throughout his life that would have done nearly so much, except his parents.  

 

You put yourself through hell for him. 

 

Because you were afraid  to lose him. 

 

Din's jaw clenches and he swallows against a tightness in his throat at the memory of your emotional confession. 

 

In the next moment, as he's still wading through his own emotions, his mind wanders on to other bits of the conversation.  He pauses to mull over your story regarding the Rodian.

 

And a barely containable rage blooms within his chest as he realizes how much worse it could have been. 

 

Over the years of bounty hunting, Din has brought in almost any kind of dangerous quarry a person could imagine.  Hell, the second bounty on the ship, the one he’d picked up before the trip to Tatooine, is wanted for nearly beating his spouse to death in a fit of rage.  He’s brought in thieves, kidnappers, embezzlers, smugglers… murderers… rapists.

 

The thought of those last two possibilities makes Din feel physically ill, bile threatening to rise up into his throat.    

 

That he might have inadvertently left you to deal with someone like that… alone…

 

It takes every bit of control in him to keep from giving in to that nausea, his eyes clenching closed as he takes several slow, deep breaths.  Unconsciously his hold on you tightens, until you whine softly in your sleep and he looks down at you, loosening his grip. 

 

"Sorry…" he murmurs. 

 

You settle again immediately without waking and Din releases a shaky sigh. 

 

His lips press to the top of your head and he closes his eyes again, inhaling the scent of your hair.  

 

Still he struggles against the images in his mind, of you and the kid hurt, or worse, because he wasn't able to protect you.  

 

And then he finally understands your tearful frustration earlier, and maybe even a fraction of the fear you had felt while he’d been near death.

 

There’s a sting in Din’s eyes and they open in surprise.  He pulls back, looking down at you as he blinks the unfamiliar feeling away.

 

When was the last time he’d been near to shedding tears?  He can’t remember.  Maybe after his parents had died.  

 

Swallowing hard again and letting his head fall back against the bulkhead, Din takes a steadying breath.

 

Kriff …” he whispers.

 

What the hell is happening to him?

 

 

The next days pass quicker than you'd like, even though they are easy, unhurried days.  You and Din spend the trip recuperating from the week on Rodia.  Both of you give the foundling as much attention as you can, but you're often worn out by his seemingly endless fount of energy.

 

At least he wears himself out to sleep well through the night. 

 

After putting the kid to bed each night, you take time to go through some strength exercises and stretching.  Your daily habit was broken during the time Din was comatose, and getting back to it helps to calm the anxiety that still pokes at your mind on occasion.   Sometimes, Din even comes down from the cockpit to watch as you do your workouts.  

 

Of course, when he does, you know that your normal workout is probably going to be cut short… and likely turn into cardio instead.   

 

You're not exactly complaining though. 

 

When that happens though -okay, who are you kidding? It happens almost every night-, you can't help noticing that something is different now.  Din is different.  And it's not just that he's found a way around the restrictions of his helmet.

 

Rodia changed things.

 

You're having trouble putting your finger on exactly what the difference is though.   It's subtle, but it's there.  His enthusiasm for you hasn't changed.  In fact, it might be stronger than ever.   But there's something in the way he holds you, touches you, talks to you, caresses you.

 

If you could just pin-point what is different,  maybe you could start to focus instead on figuring out what all of your own emotions mean after everything on Rodia.

 

But you can't seem to bring yourself to ask him either, especially when you can't point out what specifically is different. 

 

So, you keep putting it aside to figure it out later.

 

Because that always helps… ugh…

 

Finally, after several days, you and the foundling are sitting in the jumpseats of the cockpit again, behind Din.  You both watch as the scene through the viewport shifts from the inky black of space to the pale blue-gray of Navarro’s sky.

 

The little one makes happy trilling noises as he watches, small clawed hands reaching out as if to touch the clouds that the Crest descends through.

 

You smile softly at the child’s innocent amazement, even as you nibble worriedly at your lip.

 

Navarro.

 

The last trip here did not go well.

 

Sure, it was your own fault, but that's beside the point.

 

You’re not exactly feeling thrilled.

 

The Crest lands with only a faint groan of protest, somewhere deep in the hull, and Din's hands move smoothly over the controls to begin the shut down sequences.

 

As the familiar sounds of the ship fade into silence, you unstrap from your seat and move over to take the kid out of his.  You settle him onto your hip and stand in front of his seat, waiting for Din and looking out the viewport at the town below.

 

Your brows arch slightly.  It’s only been a few months since you were here last but it’s obvious that the town has already grown outward some.

 

Din finishes up the ship’s shut down and stands, stretching his shoulders and his back.  When he turns to look at you, he pauses, helmet tilting to one side.

 

It takes you a few moments to notice the curious slant, but when you do you blink at him in confusion.

 

“What?”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Your brows knit together.  “Yes… Why?”

 

A leather gloved hand reaches out to you and his thumb gently pulls your lip from between your teeth.

 

You blink again.  You hadn’t even realized you keep biting it between sentences.  A thin laugh tumbles out of you and you nervously tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

 

“I’m fine,” you say. 

 

Din steps a little closer to you.  “Yeah… and I’m Grand Moff Tarkin,” he deadpans.  After a moment he adds, “You’re a terrible liar, Sweetling.”

 

A sigh lifts your chest as your lips press together and your expression screws up a bit as you consider your answer.  “Okay… I’m nervous,” you admit with a shrug.

 

He’s quiet, waiting.

 

A few moments pass before you look up at the dark, T-shaped visor and sigh again.  “My last time here… wasn’t exactly ideal.”

 

Din considers that for a moment before nodding.  “True.”  He pauses.  “This time will be different.”

 

You give him a skeptical look.

 

His hand lifts to brush his fingers against your cheek briefly, which you lean into a little, before his hand moves to the side of your neck.  The pad of his thumb brushes against your skin lightly, over the small tattoo below your pulse point.  He traces the silhouetted image of a fist wrapped up in a ribbon.

 

“You’ll be with me.  And even if we get seperated…”  He hesitates for a moment before finishing the thought, his thumb moving over the tattoo again, “...no one can try to claim you this time.  You’re… mine, Sweetling.”

 

You bite your lip again before you realize it, your breath hitching a little with the mix of emotions elicited by that last statement.

 

You are his.

 

Maker, the different possible meanings behind those simple words make your head spin a bit. 

 

But what way does he mean them?  Technically?  Well, yes.  Legally?  Also yes.  Physically, mentally… emotionally?

 

You swallow hard and shove the questions aside once again, forcing yourself to focus.

 

Kriff, now is not the time to try to figure THAT out.

 

You give him a thin smile, your hand lifting to rest on the back of his, and you nod.

 

After studying you for a moment, Din gives a single nod in response.  His fingers catch your chin with an affectionate squeeze as he softly bumps the top of his helmet’s faceplate against your forehead.

 

He murmurs a soft “Good girl,” that has your smile brightening some. 

 

With one more brief squeeze of his fingers, he releases you and steps past you to leave the cockpit and head down to the hold and the exit.

 

You follow him down, the kid still expertly balanced on your hip.

Chapter 25

Summary:

Hello my friends! I'm so sorry that I'm not posting as often any more. I promise, I haven't forgotten these two. They are my favorites! I love them. Other projects and real life have been getting in the way but I'm hoping things will level out soon so I can post a little more often again.

CW: Not much to warn of in this one. Some fluff. Some more angst. Alcohol use.

Oh, we're going to start straying away from canon more, so you know. We'll probably come back around, but the timeline compared to the shows will be different. It's just how this story is going.

I hope you enjoy!

Tumblr account: Keeshya6

Chapter Text

You fidget as you sit beside Mando in Greef Karga’s office.  You’re only half listening to the conversation he’s having with Greef, debating over compensation for the bounties currently being unloaded from the Crest.

 

It hadn’t taken you long, upon meeting the boisterous Greef, to decide that you like the man.  He’s a little loud and exaggerates his movements, but it’s not obnoxious.  Besides, as much as Mando has come to mean to you, he is still pretty quiet most of the time.  So the change of pace is nice.

 

Plus, the gremlin seems to adore the big man and went to him immediately, which is a note in his favor.  The little one keeps bouncing on Greef’s knee, playing with the edges of the man’s elaborately embroidered coat.

 

So, it’s not Greef that is making you anxious.  It’s the woman sitting off to the side of his desk, leaning her chair back against the wall.  

 

Mando has mentioned both Greef and Cara a few times over the months, but he never expressed how intense the woman is.

 

Like Greef, the former Rebel soldier had greeted Mando with a grin and what looked like a hearty handshake.  You even suspected that the two of them had squeezed hands a little harder than was necessary, something you’ve often seen warrior types do.  It made you snort a faint laugh and roll your eyes briefly.

 

But her demeanor had changed when Mando introduced you.  Greef had been intrigued and then jovial, the surprise on his face obvious but quickly shifting to welcoming.  Cara’s surprise wasn’t hidden either, but rather than becoming friendly she had merely given a curt nod and a Hello , and a faint scowl has marred her pretty features ever sense.

 

You try to ignore the other woman’s less than cheery disposition.  Despite your reservations about coming to Navarro, you’ve been in a good mood and you want to keep it that way.

 

So, you look around idly as Mando and Greef talk, toying with the tear-drop pendant and the ring hanging from a chain around your neck.  A soft smile tugs at your lips as you realize what you’re doing and your mind wanders back to the morning. 

 

 

Before piloting the Crest down into Navarro’s atmosphere, Din had surprised you with the necklace.

 

You had been busying yourself with trying to mend a tear in one of your pairs of pants, baffled as to how the seam at the hip had come undone.  You’re not much of a seamstress either, so the sewing was going very slowly.

 

Din stepped up behind you as you sat on the bedroll facing the boarding ramp.

 

Pausing, you tilted your head back and looked up at him.  Then you lifted the pants to show him the half-sewn, broken seam.  

 

“I don’t know if this was because of you… but I’m choosing to blame you,” you said with a cheeky grin.

 

Din canted his head to examine the tear and then shrugged with a chuff.  “Could have been me.”

 

You smirked, giving him a playful wink, and turned back to your work.

 

But, before you could pick up the needle again, something dropped down in front of your face.  You jumped slightly, squeaking in surprise, and then started giggling.

 

The laughter died in your throat though as you recognized the necklace from the Rodian marketplace swaying in front of you and your breath caught.  

 

You had entirely forgotten about the beautiful piece of jewelry after finding it amongst his armor and clothing on Rodia.

 

In all fairness, you did have other things on your mind at the time.

 

Now Din was holding it above you by the delicate chain. 

 

Nibbling at your lip, you looked back up at him in uncertainty before reaching up to take the pendant.  Holding it in your palm, you marveled again at the silver rivulets running through the dark purple stone.

 

The chain fell to drape over your hand when Din released it and then he moved to sit behind you, his legs bent on either side of your hips as his arms encircled you and he pulled you back against his chest.

 

"I know you saw it already," he stated. 

 

You smiled softly, not about to deny it, and glanced back at him over your shoulder.  "Yes… but I was a bit preoccupied and forgot about it."  After looking back down at the necklace briefly, you cast a confused expression Din's way. "How did you even know about it?"

 

He shrugged.  “I saw… that something caught your eye there,” he said, rubbing a hand at the side of his neck.  “When I was out after the Rodian I ended up near the city again and I stopped in.”

 

His nervous movements had you smiling again and you quirked an eyebrow at him.  “But… you were on the other side of the market.”  With a light laugh you reached over your shoulder to tap a fingertip against the forehead of his helmet.  “Does that thing really let you see things from that far away?”

 

He chuffed a laugh. “Some things… but not in that detail.”  When you gave him another questioning look, Din gave a thin chuckle.  “The vendor remembered you.  She told me which one you liked.”  

 

Then the helmet tilted downward as he looked at the necklace in your hands, seeming to have trouble meeting your eyes as he continued.  “You deserve some nice things, Sweetling."  He paused and then shrugged again.  "Plus, I thought you might want to… keep Sai's ring on the chain, too, since it doesn't really fit your finger…”  His voice drifted off then and he cleared his throat with uncertainty.

 

You blinked at him a couple times in surprise, your brows lifting.  Then, looking down at the necklace in your hands and the tiny ring on your finger, you couldn’t hold back a bright smile.   

 

There have been several times over the last few weeks that you have worried about losing Saisha’s ring, as it slipped loose on your pinky.  You hadn’t realized that he had noticed.

 

Grateful tears stung your eyes and you hurriedly blinked them away, swallowing against a lump in your throat.  Then, you turned and pressed a kiss on the 'cheek' of his helmet, eyes sparkling.  

 

"Thank you," you whispered, voice choked with emotion. 

 

Turning forward again, you set your sewing aside.  Then you opened the clasp of the necklace and threaded one side of the chain through the tiny ring.  As the twisted pieces of silver settled against the pendant, you realized that it actually went well with the necklace.  Swallowing hard again, you gathered up your hair from your shoulders and neck and held it there with one hand.  

 

Looking back over your shoulder with a demure smile, you held the necklace up towards him. 

 

"Help?" you requested. 

 

It took him a few tries, but Din did finally manage to get the necklace clasped behind your neck.  His rough fingers weren't exactly accustomed to the delicate workings of jewelry. 

 

 

You've been idly touching the pendant and the ring from time to time ever since this morning. 

 

Coming back to the present, you try to focus on the conversation as Greef begrudgingly adds more New Republic credits to the pile on the desk.  

 

“Okay,” he says, tapping his index finger on the desktop next to the pile.  “Last one.  The Rodian.”

 

“No short-changing that one, Greef.  He was a pain in the ass," Mando says. 

 

A laugh rumbles out of Greef.  “That little bail jumper?  He couldn’t have been that difficult.”  His laugh falters a bit as he notes the harsh frown that crosses your features.  He stutters a little over his negotiations for a moment.   “Come on, Mando.  I only have so much available right now.”

 

You speak up before you even realize it.  “Is that really how you do business?” you ask, head tilted harshly to one side and brows pinched together.  

 

Maybe you had decided that you liked Greef a little too quickly.

 

Mando’s helmet turns to you in surprise and Greef’s big brows arch upward, creasing his forehead.

 

“Well,” Greef says, “I have a town to run now.”  He looks like he’s unsure of why he feels the need to justify himself to you, but he still does.  “That costs credits.”

 

You lean forward a little, one elbow leaning on the arm of the chair closest to Mando and your chin resting in your hand.  The fingertips of your other hand drum softly on the other arm of the chair.  When your lips part to give a retort you stop short, feeling Mando’s hand discreetly touch the small of your back through the gap in the back of the chair.

 

It’s not hard to guess what that touch means.

 

“What do you have to cover the bounty for the Rodian?” Mando asks Karga, acting as if your interruption hadn’t happened.

 

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to hide your annoyance.  You’re not even sure which of them you’re more annoyed at now.  

 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can’t help but notice the curious lift of one of Cara’s eyebrows. 

 

Greef's dark eyes shift back to focusing on Mando’s visor after another glance at you.  “The entire bounty?  Only Imperial credits,” he says with a shrug.

 

Mando doesn’t say anything.  He just keeps his visor level on Greef. 

 

The leader of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild sighs and shrugs again.  “I don’t have enough of anything else, Mando.  I have some Batuuan Spira still, but only about seventy percent of the bounty.”

 

A thin sigh hisses out of Mando’s helmet but you’re not sure if anyone else is close enough to hear it.  “Fine.  I’ll take the Spira.”

 

You tense slightly and only keep from questioning the decision because Mando’s hand presses more firmly against your back.  Huffing a soft sigh of your own, your lips form a thin line. 

 

And you notice that Cara is scowling again.

 

Is she always this moody?

 

You sit back from the desk, and Mando's hand slips back to his lap.  Barely, you manage to resist the urge to cross your arms in your frustration.  

 

I knew I should have stayed on the kriffing ship.

 

So, with a sigh you let your mind wander again, examining the somewhat opulent comfort of Karga’s office as you pretend to not notice Cara’s frown and try to ignore the men’s conversation as they start discussing new bounty pucks.

 

Several minutes pass when the conversation is interrupted by a thud, as Cara lets the front legs of her chair land back on the floor.  She pushes to her feet, lightly thumping the side of a fist on the edge of Greef's desk.  Her dark eyes move between the men for a moment before settling on you. 

 

"Come on," she says with a jerk of her head towards the door.  "They're gonna be at this for a while and it's always boring.  Let's go hit some vendor stalls. Maybe grab a drink."

 

You blink up at her several times, confused.  She's been glowering at you and now… she wants to go get a drink? Really?

 

When you glance at Mando, he just shrugs and tips his head to one side, as if to say Up to you.  

 

Your brows knit together in your confusion and you seriously consider saying no.  But then the mixture of your boredom and serious curiosity over her odd behavior gets the better of you.  Plastering a neutral look on your face, you look back up at her as you stand and lift one shoulder in a shrug. 

 

"Sure…why not?"

 

"Hey."

 

You turn back to Mando.   He's holding a pile of credits out to you.  

 

"See if you can find us some new rations, and anything else you think we might need."

 

When you hesitate to take the chits, Mando's head cants up at you questioningly.

 

You wince slightly, shrugging a little.  "I can't… have credits, Mando," you say softly. 

 

Cara reaches past you with a huff, grabbing the pile out of his palm.  "I'll hold them.  Come on.  Let's go."  She turns and stalks out of the office without another word. 

 

Blinking in surprise, you glance back and forth between Mando and Cara's departing back.  When Mando doesn't issue any complaint, you laugh a little at the woman's abruptness and shrug again, turning to follow her out. 

 

 

Mando watches as you disappear out the door after Cara and then turns back to face Greef.  The big man is staring at him with an unusually hard expression on his face. 

 

"Okay, Mando," Greef starts, "now that she's gone, you want to tell me what's going on?"

 

Huffing a sigh, Mando reaches down to a pouch on his belt, unfastening it and digging inside.  "Took Cara long enough," he grumbles.

 

That makes Greef smirk as he leans forward a little.  "You know she doesn't like this.  She took her time, to make you uncomfortable. Not that you'd ever let her see you squirm, of course."

 

Mando levels a visor covered glare on the other man. "I don't like this either," he states.

 

Greef acquiesces with a nod, sitting back and absently patting the foundling's head.  

 

Finally finding what he's looking for, Mando pulls a small data chip out of the pouch and sets it down on the desktop within Greef’s reach.   

 

"Here it is."

 

Greef picks up the kid from his lap and holds the little one out over the desk to Mando, who takes him and sets him into the floating pram next to the desk.  Big eyes, and bigger ears, poke up to watch the two adults curiously with clawed fingers curled over the edge of the crib. 

 

Grabbing the chip, Greef inserts it into his datapad and sits back again, scrolling through the document.  "This is her contact?"

 

"Yes."  Mando nods.  "Section 27.5.5 is the problem."

 

Greef casts a curious glance at him.  " That's the problem, is it?  Your message mentioned more than one problem."

 

With a sigh, Mando sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chestplate.  "Nothing you can do about the other one.  And unless you can help me find a loophole to that one," he jabs a leather clad finger towards the datapad, "there's no point in me dredging up that argument again."

 

Greef chuckles lightly, focusing on the words rolling up the screen.

 

 

After getting away from Greef's office, Cara seems to relax a bit.   The two of you wander through the market, perusing different stalls and stopping into a couple of shops.   Most of the vendors greet her happily, with eager handshakes and even the occasional hug.  The hugs do seem to throw her off a bit though, which makes you smirk. 

 

You find a shop that sells decent looking ration packs, at least as decent as they ever look.  Cara pays with Mando's credits for the crate you order and you arrange to have it delivered to the ship.  

 

The Mirialan that runs the shop is a tall elderly man, looking smaller than he is due to age, his back hunched.  He had watched you closely as you perused the options.  Once you have finalized your order, he offers you a scrap of parchment. 

 

"Here, young lady," he says with a gravelly voice, a thin smile splitting his pale, green face. "You might get more use out of this than me."

 

Curiously, you take the paper and unfold it. Cara, who is standing next to you,  leans over to look too.

 

It's a recipe, for some kind of baked good. 

 

You both raise your eyes back up to the shopkeeper, questioningly. 

 

He pats your hand with his own, mottled one. "It's a kind of muffin that humans seem to enjoy, and it keeps pretty long in space."  His frail shoulders raise in a shrug.  "I don't make them anymore.  Mirialan's don't like them.  And I don't want to be stuck with them if they don't sell."  His faint laugh at that is craggy, as he turns to finish making the delivery arrangements for your order. 

 

Your brows crease slightly and you laugh a little as you and Cara make your way out of the shop and continue up the road.

 

“I don’t know where he thinks I’m going to bake,” you comment, waving the piece of paper.  “It’s not as if the Crest has a kitchen.”

 

Cara chuckles and then pauses in thought.  She shrugs.  “I have one.”  Another chuckle passes her lips at your confused expression.  “If you want.  We can get whatever you need at that market, grab a bottle of something at the cantina, and then head to my place.  Honestly, the kitchen is probably dying for some attention.”

 

That makes you laugh and you shake your head ruefully, looking down at the recipe in your hands again.  

 

Home baked goods on the ship?  They’d only last for two or three days, especially with the gremlin.  But it could be a nice change… and a nice surprise.

 

You glance at the other woman again, still confused by the shift in her attitude.  But you’re not going to question the generosity.  Returning her shrug, you smile softly and nod.  “Sure.”

 

 

Greef sets the datapad down on the desk and scowls at Mando’s visor.

 

“You signed this dosh ?”

 

Mando huffs a sound that could be either a sigh or a self-deprecating laugh.  It might be both.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

A gloved hand lifts to rub at the side of his neck through his cowl and Mando heaves a sound that is definitely a sigh.  “It was the only way to get her off Nar Shadda.”

 

“Did you read it beforehand?”

 

That opaque visor just levels on Greef for a moment before Mando looks away from him and shakes his head.

 

“Dank Farrik, why not?”

 

Mando leans back in his seat, stretching his feet out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles in an attempt to look more relaxed than he actually feels.  His hands fold over his stomach as he shrugs. “In the moment it didn’t matter what it said, just that it let me… get her out of there.”

 

Greef studies him with narrowed eyes.  “Hmm.  That’s not like you, my friend.”

 

When he’s just met with the cold stare of beskar and that dark visor in response, Greef shakes his head and picks up the datapad to reread a few lines of the contract.

 

 

It’s been about an hour since you and Cara left the Mirialan’s shop.  Between the two of you, you’re about  a third of the way through a bottle of ginjenny grog and you’re finally starting to relax.

 

Stirring a pot full of simmering berries, you glance over at the marshal.  She’s leaning on the edge of a small table and slowly working on a newly poured glass of the alcohol.  Half the time she’s watching you as you attempt to cook and the other half she’s looking at something on her small, handheld datapad.  The table she’s perched on is otherwise strewn with weapon parts and armor bits, making her camaraderie with Mando make even more sense.

 

“You know… you confuse me,” you manage to admit finally, the warmth of the alcohol calming your nerves.

 

Her dark eyes raise up to you and her brows lift.

 

Continuing to stir and focusing on the gloppy mess in the pot, you pick up your own glass to sip at.  “You seemed… annoyed with me, back at the office, and now…”  You shrug a bit, smirking her way.  “...you’re loaning me your kitchen.”

 

She chuckles a little, but then falls silent for a few moments before shrugging and looking back down at her datapad.

 

“Wasn’t annoyed with you ,” she answers.

 

Your brows pinch together at the emphasis on that last word and you look back over at her.  “Not with me ?” you ask.  When she nods, your frown deepens.  “With Mando?” you ask and stop stirring to face her fully, a hand on your hip.  “I… I thought you were friends.”

 

Cara’s lips purse together as she sets her datapad down beside her and huffs a sigh.  She folds her arms over her chest and crosses one booted foot over the other, reminding you quite a bit of one of Mando’s common ‘casual’ positions.

 

She studies you for a moment before shrugging again.  “I did, too.  But…”  Her face screws up in a scowl for a moment.  “...hard to be friends when you’re lied to,” she finishes.

 

Your brows shoot upward at that.  You know Mando is a lot of things, but you’ve never thought a liar was one of them.

 

You’re about to respond when she points at the pot next to you.  When you look over, the berries are bubbling and smoking.  You jump a little, quickly resuming your stirring.

 

“Maybe it’s not my business,” you venture after a few moments of silence, “but what do you think he lied about?  Honestly, it’s hard for me to imagine.”

 

She seems to chew on that for a moment.  “I’d say it is your business.  It’s about you.”

 

That has you looking at her sharply again, though this time you keep stirring.

 

Another shrug.  “Last time he was here, he told us about you.  Also told us he was freeing you.  That’s the only reason I didn’t kick his ass, knowing that he bought a person.”

 

Your eyes widen at that and you swallow hard, looking back down at the stove, but not really seeing what you’re doing now as your mind reels.

 

She’s mad at him because of me?

 

Chewing on your lip, you look back towards her, finding she’s still watching you. 

 

“It’s not his fault, you know?”

 

One of her brows arches upwards again.  “No, I don’t know.”

 

You heave a sigh, looking away from her again and raking the fingers of your non-stirring hand through your hair, before you pick up your glass of grog again and take a long drink.  “He… he wanted to.  Tried to even.  But it’s not that simple.  I’m under a politically bonded contract.”  You pause, considering how much more to say.  Maybe it’s because of the alcohol, at least that’s what you will probably tell yourself later, but you keep going.  “So, not only is my contract difficult to unwind… I also asked him not to and he’s… he’s respected that.”

 

You’re met with silence again.  This time it lingers so long that you finally turn your eyes from the simmering mixture to look at her. 

 

Cara is staring at you, like a pair of lekku suddenly grew out of the back of your head.

 

She blinks, shaking her head as if to unstick her eyes, and then looks at you in bewilderment.  “Okay… so I’m going to skip over that first part for now.”  There’s a long pause as she considers her words.  “Why in the stars would you ever ask him to do that?”

 

Another scowl pulls your brows together.  “It’s… it’s complicated.”

 

“Well, un-complicate it,” she demands.  “Because it took a hell of a lot for me to not punch my friend earlier, when he introduced you.”

 

For several moments, you remain silent.  Your scowl is trained on the bubbling mixture now.

 

Why do you owe her an explanation, at all?  It isn’t really any of her business, right?  Well, no, not really.  Then again, Mando considers her a friend.  You'd hate to ruin that.  He doesn't make friends lightly. 

 

Huffing softly and nipping at your lip, you shrug a little.  “It’s… hard to explain.  A lot of it has to do with the culture on my planet.”  

 

You look over at her as you hear the sounds of several items clattering.  Cara is shoving some of the bits and pieces on her table away and taking a seat on the edge of it.  Her arms cross back over her chest as she levels a look at you.  

 

“I’m listening.”

 

Sighing again, you take another long swig of the grog.  You delay a bit by taking a moment to check the recipe the old storekeep gave you, but there’s no other steps for you to focus on until the damn berries finish boiling down, whatever the hell that means.  You keep stirring like the directions say to.

 

“On Sardecia status is… everything.  Nothing is considered more important,” you start, worrying at the inside of your cheek a bit as you do.  “So, when I did… what I did… the people’s representatives decided that the best course of action was to strip my titles.”  You pause, your lips pressing into a thin line for a moment. “And then to give me the lowest title they could think of: slave.”

 

You turn to prop a hip against the counter beside the stove, half-heartedly stirring.  “I… I spent my life serving my people,” you say, finally meeting Cara’s eyes again.  “I owed everything to them.  If not for the people of Sardecia, I wouldn’t have had the life I did: the opportunities, the luxury.  So… I did everything I could for them.”  One of your shoulders lifts briefly.  “When they decided on my punishment… well, I decided that I would bear the title with as much dignity as I could, because it’s the last thing that my people required of me.  It’s my last way to serve them.”

 

Cara’s eyes narrow at you a little as she considers your words.

 

Then, she shakes her head, an incredulous look on her face.  “That’s a bunch of bantha shit.”

 

You blink in surprise.  “Excuse me?”

 

 

By now, Greef has read and reread the entire contract.  He sets his datapad down again and shakes his head at Mando.

 

“I don’t see any way around it.  You need their approval.”

 

Mando sighs again, letting his head drop forward and rubbing the back of his neck.  “Yeah… that’s what I thought.”

 

Greef presses a few buttons on his datapad and a moment later he pulls the data chip out of it and holds it out towards the bounty hunter.  “I’ve copied it.  I’ll do some more digging, and I have a few contacts that are good at interpreting law.  I’ll see if I can find anything else out.”

 

Mando nods, accepting the chip back and returning it to the pocket on his belt.  “I appreciate it.”

 

With a nod of his own, Greef sets his datapad aside and pulls over a pile of bounty pucks.  “Well, now that we’re through that, lets figure out which of these you’re taking off my hands.”

 

 

Kriff, Cara is making sense and it’s hurting your head.  Well, that might be the grog again, but her points aren’t helping.  So, of course, you pour yourself more grog and sigh heavily as you sit on her couch.  At some point over the last while, the two of you had migrated into her common room.

 

“Sh-eriously,” she says, her words starting to slur now as she cracks open a second bottle -or is it the third?- of the mulled wine drink and pours more for herself.  “Why d’ou owe them anything else?  You gave them your whole life from the soun’ of it… and you aren’t even the one they elected!”  A hiccup escapes her and she chortles.  “That was your dad.  So…!”  She pauses then as her datapad beeps.  She sets her glass down and she picks up the datapad.  “Hold on.”

 

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.  Great, she has more thoughts on the subject.  What the hell did you get yourself into?

 

Her first two points before this had been enough to get you seriously questioning yourself, and seriously drinking.  

 

“First off,” she had said, “I’m sorry but it sounds to me like you’ve been fed a pile of crap your whole life.  Just having the title of a slave is serving your people?  How the kark does that serve anyone?  You’re not even on your planet.  Second, how could you just accept it, like you did something wrong?  Do you think you did something wrong?”  

 

You had shaken your head in response.

 

“Didn’t think so,” she huffed.  “Mando told me about it and it sounded to me like you didn’t have a choice.  He and I met a couple weeks after it happened and… he was worried about you.”

 

The surprise on your face had been apparent because she’d nodded and continued before you could ask.  “Yeah.  I met him and the kid on a little backwater planet.  All of us trying to hide from the Empire.  We teamed up and helped a village fend off some raiders.  They put us all up for a while.  There was a gal there… can’t remember her name now… pretty widow.  Her daughter took a liking to Mando’s kid and the mom took a liking to Mando.”  

 

She had chuckled at that and you had swallowed hard, trying to bite back a surprising pang of jealousy.

 

“Didn’t lead anywhere though.  Honestly,” she continued, giving you a sly smile, “I think you were still on his mind too much.  He didn’t notice her interest until he had already decided he needed to move on, and then there was no other option when another hunter came looking for the kid.”

 

That made you jump slightly, wide eyed.  

 

Cara gave a dismissive wave.  “No problem.  I took him out.”

 

You swallowed hard again, pressing your lips together.  “I know I didn’t have any other choice,” you said, bringing the conversation back on topic and immediately wondering why you did.

 

She nodded.  “That’s what I thought.  So… you shouldn’t have just accepted it!  Like I said, sounds like you’ve been fed that ‘serve your people’ line a few too many times.”

 

You had scowled again, taking a shaking breath and not liking how much sense she was making.

 

It was sometime around then that you ended up moving to the common room.  Then she had started questioning you about all the sacrifices you had made throughout your life, for your people.  You had never laid them all out before and never realized just how many there were until now.

 

“So!”  Cara puts her datapad back down and looks up at you.  “Where were we?”

 

A tiny hiccup escapes you and you giggle.  “Not sure.  I got a bit lost.”

 

“Oh…”  Her pretty features pull into a thoughtful scowl as she drums her fingertips on the leather bracer on her arm.  “Oh well,” she says with a shrug.  “But you know… th’ other thing…”

 

“Oh, there’s other things?” you interrupt and then snicker again.

 

She gives you a bit of a frown but then laughs too.  The alcohol is definitely making it difficult for either of you to look at each other seriously, despite the serious topic.  To her credit though, Cara does try to put on a serious expression.

 

“It’s no’ fair to Mando.”

 

That stops your giggling.  Your brows peak as you level a look at her, blinking a couple of times until she stops appearing blurry.  “What do you mean?”

 

Cara takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment and doing her best to make her thoughts come across clearly.  “By asking him to… not free you… you’re askin’ him to share your…”  For a moment she seems to lose the next word and then she snorts at herself.  “... your punishment.  He has to haf that title… Owner.”  She shakes her head, lips pressed together, dramatically.  “That’s not a title Mando wants.”  There’s a pause then as she takes a long drink from her glass.

 

You bite your lip, looking down at the glass in your hands.  The dark red liquid ripples as your hands shake a little and you focus for a moment on trying to still them.

 

“He’s gettin’ judged for it too,” she continues, quieter now.  When you look up at her you find she is watching you, looking a little sad.  “For being a slave owner.”  She pauses and then shrugs.  “I mean… I’m his friend and I judged ‘im.  You think other people arn’t?” 

 

Your lip finds its way between your teeth again as you feel tears stinging your eyes.  

 

Memories flash, disjointed, through your mind.  There were looks from people on Tatooine, and even a few you had noticed in passing on Rodia.  There was the conversation with Cobb Vanth and the one you overheard in the cantina in Mos Pelgo.  Even the look that Ji’anna had on her face, all those months ago, on the day that Mando bought your contract on Nar Shadda.

 

A shuddering breath escapes you before you take a sip of your drink.  “I… I hadn’t really thought about it like that,” you admit in a whisper.

 

Cara pats your knee and nods, a few too many times.  “Sorry… I'm usually blunt.”

 

That makes you laugh as you wipe away a tear.  You look up at her, shaking your head.  "That's okay.  I…"  You sigh softly.  "I think he… tried to tell me.  A while ago.  I wasn't ready to hear it.  Any of it."  A sheepish shrug lifts your shoulders. "You've given me a lot to think about."

 

Cara nods a few times again, picking her glass back up and emptying it with a smile.  "Good."  She nudges your knee with her own then and gives you a playful wink.  "It's obvious, you know, how you feel about him…"

 

You can feel a flush immediately leap up into your cheeks, your eyes widening.  

 

She grins at you.   "I mean, com'on…" she slurs, "...do you normally bake?"

 

At first, you start to stammer a denial but end up just laughing and dropping your heated face into your hands. 

 

With a loud laugh of her own, Cara reaches for the bottle to refill her glass.  "That's what I thought."  Then, she goes very still, eyes wide as she looks past you and gasps.

 

You look up at her sharply and then turn.   Your glass drops to the stone floor as you gasp, too.

 

 

Mando and Greef step out of the office as Mando finishes dropping the agreed upon pucks, and their matching tracking fobs, into a small bag that hangs off of his belt.  The foundling's pram floats out behind them, the little one watching the men with twitching ears as he blinks against the sunlight.

 

"Well, those are a bit spread out right now, so I imagine it will be a few months before you make it back this way?" Greef asks as he holds his hand up above his eyes to shade them. 

 

Mando nods.   He reaches over to press the button on the pram to close it over the kid and spare him from the heat.  The little pram has its own small air recycling system, which helps to regulate the internal temperature for a short time. 

 

"Probably."

 

"Alright.  Well, I'll send a holo if I find out anything to help with the contra-"

 

Greef's words cut short as startled cries  come up from down the road and both men turn that way.  

 

There's a small pillar of smoke rising from a couple of streets away.

 

"Mando," Greef says, voice full of concern.  "Where did Cara's message say they were?"

 

"Her house…"

 

Both men start to run, the pram zipping along behind them. 

 

 

Mando breaks into the back of a crowd gathered outside of Cara’s house.  The plume of smoke is drifting up out of one of the windows.

 

His heart hammers as he searches the crowd desperately for your face, pushing through people and ignoring their grumbling complaints.  Each of them backs off as soon as they see the armored figure that bumped them, none of them foolish enough to try to get in the Mandalorian’s way.  It only takes a few more moments before the crowd is parting for him.

 

Air lodges in his throat, cutting off a strangled sound, when he finally sees you.

 

You are lying flat on your back, just outside of the door to Cara’s house.

 

Mando shoves past the last few people blocking his way and rushes towards you, choking out your name.  His steps falter as he gets near though and then he comes to a stop, staring down at you as he stands near your head.

 

You’re laughing.

 

Cara, who is sprawled out next to you on the ashen dirt, is laughing too.  She’s laying in the opposite direction though, her head near your feet and closer to her own front steps.

 

Stunned, Mando is silent for a moment before saying your name again, questioningly this time.

 

Your eyes crack open and you wince before squinting up at him.  

 

“Maker!  You are really kriffing bright!” you hiss up at him between giggles as your hands lift to try and block the reflection of the sun off of his beskar.

 

Cara lifts her head to squint up at him and mumbles a curse too, closing her eyes and dropping her head back again with another laugh.

 

Greef finally catches up to Mando, stopping beside the bounty hunter to catch his breath.  He takes in the scene and then tilts his head.  “What happened?” he breathes out.

 

Your nose scrunches up as you grimace and shrug in embarrassment.  “I was trying to make something.  Cara let me use her kitchen.  But we got distracted…”  You lift your hand straight up above you, a finger pointed at the sky.  “But!  We put out the fire!  There was just a lotta smoke, so we came out here.”

 

A heavy sigh rattles out of Mando’s helmet as he rubs the side of his neck.  “You… almost burned her house down?”

 

You just pout up at him, still squinting against the sunlight.

 

Next to you, Cara waves a hand dismissively.  “Could’a happened to anyone.  I distracted her.  ‘Sides… ‘ve only cooked once an’ almost did the same thing!”

 

Despite Cara’s support, you can still feel Mando’s scowl from behind that opaque visor.  You look up at him with a sheepish smile and a shrug.  “We… might have drank a bit too much too.”

 

Mando’s hands drop to his sides in resignation.  “I can tell.”

 

Your nose crinkles up a little and you giggle again.

 

“What were you trying to make?”

 

Biting your lip, you shrug again.  “Muffins.”

 

His head cocks to one side and you blink rapidly against a new reflection of sunlight.

 

“One of the shopkeepers gave me a recipe.  Said they keep well.  I thought it could be a nice surprise for you and the kid,” she say with another shy shrug.

 

Mando crouches down then and leans over you slightly, effectively cutting off most of the reflections so you can blink your vision clear and look up at him.

 

“Sweetling…” he says softly.

 

You can see Greef look at him curiously from over his shoulder at the endearment.

 

“I appreciate the thought,” Mando continues, “but… why?  You know we can’t eat together.”

 

A soft pout touches your lips again and your brows pull together.  “So?” you ask.  “That doesn’t mean I can’t cook for you…”

 

After a moment you burst into another fit of drunken giggles and point a finger at the smoke that is still coming out of the kitchen window.  It is finally starting to dissipate. 

 

That means I can’t cook for you!”

 

Cara joins you in your laughter, smacking at your thigh as she guffaws.  Mando groans and shakes his head, before finally giving a faint chuckle too.  Greef even joins in with a huffed laugh, his hands resting on his hips.

 

Mando pushes back up to his feet and then moves next to you, leaning down and scooping you up into his arms.  You squeak in surprise and then fade into more snickers as your arms wrap around his neck and your face buries against his chest to block out the sun.

 

Looking at Greef, Mando shakes his head in exasperation.  

 

Greef just grins at him in return.

 

“You’ll make sure she’s good?” Mando asks, nodding towards Cara.

 

“I’m fine!” Cara pipes up without actually getting up.

 

With another smile, Greef nods.

 

“Thanks,” Mando says.  “Once she’s sober, figure out if there’s any damage and let me know.  I’ll pay her for them.”  He ignores Cara’s half-hearted attempts to wave him off from the ground.  He’s never seen her act this way and it’s a little off putting to him.

 

When Greef gives another nod in agreement, Mando returns it, before he turns to walk back through the crowd, you held securely against his chest and his foundling’s pram following again.

 

You peek over Mando’s shoulder with a bright smile and wave, calling out, "Bye, Cara!"

 

Cara's laugh reaches your ears past the murmurs of the crowd and you can see her arm raise straight up to wave at you, before Mando turns a corner and continues on towards the town entrance and the Crest parked just beyond. 

 

You're not positive, but you think that his shoulders are shaking, like he's trying his best not to laugh at you. 

Chapter 26

Summary:

CW: Some exposition, some fluff, and a whole lotta smut!

If you want smut warnings, please see the notes at the bottom of the chapter and the story's tags.

Oh, and it's a long chapter. It kinda got away from me. Lol! But, I figured that I gave ya'll a long chapter with a ton of angst a few chapters back. So, let's even the scales with a long chapter with a ton of smut! 😁😈

**Additional note added: I totally made up an alien species to serve my purposes in this chapter. Lol. Don't search for them in any other SW stuff. You won't find them!

Tumblr: Keeshya6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It had taken nearly a full day for you to get past the hangover from Navarro.  

 

Din didn’t take much pity on you, despite how truly pitiful you were a few times.  The kid didn’t give you a break either and his boundless energy the next day was near torturous.  But you managed to survive it and your traveling companions survived your grumbling.

 

The next morning you climb up into the cockpit, slightly groggy but at least functional.  

 

Din murmurs a soft greeting to you as his hands move over the flight controls.  

 

You give a little smile and a wave at his reflection in the viewport before you lean down to kiss the top of the foundling’s head.  The little one burbles up at you in response and your smile widens as you rub your nose against his quickly before straightening and moving over to your own seat.  

 

Settling in, you pull your feet up onto the edge of the seat and wrap your arms around your legs, chin resting on your knees.  You watch Din for a while as he checks over galactic holo maps, data streaming from a tracking fob and whatever else the ship is telling him that you don’t know how to follow.  You consider asking him to explain some of it, but decide against it.

 

You’ll stick to biological languages and let him deal with whatever ‘language’ it is that seems to come with ships.

 

Still seems like gibberish to you.

 

That thought makes you smirk as you remember showing the kid the ship’s mechanical readouts back on Rodia, and the way the little guy seemed to try to ‘translate’ it for you.

 

Gradually your attention shifts away from that memory and from watching Din.  Instead, you watch the lights of hyperspace as they whiz by the viewport.  It’s almost hypnotic.  You lose yourself in thought for a while, nibbling absently at your lip as you consider the events and conversations on Navarro, and also wonder if your memory is very accurate, given the alcohol that was involved.

 

It’s a while later, when Din turns to look at you, that you come out of your reverie.  His head is tilted at you.

 

“Hm?” you hum.

 

He chuckles.  “Did you hear me?”

 

“Oh, no.  Sorry.  I was lost in thought.”

 

The helmet moves in a nod. "I asked 'how are you feeling?'”

 

A soft smile graces across your lips.  “Better.”  Then you grimace.  “Sorry about yesterday.”

 

Another chuckle escapes the helmet.  “It’s fine.  Just don’t make it a habit.”

 

Smirking, you nod.  “Deal.”

 

He turns back to the console, making more adjustments of some sort and you go back to your quiet contemplations.

 

“What’s on your mind?” His baritone breaks into your thoughts after a while.

 

Blinking a few times, you pull your eyes from the passing lights and meet the reflection of his visor.  Your lips press together for a moment as you consider your answer.

 

“Navarro.”

 

Yes.  Vague.  That’s the way to go.

 

When he just tilts his head at you, you chuckle lightly and plunk your chin back down on your knees as you look at him.

 

“Just thinking about some things Cara said.”

 

Din’s hands still on the controls and after a pause the pilot’s seat turns ninety degrees so he can look directly at you again.

 

“What did she say?”

 

Your head cants slightly as you look at him.  His tone is different from the usual curiosity and it takes you a moment to place the difference.

 

He’s hesitant.  Perhaps even nervous.

 

Well, at least that makes two of you.

 

Your eyes drop down to your hands as your fingers twist together and you swallow back against the nerves.

 

“She said she… nearly punched you when she realized who I was…” 

 

Din leans back in his seat, arms crossing over his chest.  “Really?”

 

There’s more amusement than you were expecting in his voice and you look up at him with your eyebrows arching.

 

“It wouldn’t be the first time," he says with a shrug. "We tried to kill each other when we met.”

 

For a moment you just stare at him.  Then you snort and shake your head, laughing.  “I think I should be surprised… but I’m not.”

 

From the way his shoulders relax and his head tilts, you know he’s smiling even before you can hear it in his voice.  “Did she say why?”

 

Your laughter fades as you grow serious again and nod.  “She… hadn’t expected me to still be with you.  At least, not still… bonded to you.”  Eyes dropping back down to your hands, your voice fades with the last word as you sigh softly.

 

Din is quiet for several moments, his head tilting down as if he is looking at the armor on his thighs.  When the silence stretches out to almost be uncomfortable, he finally breaks it.  “Anything else?”

 

You nod again, licking your lips.  “A lot, actually.  She, um… had a lot of questions.  And a lot of opinions,” you say, a thin laugh escaping you.  “And…”  You hesitate here, your breath shaking as you inhale slowly.

 

He looks over at you, his gaze intense even while hidden behind that visor.  Still, he doesn’t press you.  He’s patient even though there’s now an anxious edge in the set of his shoulders.

 

When your gaze lifts back up to him you can see his shoulders jerk slightly in surprise and you’re guessing it’s because of the shine of tears in your eyes.  He starts to shift, as if to get up and move to you, until you shake your head slightly to stop him.  He goes still again, watching you closely.

 

“She gave me a lot to think about.  Made it… easier, I guess, to understand the position… this all puts you in.”

 

His head cocks sharply at that.  “Me?”

 

You bite your lip and nod.  “Yes,” you murmur, lifting a shoulder in a shrug.  “You… never wanted this.  And… I’m sorry.”  Your breath shakes again, and then more words tumble out before he can respond.  “She also made some valid points… about why I shouldn’t want it either.  At least, not like this…”

 

Din straightens almost imperceptibly at that.  “Really?”

 

You don’t miss the faint note of optimism in his tone.

 

A tiny smile tugs up the corners of your mouth, even as nervousness touches at the edges of your mind.  

 

He hasn’t given up the hope of freeing you.  You shouldn’t be surprised.  But, even if it became possible, what then?

 

Blinking a few times, you nod and tuck some hair behind your ears.  “Yes.  It’s… it’s kind of a moot point… given the contract,” you add with a sheepish shrug, “but it’s still given me a lot to consider.”

 

 

Din remains quiet for a few moments, chewing on this turn of events and absently pinching the seam of one glove.  “Sweetling…”  He hesitates.

 

Your head tilts to the side. It’s your turn to wait as he considers his words.

 

Pushing up from his seat, he closes the scant distance between you and takes a knee next to your seat.  Your eyes are a little wide as you watch him and he can see the uncertainty in them all too clearly.  Taking one of your hands in his, he presses your palm against his visor for a moment, over his mouth as if in a kiss.  Then his eyes lift back up to your face. 

 

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, voice soft through the modulator.  “And I’m… glad you’re thinking about it.”

 

Your smile is small in response as your fingers curl against the planes of his helmet, under the press of his hand.

 

“Honestly, Cyar'ika… ”  Din pauses again, uncertain.  The last thing he wants is another argument, but maybe it won’t be one this time.  After all, you opened up.  You’re thinking things over.  “...I’ve asked Greef to look into that clause in the contract.”  When your brows dart upward, he's quick to add, “Just in case.  I… want us to know the options, if there are any.”

 

For a few moments you just stare at him with your lips pressed into a thin line.  You find his eyes through the visor somehow, like you always do.

 

Din steels himself for a storm.

 

You surprise him when you nod slowly and give a soft smile.  “I understand.”

 

The breath he didn't realize he'd been holding huffs out of him.  “You do?”

 

You nod again, your smile strengthening a little despite the uncertainty still showing across your features.  “I still have a lot to think about… but I appreciate your patience… with all of this.”  Your voice is so soft that Din has to lean in slightly to hear better as you continue.  “And I can understand wanting to know the options.  Like you said… just in case.”

 

A quiet moment passes then, before he leans up to lightly press the top of the faceplate against your forehead.

 

A faint, nervous laugh tumbles out of you and you close your eyes, letting your forehead rest against the cool beskar.

 

Behind the visor, Din slowly grins as he watches your face, a spark of hope blossoming in his chest.

 

 

The fog of sleep clings to Din's mind the next morning, unwilling to release its hold.  

 

His consciousness lingers in that pleasant place between dreaming and just barely beginning to wake.  Short clips of his dreams flit through his mind, urging him back towards the depths of sleep.  You feature prominently in those dreams, so he’s not inclined to deny the compulsion to enjoy them for a bit longer. 

 

As the haze begins to lift, Din groans softly.  

 

His body is reacting more than normal to those mental images of getting tangled up with you: your fingers in his hair, your lips at his neck, the taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your tits heavy in his hands, the warmth of you enveloping him.  

 

Another groan passes his lips as the flashes of dreams fade further but the arousal left in their wake doesn’t.  He’s harder than normal when waking up and a faint growl lingers at the back of his throat.  

 

Maybe he could wake you up for a round or two before…

 

The thought dies in his mind as he unconsciously reaches down, and at the same moment he recognizes the exquisite feeling of pleasure sweeping through his body from his groin.  Then, rather than meeting the stiffness of his cock as he expects, his fingers end up buried in the softness of your hair. 

 

Din's eyes fly open behind his visor.  Then he lifts his head to look down his body at you.  

 

Your lips are wrapped around his girth and you're guiding him deeper into your mouth again.  His breath stutters as you glance up at him and pause, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you realize he's awake.   

 

You take him a little further, your cheeks hollowing as you swallow around the swollen head.  The strangled sound it elicits from the beskar helmet is positively salacious. 

 

After a few more moments of teasing, your tongue massaging the underside of his shaft, you pull back and let him slip from your mouth with a lewd pop.

 

A coy smile curls up your lips.  "Good morning," you purr.

 

Din breathes out a Good Morning .  It takes him a few moments to catch his breath before his head gives you a familiar, incredulous tilt. 

 

"Now…" he rasps through the helmet's modulator "... who gave you permission to do that , Sweetling?"

 

Your breath catches in your chest and you go very still.  

 

Permission?  I need…?  Oh, kriff…

 

The tip of your tongue darts out across your lips before they press into a thin line and you swallow hard.  A flush sweeps up your neck and into your cheeks as your eyes widen a little.  

 

You hadn’t thought of it like that.

 

A strained chuckle escapes Din as his fingers slip into your hair and curl into a fist against the back of your head, drawing a hiss out of you.

 

“And who the fuck… t-told you to stop?” he growls out lowly, his voice thick with need and deep in his chest.

 

That causes some mental whiplash but then you giggle.  You don’t resist when his hand pushes at your head and, after giving him a soft smirk, your lips part to take him back into your mouth eagerly.

 

Din’s head drops back onto the bed as he moans loudly, relishing the soft warmth of your mouth as it engulfs his cock.  His hips jerk, pushing deeper.  Fingers unfurl from their harsh hold as your mouth slips further down his length, and Din rests his hand against your head.  He lets you take the lead, only occasionally applying an encouraging pressure.  

 

You shift your body up a little more, trembling as heat pools low in your belly, careful to keep your mouth on him as you move.  The tip of your tongue darts into the slit of his cockhead during that pause and you savor the salty tang of flavor that is him , the taste sending desire arcing through you. 

 

As his hips jolt in response and he growls, you lower your mouth onto him again and begin to bob your head over his hips, sucking at him with steady strokes.  The new angle allows you to take him deeper and you do so hungrily, letting your throat relax to swallow his length down further than you ever have before. 

 

A husky groan rips past Din's lips as he lifts his head again to watch your enthusiastic performance.  

 

"Maker," he moans, a grin obvious in his voice, "you look so krrriffing good like this, Sweetling."

 

Your eyes flick upward to meet his and you purr appreciatively, drawing out another deep groan.  

 

“Fucking gorgeous,” he gasps, head dropping back again.

 

Smirking softly, you set your focus back on the thick, hot flesh filling your mouth.  You moan wantonly as you suck, pressing further down until tears prick at the corners of your eyes and your nose pushes against the coarse hair at the base of his shaft.

 

“Nnuuugh… fuck yeah, Sweetling… that’s it.  Good girl…”

 

You hum, pulling back to catch your breath only to take him deeply again and again.  Sliding a hand up his inner thigh, you carefully take hold of his balls, massaging as his gasps and moans urge you on.

 

Din loses himself in the pleasure for a few moments, hips bucking to fuck himself into the warmth of your mouth.  He mutters an apology then and stills, his hand dropping from your head to fist into the bed beside him.   

 

It catches you off guard at first and you choke on him a little before you manage to relax your throat to the thrusts of his cock.  At his apology you purr against him soothingly.  You don't want him to think you minded.  In fact, you're a bit surprised at how much it turned you on, knowing you can make him lose control like that.  As you shift your hips you can even feel the slick of your arousal.  You're so damn wet for him. 

 

Looking up at him, you release his balls and reach for his hand, guiding it back to your head.  Then your hand presses against his, urging him to push.  

 

The helmet lifts sharply and Din looks down at you in surprise.  His breath hitches through the modulator.  “You… you’re sure, Cyar’ika ?” he chokes out. 

 

At another vibrating hum, a smile, and your tiny nod of encouragement, Din growls and drops his head again.  The fingers of both of his hands bury into your hair and he begins to thrust, slower and more controlled this time, though barely, as he tries to give you time to adjust.

 

More heat spears through you as you give up control to him, slipping one hand down between your legs as the other grips high on his thigh. You moan as he takes his pleasure from you, pulling your face down around his cock, your eyes watering with every deep push. He doesn't linger long with each one, pulling back to give you a chance to breathe before pressing in again.  

 

Your fingers sweep through the slick folds of your sex and you whimper around his cock at feeling how soaked you are. Rocking your hips, you slip two digits into your pussy and begin to stroke at a rhythm to match Din's movement.  

 

Moans bounce off the bulkhead walls, mingling with the indecent, wet sounds of his cock gliding through your lips and your fingers pumping into your core. 

 

Din's tempo stutters.  His fingers fist and loosen erratically in your hair as he tries to keep hold of his control.  Then he goes still, with only half of his throbbing length sheathed in your mouth. 

 

You look up at him with confusion after a moment, to find his helmet tilted down to watch you and canted to one side.  His muscular chest lifts and falls in jagged breaths. 

 

" Maker-kriffing-stars … are you… finger fucking yourself… wh-while sucking my cock, Sweetling?"

 

A smirk tugs up at your lips.  You push back against his hands, just enough so only the swollen head of his dick remains.  Then you purr an Mhhmm around him before swirling your tongue over his tip and through the leaking slit.  

 

His hips jerk and he moans deeply.  It's as if that confirmation pushes him to the edge he was holding himself back from.  His entire body tenses, abdominal and thigh muscles noticeably quivering.  Fingers fisted in your hair, he tugs half-heartedly as he tries to forewarn you.  

 

"Dank Farrik, s-sweet girl… I'm goin' to… fuuuuck..."

 

You don't let him go though at the warning. 

 

After all, it wasn't an order. 

 

Instead, you take him further into your mouth again, pulling against his hold on your hair.  Your cheeks hollow around him once more as you suck firmly.

 

Your enthusiasm finally pushes Din over the peak and his climax barrels through him like a bolt of lightning down his spine, ripping a strangled roar from his throat.  His back bows up from the bed, as he spills ropes of semen across your tongue and down your throat.

 

You swallow around him, drawing further shudders from his body as your cheeks and tongue massage his length.  Then, you lave him with your tongue, cleaning the mess of saliva and cum that had escaped and slipped down his shaft past your lips, until he finally pulls you off of him with a stuttering moan.

 

Breathing heavily, Din watches as you sit back on your heels.  One hand lifts to your lips and you wipe a bit of his spend from the corner of your mouth with your thumb, only to lick it away with a coy smile as you meet his hooded gaze.  Your other hand, meanwhile, is still buried between your clenched thighs.  

 

Despite your bold display, Din can’t help noticing the way your body trembles as you continue to touch yourself.

 

With a breathy groan passing the helmet's modulator, he murmurs, “Are you close?”

 

Your lip catches between your teeth as you nod and moan softly.  “Y-yes.”

 

He smiles slowly.  “Good.”  

 

Pushing to sit up, he leans in close to you and nuzzles the faceplate of his helmet against your neck and hair.  He can hear the tiny gasps of breath you take as you stroke your core.  Then his voice is a low whisper against your ear.

 

“Stop.”

 

With a mewl you go still, biting down harder on your lip.  He hasn’t used that tone with you in a while and you don’t even realize you’ve obeyed at first.

 

Din pulls back a bit, just enough so he can look at your face, his visor filling your vision.

 

“Hands on your lap.”

 

A tiny, pathetic whine escapes you but you do as you're told, slipping your hand out from between your legs and resting both on your thighs.

 

“Good girl.”

 

You shiver. 

 

Then, Din lays back again, his arms folded under the back of his helmet.  He watches you with a faint tilt of his head.  In fact, with his breathing steadier now, he looks quite comfortable, sated even, stretched out naked with his softened dick still shining from your saliva and relaxed against his thigh.

 

It takes a few quiet moments before your brows slowly begin to draw together, as shudders of need still ripple through you while the climax that was looming slips further away.  You can see his chest shake slightly as realization dawns on your face.

 

He’s going to leave you like this.

 

Somehow, you manage to scowl and pout at him all at once.

 

Chuckling, Din pushes up onto his hands again and leans close to your displeased face.  His voice is still low and it teases at the need that aches through you.

 

“From now on, Sweetling, you do have permission to wake me up like that… any time you want.  But since you didn’t have my consent before today…”

 

He lets the words linger in the air between you.

 

Your scowl slips away but the pout remains as you tremble and look down at your hands.

 

Try as you might, though only briefly, you can’t stay mad at him about the denial.  It’s an annoyingly fitting consequence.  After all, he’s always given you the option of consent before, even reminding you of safe words when he punished you back on Tatooine.  The fact that you hadn’t realized the issue ahead of time, like you should have, doesn’t make it better.

 

Looking up at him through your lashes you sigh softly and nibble your lip.  “I’m sorry,” you murmur.

 

Din lifts a hand to catch your chin and squeezes it.  “You’re forgiven,” he says affectionately, “but learn from it.”  He pauses for a moment and shrugs.  “I can’t claim I minded too much…” he admits with a smile in his voice, “...but it’s the principle of the thing, Sweetling.”

 

A soft giggle escapes you at that but then you bite it back, giving him a serious nod.

 

Leaning in again, he lightly thunks his helmet against your forehead.  “Be a good girl for me the rest of the day.  Don't touch yourself again,” he rumbles softly, “and I might help you finish tonight.”

 

Your core clenches a little and you give another pathetic, tiny whimper.  Then you nod, letting a soft laugh at yourself escape your lips.

 

“Yes, Sir."

 

 

A couple of days later, the Crest lands near the edge of a forest on Saffalore, a planet at the outer edge of the outer rim.  It’s another that you have never heard of.  

 

It seems peaceful enough though, at first glance, as you look out of the viewport and over the woods.  You grin at seeing brightly colored leaves.  This part of the planet seems to be in the midst of autumn and the trees' leaves are every warm shade imaginable: yellows, oranges, reds, and even purples.  It’s actually stunning to see and has you quickly gathering up the foundling in your arms to point out the display through the ship’s viewport as Din finishes the shut down sequences.

 

Once he’s done, Din watches you for several long moments as you bounce the kid on your hip and point out the colors through the transparisteel.  The little one giggles and burbles happily with you and Din can't help grinning. 

 

A while later you are at the bottom of the ramp, watching Din walk towards the forest.  

 

About five feet away the kid is happily toddling about after waving goodbye.  He's now in search of some tasty morsel of whatever small, unfortunate critter he can get his little, green paws on. 

 

You watch the afternoon light glinting off of Din's beskar as he eventually makes it to the shadows of the colorful trees.  

 

A faint smile has been tugging at the corner of your mouth ever since he turned away.  

 

He'd been uncharacteristically hesitant to leave.  He had even stalled, by checking and rechecking his weapons, as if he didn't already know the condition of each one in every way possible.

 

It had taken a few minutes for you to realize that he was anxious, about leaving you and the kid alone again after Rodia.

 

So, you'd done your best to subtly nudge him on his way.  You suggested that you and the foundling go out to get some fresh air, and to see him off on his hunt.  You're fairly sure he knew what you were up to, but he didn't protest. 

 

It's not that you wanted him to go any more than he did, but you both know it's necessary.  After all, fuel and food don't pay for themselves. 

 

Now, watching the last reflections off of his armor disappear as he somehow manages to meld into the forest shadows, you can't help smiling at the warmth spreading through you at the memory of his concern. 

 

If you're being honest with yourself though, there's more than a touch of concern at the edge of your mind too. 

 

But you refuse to give in to that worry.  Instead, you choose to trust in Din's capabilities, feeling certain that getting back to routine will help ease both of your minds.

 

 

This hunt lasts three days.   

 

At least this time, Din is making an effort to check in with you regularly.  He calls you once in the mornings and once in the evenings.  Each call is brief but enough to reassure you. 

 

On the third evening on Saffalore, you are up in the cockpit with the foundling.   He's in his pram, floating above the unlit control console, as the two of you watch the sun setting over the treetops.  You've done this both previous evenings and you still smile at the fascinated coos and chirps the kid gives at the light dancing through the colorful leaves. 

 

Just before the last rays disappear, you hear the boarding ramp below give a thunk and a creaking groan as it begins to open.  A bright grin lights up your face as you perk up, listening. 

 

Sure enough, about a minute later, as soon as the ramp stops complaining after being closed again, you can hear the unmistakable sound of two male voices.  The first is attempting to negotiate for all its worth.  Offering everything he can think of for his freedom.  The other simply says "No" after every other sentence or so.

 

A faint snort of amusement escapes you.  They always try to negotiate with him. 

 

Glancing over at the kid, you smile to find he's passed out in his pram.  Watching the sunset has seemed to have that effect on him.   

 

Uncurling from your position on the pilot’s seat, you tuck the blankets in around the toddler.   You pause for a moment then, brows furrowed in confusion, as a sweet scent reaches you. 

 

"What is that?" you murmur. 

 

Leaning down, you sniff at the kid's head.  You've always loved the smell of small children after a bath, which you'd given him right before coming up here.  But no, the scent isn't coming from him.  You didn't really think it was, since you know the soap you use for him doesn't match it, but you still check. 

 

Closing the pram, you step over to the cockpit exit.

 

The scent is a little stronger here.  Maybe it's something in the air from outside that came in when Din opened the ramp?

 

You climb down the ladder quietly, trying not to draw attention to yourself.  That sweet scent definitely gets stronger as you descend into the hold, like some kind of honeyed candy with a floral hint to it. 

 

You pause at the base of the ladder, still on the bottom rung.

 

Din is standing in front of a carbonite freezer frame and the quarry is reluctantly standing inside of it, with Din's un-holstered blaster keeping him there. 

 

The humanoid, alien male is looking at the bounty hunter in annoyance, broad shoulders rolled back as if he's determined to maintain as much dignity as possible despite the situation he is in, and despite his continual failure to negotiate.  

 

He's a little taller than Din with a slightly slimmer build.  His skin is a deep red, almost crimson, except a series of pale yellow dots.  Two lines of them take the place of eyebrows.  They start off small, near the bridge of his nose, and gradually increase in size as they go outward on either side of his face, until they disappear beneath his long, jet black hair.  Two more lines of those dots flow down the sides of his neck and disappear beneath the collar of his pale gray flight suit.  He has strong facial features,  handsome even, and his eyes are a startling shade of gold when they turn towards you. 

 

That's when the alien stops trying to negotiate and starts laughing.  It's a deep, gravelly sound.   

 

And it's very unsettling.  The last time a quarry laughed Din had ended up in a coma.  It sends a shard of fear through you. 

 

Din pauses, following the alien's gaze to you and then snapping his eyes back to the prisoner. 

 

The quarry looks at him and grins.  "You're welcome," he says, cheerfully.  "I hope you'll reconsider my freedom, maybe come morning."

 

There's a pause before Din just says "No" again and presses the last couple of buttons to activate the freezer.

 

As the mist settles, Din steps away from the frames and over towards you.  You haven't moved from the spot where you stopped upon seeing them.

 

His helmet cants at you.  "Everything alright?"

 

You swallow hard against a sudden dryness in your throat, your jaw clenched almost painfully.  There's a heat in the air now, prickling over your skin, and you resist the urge to tug at your collar as you slowly step down from the ladder.  Inhaling deeply, you clear your throat as that sickly sweet smell invades your senses again. 

 

"I… I'm not sure" you say, your voice strained.

 

The angle of his head's tilt sharpens. "Why?"  He watches as your eyes dart around, not meeting his, and he takes a step closer.  "Sweetling?"

 

You step back. 

 

You're not sure why.  In fact, every nerve end in you is demanding you move closer.  But that urge hits so hard and suddenly, in a way that's unfamiliar, that your first instinct is to pull back from it.  To consider it. 

 

What the hell is going on?

 

Din stops in surprise at your withdrawal, his head jerking like you'd smacked him in the forehead.

 

You finally look up at him as you wrap your arms around yourself and chew at your lip. "I don't know," you admit, licking your lips. "Something is off.  It's really warm in here and… what's that smell?" After the briefest pause, you laugh thinly and roll your eyes at yourself.  "Right.  You probably can't smell it with the filters."

 

Pulling off his gloves, Din slowly reaches out to you.  When you don't pull away this time, he lets his palm rest against your cheek.  "You're flushed," he says, concern in his voice.  "Maybe you caught something on Navarro."

 

Inhaling deeply again, you press your cheek into his hand without realizing it and take in that leather and spice scent you love.  It mingles with the sweet floral smell in the air and a wave of heat washes through you, settling low in your belly.

 

You blink in surprise at yourself, and look up at him with your brows pinching.

 

Then, you look past his shoulder to the carbonite frames tucked into the corner of the hold.  Something nudges at the back of your mind.

 

“Din… what is he?”

 

Din’s head slants to the other side in surprise at the shift in topic.  He glances over his shoulder at the quarry.  “He’s a Tennori…”  Stopping short, his helmet drops down as he heaves a sigh.  “He’s a Tennorian.”  Looking back up at you, he laughs thinly.  “I’m sorry, Sweetling… when I grabbed the puck I knew it wouldn’t have an effect on me.  I didn’t think of it effecting you.”

 

By the time he finishes, you’re giggling at his embarrassment.  You feel better already.  Not because the situation has actually changed, but because at least now you know what’s going on.

 

Tennorian’s have strong pheromones.  Very strong.  And they tend to set them off in two situations: when seeking a mate and when stressed.  The first is voluntary.  The second is not.  And, typically, it only affects those who are attracted to the Tennorian’s gender.  So, of course the quarry wouldn’t have effected Din, even though Din hunting him was what had caused the stress reaction.

 

You, on the other hand, are very effected.

 

A soft snort escapes you as you look up at Din and let a playful smirk tug at your lips.  “You know… if you wanted to get laid, all you had to do was ask.  You didn’t have to bring home a walking aphrodisiac.”  

 

He's so still at first that you're not sure if your joke landed like you hoped, but then you notice the slight shake of his shoulders.  He shakes his head ruefully and you grin up at him. 

 

"Son of a bitch told me 'you're welcome'," he says as the laughter finally escapes the helmet. 

 

You pause for a moment and then snicker again, glancing at the frozen quarry.  "Cheeky bastard."

 

Chuffing, Din glanced back at the Tennorian too.  But then he pauses, going still for a moment with an uncomfortable set coming to his shoulders. 

 

Your laughter fades and you nibble your lip, arching an eyebrow at him. "What is it?"

 

He hesitates before looking back at you.  "Maybe… I should leave, Sweetling."

 

Both of your eyebrows shoot upward at that. "Wh…what?" you choke out. 

 

Din gives a half-sigh, half-laugh and his shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he rubs at the side of his neck and kicks out a foot.  

 

"It's not that I want to, Cyar’ika. But, just a week ago I…" He pauses to consider his next words as he leans back against the bulkhead next to the ladder.  "I corrected you… over the issue of consent."  His booted feet shift uncomfortably. "And now–if the stories about the effect of Tennorians are true–you may not be able to give it."

 

Brows pinching together, you swallow hard against the dryness in your mouth. You know you're staring at him, a little wide eyed, but you can't help it.  Is he seriously considering leaving?  Now?

 

Before you can respond, he clears his throat and adds, "You choosing to give up control to me, Sweetling, is one thing.  Losing it… is entirely different."

 

Your eyes search that unreadable helmet for a few moments before you smile softly and step closer to him.  

 

Maker, his consideration never ceases to surprise you. 

 

When you reach for his hands, Din doesn't resist but he also doesn't pull you closer. You have to close the last of the distance to him, leaning in close.  He's tense and you can feel it even with your body barely touching his; despite how the heat spreading across your skin is practically begging you to press in even closer, especially against the cold of his beskar armor.

 

Once close, you let your forehead lightly rest against his helmet, and he moves just enough so it's at the top of the faceplate, rather than down by his nose.  That soft smile still pulls up at the corners of your lips as you gaze into the dark visor and do your best to look reassuring.

 

"Din… if I do lose control…" you say gently, "there isn't anyone, in the galaxy, that I could possibly feel safer doing that with… than you." Hearing his breath catch, you nibble at your lip.  Then, you let go of his hands and reach up to slip yours around to the back of his neck, leaning in just a touch closer. 

 

"I trust you, Din," you whisper, your tummy tightening a little when his hands finally move to rest on your hips.  Another smile tugs at your mouth.  "And if you think I wasn't already considering ways to get you into bed when you got back, you're a fool."  Your nose crinkles up a little with your smile.  "Do I seem capable of consent right now?"

 

A faint huff of a laugh passes through the helmet.  "Yes," he answers. 

 

Your smile brightens a bit and you whisper, "Then I’m giving my consent now… while I’m still completely in my right mind," you state firmly, tilting your chin up to place a soft kiss against the bottom of his visor. 

 

Din chuckles and you can feel him give in and relax a little.  But then his laughter fades and his voice is serious again.  “I’m going to keep checking in with you, Sweetling, like we’ve discussed.”  He takes a deep breath.  “You remember?”

 

Licking your lips, you nod.  

 

Din had brought up additional color safewords a while ago, and ‘check-ins’ if things ever got too intense between you.  Neither had really come up yet, though.  You never were sure if he had something in mind the night he broached the subject, or if it was just a precautionary discussion.  

 

Now, you’re guessing it was precautionary.

 

Nodding slightly, Din’s fingers squeeze your hips slightly.  “Good.  If you can’t answer me at any point… I will stop.”

 

With another smile, you nod again, as electricity laces across your body from the pressure of his hands.  Your chin tilts up again and you press a light kiss against the cheek ridge of his helmet.

 

“I know.  That’s why I know I can trust you,” you purr softly.

 

Then you lean into his body more and this time he responds, letting his hands slip from your hips and around your waist.  Pressing in close, you smirk softly as your head drops to nuzzle your face into his cowl at the curve of his neck and you take a deep breath.

 

And then you gasp and cough, tugging back from him sharply.

 

Din lets you loose with a sharp cant of his head.  “Sweetling?”

 

You cough again and then burst into a laugh, grabbing at his shoulder pauldron and pulling him away from the wall.  He lets you.

 

“Sweetling, what in the-”

 

He stops short as you urge him to turn.  You’re pointing at the fresher with your other hand.

 

“My consent is now limited to after you take a shower.  Three days of hunting in the forest isn’t the best cologne.”

 

The beskar helmet turns to you abruptly over his shoulder and the tilt of his head is incredulous.

 

You giggle, wiggling a finger at the fresher door.  “I may be starting to feel the effects of those pheromones, but even they can’t cover this up.  I will deal with a delay...”

 

Din leans a little closer to you and you catch your breath, holding it.  You can hear his chuckle, a moment before he gives a low growl that sends a spear of heat down into your core.  

 

Of course, it also makes you inhale sharply and then cough again, pouting up at him.

 

“Fine,” he says, and you can hear his grin.  “If you think you can wait.”

 

 

Din finishes toweling off in the fresher and debates on taking the time to shave.  There are thin patches of hair along his jawline that could stand to go.  But then, as he rubs his hand over his jaw, he glances at the closed door and chuckles softly.

 

He has probably kept you waiting long enough, having enjoyed the shower you insisted he take for a little longer than was strictly necessary.

 

Wrapping the towel securely around his waist, he picks up his helmet from the corner of the fresher, slips it back on, and slides the door open.

 

He freezes over the threshold of the fresher, his mouth going dry and his breath hitching.  

 

Apparently he had taken a little too long for you to wait patiently. 

 

You are stretched out on top of the supply crates, feet near the boarding ramp and head towards the cockpit ladder.  You've stripped down to only your bralette and panties; your soft skin is covered in a glistening sheen of sweat.  One hand is above your head, white-knuckled and gripping the edge of the crate.  Your other hand is between your closed thighs.

 

A low groan comes up from Din’s chest at the sight of you: flushed and breathless. Beautiful.   

 

You don’t hear him, too lost in the relief you are trying to find from the fevered desire brought on by the alien’s pheromones.  

 

Any thoughts he might have had, about further teasing you, disappear. 

 

Din takes a few steps to reach the side of the crates, to stand beside you.  As soon as he can see your face past your raised arm and the disarray of your hair, he grins.

 

You're already wearing the blindfold for him. 

 

 

The hiss of Din's helmet disengaging above you does startle you a little, then you can hear him set it on the ground next to the crates. Your whole body stills, except the rapid rise and fall of your breasts. 

 

He doesn't say anything before his lips are claiming yours, tongue dipping into the warmth of your mouth.

 

Your hand slips out from between your thighs and the other releases the crate’s edge.  Lifting both, you bury your fingers into the damp locks of his hair and you moan into the kiss as you eagerly return it, your tongue dancing to meet his.

 

His big hands glide over the curves of your body and the next thing you know he’s pulling you up to sit, all the while holding you in that passionate kiss.  Strong fingers press into the soft flesh of your hips as he tugs you right to the edge of the crate.  Then his hands glide down your thighs to catch behind your knees, urging your thighs open so he can stand between them.

 

Not that it takes much urging.

 

You whimper against his mouth as your hips scootch forward on the edge; your balance on it would be precarious, at best, if not for him standing there.  For the first time that you can ever think of, his skin actually feels cool against yours and you lean into that sensation eagerly. 

 

Din breaks the kiss, groaning as you rock against him.   His head tilts to the side and his breath dances across your ear as he grinds out lowly, "Color?"

 

It takes you a moment for that one word question to click before you gasp out, "Green," in a mewl.

 

You think he murmurs something grateful sounding and it makes you giggle as your hands slip out of his hair and you grip at his shoulders. But then the laugh catches in your throat when you feel the press of his fingers at the apex of your thighs, over your clothed crotch.

 

Din's other hand lifts to dig into your hair, gripping and giving a tug to tilt your head back.  Your gasp at the sting melts into a moan as his mouth finds the soft flesh under your jaw, nipping and licking at it.  All the while, his other hand moves between your thighs, held open by his hips, and his fingertips trace over your pussy through the material, slick with your arousal. 

 

A high pitched whine tumbles past your lips as your back arches from the pull on your hair and your hips press forward to push into his touch.  Your nails scratch across his shoulders, leaving angry red lines on his skin. 

 

Releasing your hair, Din pulls your body closer by wrapping his arm around your waist, as he bites and sucks at the spot below the hinge of your jaw.  Your gasps spur him on while the pads of his fingers find the swell of your clit, pressing firmly through your panties.  He circles the nub, teasing it until you are writhing within his hold on you.

 

“P-please, Din,” you mewl sweetly, your hips rocking. Your hands slip from his shoulders as you plead, palms searing down his chest and abdomen. When your fingers find the edge of the towel still wrapped around his waist you whimper softly, then turn your head to purr against his ear.

 

“I need you… please.”

 

Din groans low in his chest as you palm the bulge of his erection through the coarse cloth of the towel.  He presses into your hand as his own traces a firm line over the covered slit of your heated core, pulling another sweet whimper out of you.

 

As his mouth claims yours in another kiss, he pulls back from your thighs just enough to tug the towel free and let it drop to the deck.  Your panties follow the towel a moment later. Then he’s standing between your legs again, one arm wrapped around your waist as his other hand notches the tip of his cock against your entrance.

 

Breaking the kiss, he demands softly, "S-say it again."

 

You moan out his name before your lip catches between your teeth for a moment. "I need you…"

 

With a stuttered groan, Din presses forward, sliding into your wet tunnel as his arm joins the other wrapped around you, hands splaying across the lines of your back.

 

The soft cry that escapes you echoes off the metal walls. Your hands find purchase on his flanks as your head drops back, eyes closed in ecstasy behind the blindfold as he stretches and fills you.  Your legs lift to curl around his narrow waist, opening your body up to him even more and drawing groans from you both as he sinks deeper into you.

 

Then, when he moves inside you with smooth and steady thrusts, your body is wound up so tauntly that you burst within moments, driven over the edge of an unexpected orgasm after only a few hard strokes.  Your fingers dig into his flesh as you keen, trembles racing through you.

 

Din grunts as he pumps into you through the surprising climax, his face burying into the valley between your breasts as you arch back.  “Uunngghh… fuck, Sweetling,” he growls against your skin.  “You get s-so kriffing tight… when you cum.”

 

You gasp for air as your pussy quivers around him and a whimper passes your parted lips.

 

After a couple more strokes into you, Din sheaths his dick deep within you and stills.  He lifts his head, looking down at your flushed face. One arm slips free from behind you and he lifts a hand to brush sweat dampened locks from your forehead.

 

He kisses you briefly, licking into your mouth and drawing another whimper out of you.  His mouth barely pulls back from yours then as he murmurs another check-in against your lips. “Still… still with me, Cyar’ika ?”

 

You hum happily, tilting your chin up to playfully nip at his lower lip.  “Yes,” you say.  Then, before he can ask, you purr out a soft, “Green.  Very green.”

 

A deep chuckled rumbles up from his chest and the sound of it sends a fresh wave of heat racing across your skin and down into your core.  You moan softly, the muscles of your calves tightening to press your heels into the back of his thighs as your hips rock forward.

 

It’s as if the edge of your need was barely taken off by the orgasm, and now it rushes through your veins again like a white hot flame.

 

Din grunts as  you clench down on him, the walls of your cunt shuddering with your need.  With stuttered breaths he watches your half hidden face for a moment.

 

Then, with arms slipping behind you again, and big hands grasping the curves of your ass, Din lifts you off the crate and carries you over to the bedroll.  He doesn’t pull out of you as he moves, carefully lowering you both down until he is on his back with you held against his chest, your thighs splayed over his hips.

 

Catching your breath, you sit up slightly, and whimper at the shift of sensation that causes with his cock still buried inside you.  Then, you tilt your head down at him curiously.  You can feel his eyes on you, raking over you hungrily as his cock pulses inside you.

 

“Use me, sweet girl,” he growls out in answer to your unspoken curiosity, his hips flexing beneath yours to press into you just a little deeper as his hands glide over your body.  “Take… what you need.”

 

Your breath hitches again at that, and your teeth catch your lip.  

 

Palms bracing against his chest then, you lift up on him slowly, only a couple of inches, and then sink back down.  You repeat the motion, drawing off of his shaft a little further before pushing back down.  And again.  Again.  

 

Soon you’re setting a fast rhythm, rocking your hips into his as moans from you both fill the space of the hold.  

 

His strong hands grip your hips as you ride him, fingers pressed into soft flesh, as his hips lift to meet yours.  But he doesn’t take control as he holds onto you, seeming content to let you set the pace.

 

As he throbs sinfully within you with each downward stroke of your pussy, your body thrums with your need for him.  Your head drops back again as you fuck yourself onto his cock and reach down your body to rub two fingers against your clit in firm little circles, trembling as heat and pleasure build almost painfully in your core again.

 

Din watches as you touch yourself and move above him, with ragged grunts as he bucks up to meet your demanding strokes.  He marvels at the beautiful image you make, with flushed skin shimmering from fevered desire and exertion, lips parted as you pant for breath.

 

Biting hard on your lip, you whimper as the coil of need builds low in your belly as you continue to move on him.  But this time, the relief of climax seems to elude you, even as you quicken the rocking of your hips and the stroke of your fingers.

 

It’s not enough.  Maker, why isn’t it enough?

 

Gasping with your need, you lean down against Din’s chest, your arm caught between your bodies as you continue to stroke yourself.  Your other hand slips up into his hair as you seek his mouth for a heated kiss.

 

Din can feel how tense you are, not only in the way your pussy chokes down on his shaft but in every muscle of your body as you press close.  After a few moments of your starving kiss, he breaks it to groan against your lips.

 

“Wh-what do you need, Sweetling?”

 

Your whimper is acute.  “I… I don’t know.  More…”

 

A faint chuckle escapes him as he briefly kisses you again and flexes his hips to meet your rolling ones. “You’ve got… fuck… got all of me, Sweetling…”

 

“I-I know,” you breath out, frustration in your voice.  “Maker, Din…” you whine.

 

He stills beneath you for a moment and then his voice rumbles up again, thoughtful and hesitant.  “Do you trust me, Sweetling?”

 

Your breath hitches at that tone but you nod eagerly. “Yes…”

 

There’s a brief pause before his hands release your hips.  “Okay… let’s try something.”  You feel the tip of his finger tap your lips.  “Open.”

 

Obediently, your lips part and his finger slips past your lip.  

 

“Get it… good and wet, sweet girl,” he groans out.

 

Your lips wrap around the digit and you suck firmly as your tongue swirls around it.  All the while you keep moving your hips, desperately seeking the friction of his cock sliding in and out of your quivering cunt.

 

“Oh… good girl,” he rasps as he pulls his hand back a few moments later.

 

You shiver at the praise.

 

Then Din reaches down with both hands to grasp your hips, pumping up into you a couple of times and drawing clipped moans out of you.  His hands curl around your hips, kneading at the soft swells of your ass cheeks before carefully pulling them a bit apart.  The tip of that saliva slicked finger finds the puckered entrance to your ass then and gently traces around it.

 

You go still, a strangled sound slipping out of you.

 

Din stills again too, with the tiniest bit of pressure applied by that single digit.  He watches you carefully and places a soft kiss against your lips.  

 

“Color?” he asks softly.

 

You bite your lip again in consideration.

 

This is new.  This all feels new.  Not just because of the pheromones either.  It’s the control he’s sharing with you, the restraint he’s showing in letting you take the lead. 

 

And now this.

 

That coil of needs flares up in you again and you whimper.  You need something more.  Maybe this is it.  

 

And if not… well, you know you can trust him.

 

When your contemplations take several moments, Din starts to release you.  Your breath catches at the realization and you press back against his hands.

 

“Green,” you whisper breathlessly.

 

He pauses again, his own voice strained.  “You’re sure?”

 

You nod, whimpering as your hips rock a little to stroke your pussy over his shaft again.  “Yes,” you say, “green.”

 

Din nods and kisses you again as he gently applies pressure with that finger.  You whimper into his mouth and relax at his soft urging.  Once you do, the tight ring of muscle relents and lets his finger slip into you just to the first knuckle.

 

A sharp gasp at the unfamiliar penetration tears from your throat and your head drops against his shoulder.  Your body tenses again and Din grunts as you tighten on his cock and his finger.  He murmurs soothingly into your ear and when you relax a little again, he presses that finger just a bit deeper.  

 

The soft squeal that escapes you makes his cock jump inside you and a tremble races through your body.

 

After stilling for several moments, Din’s voice rumbles again. “Move… when you’re ready to, Sweetling.  I’ll move with you.”

 

It takes you a few moments to relax enough to move, adjusting to the new sensations.  When you finally do move again, rocking your hips experimentally, his hand stays firmly on your ass, so that finger doesn’t move within you.  He keeps it there, giving you a growing, delightful feeling of fullness as his cock strokes your inner walls.

 

Before long you’ve found your rhythm again, pushing back onto his shaft and mewling wantonly as he fills you up repeatedly.  Your breath quickens as your fingers begin moving over your clit again and you gasp, that teasing orgasm looming up again.

 

Din can feel you tensing around his cock and finger again, your pleasure building.  He begins to thrust his hips to meet yours once more, careful to keep his grip on your ass steady, even as his own climax begins to build.

 

Moaning loudly, you clench down on him, seeking that breaking swell of pleasure.  Sweat glistens across your skin as you fuck down on him, mewling.

 

Din can feel how close you are.

 

“Trust me?” he breathes out again.

 

“Yes!” you gasp.

 

He flexes his finger within your ass as he grinds his hips up against yours.

 

A keen rips out of you as the dam of your orgasm finally bursts; your body arching sharply above his as you cunt clamps down on his dick with waves of blissful release washing over and through you.  You scream his name as you cum, drenching his grinding cock with your pleasure and squeezing on the finger that still penetrates you.

 

Din continues to thrust as you cum around him, pumping up into you as you go unbelievably tight around him.  Until he finally roars out his own pleasure, spilling into you with a few final jagged jerks of his hips.

 

Then the two of you sink into the bedroll together, wrapped up in one another and gasping for breath.

 

You’re not sure how much time passes before you feel him gently pull his finger out of you and then his cock.  You whimper faintly at the loss of him but you don’t move, too spent to even turn a playful pout up at him.

 

With careful movements, Din rolls you onto the bedroll on your side.  He whispers into your ear that he’ll be right back.

 

A moment later you hear the water running in the fresher.  When it shuts off, another few breaths pass before you feel him settle next to you again and your breath catches as he gently begins to clean you up with a soft, damp cloth.

 

Tossing the cloth away then, Din gathers you up into his arms as he relaxes into the bedroll again.  His lips press against your temple in a tender kiss and his hands splay across your back as you snuggle into his side, our cheek resting on his chest.

 

“Color?” he whispers again, against your skin.

 

Your nose crinkles up slightly as you giggle and whisper back, “Green,” before tilting our chin up to catch him with a kiss.

 

 

The next morning you wake gradually with a groan, stretching out limb by limb and wincing a little at a few new found aches.  

 

They also make you smirk.  

 

You and Din had gone for a few more rounds last night and the memory makes you thrill, your insides quivering a bit.   

 

It had finally dawned on one of you– okay, it was Din– that the Tennorian's pheromones might have been lingering in the Crest's air as it recycled.  So, before the last bout of mind-numbing sex, he'd cracked open the boarding ramp.  Either the fresh air coming in had cleared the last remnants out or the effect of the pheromones had finally run their course, but either way you were both finally able to pass out without that fevered need waking you up again.

 

As consciousness takes hold, you reach out to his side of the bedroll, only to find it empty. Your eyes flutter open and you look over to the empty spot before looking around the hold.

 

He isn't here.

 

The ship is quiet and the boarding ramp is fully open. 

 

Sitting up, you gather your meager blanket up against your breast as you look through the open ramp as far as possible.  All you can see is a small portion of the clearing the Crest has been parked in and the forest beyond.  

 

But is that the foundling's giggle you hear from somewhere nearby?

 

A smile tugs at your lips as you toss aside your blanket and quickly get dressed. Raking your fingers through your bed-ravaged hair, you pull it back into a tie before you slip on your boots and head for the ramp. 

 

At the top of the ramp, you stop short.  

 

About fifty feet away you can see Din and the kid. Your head tilts in confusion for a moment as you watch them.  

 

Did the kid escape the ship? 

 

It looks like Din is chasing him. Then, just as he is about to scoop the kid up, the little one toddles just out of reach.  You can see Din's shoulders move in a huffing sigh and then he's going after the gremlin again.

 

It takes a moment but then you can't help smirking as realization strikes.  

 

He's playing with the foundling. 

 

Din takes a few steps, reaches for the child again– who he could easily grab up–, and then lets the kid slip right through his fingers and tottle away.  Then, he heaves a dramatic sigh again, which makes the little one burble with giggles, and repeats the entire process. 

 

You lean a shoulder against the edge of the ramp entrance and watch, your smirk gradually growing into a beaming smile with each time the foundling "escapes" from his father. The kid is little more than a bundle of delighted trills as he waddles away, again and again and again. 

 

The longer it goes on, the more you feel like your chest might burst from the warmth spreading through you. 

 

Maker, could you love that man any more?

 

You blink rapidly, your entire body freezing and your breath catching in your throat, as that thought solidifies in your mind.  There's a pounding sound in your head as your heartbeat takes up a staccato beat and your eyes widen. 

 

Love?

 

Oh, Maker .

 

As the word takes hold in your brain, and your body reminds you of its need for oxygen, you gasp in a breath and then swallow hard.  Your eyes dart about for a moment before landing back on the object of your confusion. 

 

It takes a few moments–well, several long ones, really–but eventually you manage to relax as your mind churns over the idea.  

 

And you know the word fits. 

 

Your tongue darts out across your lips and then your lips press together as you watch the pair in the clearing. Ever so slowly, the dread that had leapt into your mind at first melts away as you watch Din play with the foundling. 

 

Your smile gradually returns as you swallow against a lump in your throat.

 

Maker, is that really what this is?

 

About then, the foundling notices you and gives an excited trill, little hands making grabbing motions in your direction. 

 

Din's visor lifts to you and he straightens, shoulders rolling back. "Oh, good. You're awake," he says, voice carrying across the slight distance to you, and you can hear the smile in his tone. 

 

Your mouth suddenly goes dry and your stomach flips in knots as you give him a small nod and smile.

 

Oh, kriff, girl.  Get it together!

 

Din leans back down and scoops up the foundling before heading towards the boarding ramp.  

 

"We should get going," he says as he walks up the ramp, and hands the kid off to you once it's obvious that the little one is just going to try to leap out of his arms at you otherwise. 

 

You giggle at the child, holding him close, grateful for the reprieve from your turbulent thoughts. 

 

Din pauses beside you as he hits the control for the ramp. It starts to close as you both step further inside. 

 

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

 

You lift your eyes up to the unreadable helmet and swallow back against the torrent of emotions.  A soft smile tugs at your lips and your shoulder lifts.  "A little sore," you say with a faint laugh, fighting against the blush creeping into your cheeks. "But good."

 

Din seems to consider you for a moment before nodding and giving a light chuffing laugh of his own.  He leans in towards you, filling your senses with the smell of his aftershave, and lightly bumps his helmet against your forehead. 

 

"Good.  I'm going to get us in the air."  

 

Turning, he strides to the ladder and is up it and out of sight in a few heartbeats. 

 

Pounding heartbeats.  At least, for you. 

 

Taking a deep, shaking breath, you exhale slowly as you look down at the kid in your arms.

 

You'd almost swear the look he's giving you is a knowing one; as if he knows what's gone through your head over the last several minutes. 

 

You huff at him with a little laugh, resting your forehead against his soft, wrinkly one.

 

"Oh, Maker…" you mumble. 

 

The child giggles in your arms. 

Notes:

Smutty content warning: D/S themes, dubcon, oral sex (male receiving), cum eating, orgasm denial, PinV sex, anal play (female receiving)

Chapter 27

Summary:

A lot going on in this one. Lots of fluff, some angst, and a good chunk of smut. For possible smut related triggers, please see the notes at the bottom of the chapter or the updated tags.

I hope you enjoy!

Find me on Tumblr if you like! I'd love to chat with readers. Username: Keeshya6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You watch in excited anticipation as the dark of space gives way to pale blue sky.  

 

The air here looks cold, which makes sense, given the planet's designation: ice.

 

You've never actually seen snow up close.  The mountains on Sardecia would occasionally have snow on their peaks, and some of the northernmost areas of the planet would get snow, but you'd never been to either during those times.  The closest you've ever been was hundreds of miles away, or through a screen if it was on a holovid.

 

So, when Din told you a couple of days ago that Ando Prime was an ice planet, you are pretty sure you surprised him with your delighted expression.  You've been excited about it ever since.

 

Plus, it's been a good distraction from the complications of figuring out the depths of your feelings for him, ever since Saffalore. 

 

It's not that you're avoiding it… per se. It's just so new and unfamiliar. How the hell are you supposed to talk to him about it, when you're not sure you understand it yet yourself? 

 

You've never been… in love before. 

 

As if this relationship isn't complicated enough already. 

 

"You know you can't go out in it for very long, right?" he asks, as you lean over the console to look down at the approaching field of pure white.

 

"Maker, that is really white," you murmur to yourself before looking at him over your shoulder.  "What do you mean?"

 

He chuckles lightly, reaching out to pull you back from the console. 

 

You squeak in surprise as you are plunked down onto his lap.  His arms bracket you then, hands moving over the controls for the landing sequence, which you had been blocking. A giggle tumbles out of you.

 

"It's too cold, Sweetling," he finishes his thought as the Crest's descent slows, and flurries of snow begin to whip up over the viewport. "You don't have the right clothes to be out there for long."

 

Your smile is beaming as you watch the flakes dance and, to the side behind you both, an excited "Patoo!" comes from the child's seat.  You laugh again, glancing over Din's mudhorn-stamped pauldron to see the toddler watching in awe.

 

But then, his words sink in past your excitement and your smile fades a bit as you look out the viewport at the flurries. You also notice the crystalline frost already inching along the edges of the transparisteel in fractals.  

 

You wait until the ship has set down and he's finished manipulating the landing controls.  Then you look at his visor with a serious expression.  

 

"Really?"

 

 

It feels like a knife stab to the gut when Din turns and sees the anxious look plainly written across your face.

 

Maker .

 

He swallows against that feeling even as his brows knit behind the visor.  Lifting a hand, he brushes a lock of your hair out of your face. 

 

"Yes. Really. You'll freeze," he says, gently. 

 

It's not that he thinks you don't know that. He's sure you're at least aware of the properties of ice and snow, even if you've never experienced it.  But your excitement seems to have overridden that knowledge, temporarily. 

 

He watches as you habitually nibble at your lip and look back out the viewport.  With the way your expression shifts as you think for a moment, Din knows you're trying to hide your disappointment.

 

And failing.

 

That knife to the gut twists a little. 

 

Dank Farrik .

 

Din sighs as he gives a squeeze to your waist. "Let's… check the things I've gotten off of bounties. Maybe something in there will help," he suggests.

 

When you give him a soft smile and nod, he can see that you know he's trying to placate you. Still, you seem to appreciate the thought.  

 

Climbing out of his lap, you gather up the toddler and head down into the hold with Din close behind you. 

 

He steps over to a compartment next to the sleeping rack and pulls open the narrow door.  As he digs around a little, you duck your head under the arm holding the door open.

 

You give a soft snort. "I didn't even realize that was there."

 

Din glances down at you with a chuckle and continues his rummaging.  A few moments later he shakes his head as he steps back and closes the door. 

 

"Sorry, Cyar’ika. Nothing useful."

 

You shrug a little and give him a little smile. "That's alright.  So, we won't spend much time.   I just… want to see it."

 

Din nods a little.   Then, after a pause, he reaches up to unclasp his cape and swings it around your shoulders. 

 

Your smile brightens as you pull the cloth close around you and the foundling, whose ears, eyes, and nose peek up over the tattered hem.  "Thank you."

 

He gives another nod, pausing for a moment to look at the two of you, wrapped up in his cape.  A slow smile spreads across his face.  Then, when your eyes lift to meet his with a warm expression, it feels like his chest tightens.  

 

There's something in that look you're giving him that he can't place.  It's familiar, like he's seen it before, though not from you.  Well, that's not entirely true. He has seen it from you recently, over the last few weeks. But the familiarity is something from another time and place that he can't quite put his finger on. And he's sure, if he could remember, he'd feel more confident in what that warm expression means. 

 

And kriff, there are few things in this galaxy that scare him, but he hasn't found the bravery to just ask you what it means.  If he's wrong, and it doesn't mean anything… 

 

Well, he doesn't want to consider that possibility yet. 

 

Swallowing hard, he steps past you and the kid and walks to the ramp controls.   Looking back, his head cants.

 

“All set?"

 

You snuggle the little one close to your chest, gathering up as much of the edge of the cape as you can to keep it close.   Then, no longer able to contain the excitement, you give a beaming smile again and nod eagerly. 

 

Din chuckles, that tightness in his chest joined by a warmth at the sight of your exuberance. With a single nod, he pushes the button to open the ramp.

 

 

Fingers of cold wind whip into the hold, carrying flurries of snow on them and tugging at the edges of the suddenly precious cape.  Your breath hisses past your teeth and you blink rapidly against the cold air as it licks at your skin and eyes.

 

"Woah!" you gasp, trying to duck your face behind the edge of the cape as the kid turns his head to do the same.

 

Once the ramp is fully down, the rush of the wind settles from a roar to slightly more than a breeze.  You and the child both peek out from behind the cloth.

 

Your eyes widen at the drifts of snow already gathering just inside the entrance and a giggle bubbles out of you.  Then your smile fades into an expression of awe as you look out past Din at the vast swath of white outside of the Crest.

 

In your arms, the kid is cooing and babbling excitedly, making little fists with his three fingered hands as he tries to catch the snowflakes that drift in towards you. 

 

After a few moments of awed silence, you step forward to stand beside Din and look out, squinting against the snow's brightness. 

 

A shiver rushes through you but you ignore it, your smile consuming your features again.  

 

Next to you, Din chuckles softly.   He steps behind you and wraps his arms around you and the kid, pulling you back against his chest and resting his chin against the top of your head. 

 

You give a little eep at first because of the chill on the beskar armor. But then you settle back into his embrace as your shared body heat fights off the cold.  Somewhat.

 

"What do you think?" he murmurs.

 

You can't stop smiling. "It's beautiful… and really kriffing bright," you say, ending with a giggle. 

 

Din's responding chuckle shakes his chest against your back.  "Oh? I suppose."

 

You click your tongue at him in mock agitation.  "Not all of us have visors that –I assume– automatically adjust to light levels in some way," you quip.

 

You can hear the grin in his voice above you.  "Good guess."

 

You smirk and then focus again on the landscape stretching out before you.  You take in how the pale blue sky meets the distant white mountains, which descend into rolling, white hills.  The hills, in turn, fade into the expansive fields of white the ship is sitting on. 

 

It's stunning. 

 

The toddler in your arms starts squirming in excitement. Another sound of surprise escapes you as he nearly tumbles out of your arms.  You manage to pull out of Din's grasp and lean down just quick enough that the little one only drops about half a foot. 

 

"Oh!" you gasp. "Careful, little man."

 

Before your chilled fingers can catch him, the foundling is toddling forward. 

 

"Hey! Wait!" you say, reaching for him awkwardly with the cape.

 

"Kid, stop!" Din says at the same moment. 

 

The little gremlin ignores you both.

 

And promptly face-plants himself into a pile of snow gathered just inside the ramp entrance. 

 

You and Din both stop short. 

 

The kid rolls himself over and plops down on his butt in the snow; face, ears and muslin robe all covered in the sparkling white of snowy powder. His big brown eyes blink up at you rapidly, then at his father over your shoulder.

 

Then the little goblin burbles a laugh with a wide, tiny-toothed grin at you both. 

 

Din chuffs a laugh behind you as you giggle and scoop the kid up, doing your best to brush the snow off of him. 

 

"Well," you say with a shrug as you turn back to Din, eyes sparkling with amusement, "I guess that's enough of that.  I'll get him dry and warm so he doesn't get sick."

 

Din nods, still chuckling, as he accepts his cape back from you and you head further into the ship in search of a towel and the warmth of the cockpit.

 

 

It's late -you're not exactly sure how late, but late- when Din wakes you the next night. 

 

He shakes your shoulder gently until you wake up, blinking up at him in the hold's dimmed lights.  He's upside-down to you, because you had tucked the bedroll into the sleeping rack and slid in feet first to sleep. You're surprised that the door sliding open next to your head hadn't woken you. 

 

Din's head slants to one side slightly. His voice is low so he doesn't wake the snoring foundling that is currently tucked in the crook of your arm. 

 

"Why are you in here?"

 

You give him a groggy, little smile.  "Don't have to use as much fuel for the heat if I'm tucked in here with this little furnace," you whisper back, pointing at the kid.  

 

Before finally leaving on his hunt, Din had shown you the controls to keep the ship idling for heat.  You tried not to use it constantly, but that was hard to do with how cool it got.  

 

His shoulders shake with a brief, silent laugh and then he concedes the point with a shrug and nod.  Gloved hands reach out to carefully extract the child from your arms and tuck him into the hammock above the mat.  

 

"Come on," he whispers, crooking a finger at you.  "I have something for you."

 

That chases the last remnants of sleep from your mind and you smile brightly up at him with curiosity showing in your eyes. At a wave of your fingers, he steps back. Then you tighten your core and quickly draw your legs up over your head into a backwards summersault.  You're careful to not kick the tiny hammock as you roll out of the rack, landing on your feet, facing it.

 

As you close the rack door and push your hair out of your face, Din chuckles and steps up behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you back against his chest and nuzzle his faceplate against the curve of your neck.

 

"Agile, little thing," he rumbles into your hair.

 

A thrill courses through you as you snicker softly, biting your lip. You shimmy back against him, drawing another chuckle out of the helmet, before you spin in his arms and arch a slender brow up at him. 

 

After giving your ass an affectionate squeeze, Din lets you go and steps back to the supply crates.  He picks up two bundles and unfolds them, holding them out to you.

 

Your eyes widen as you step closer and reach out to take the first one.  It’s a coat with a hood, made of some sort of thick creature’s hide and lined with soft fur.  The second bundle is a matching pair of pants.  They’re both a bit worn and have some snow still clinging to spots.

 

You look up at him in awe.  “Where did you find these?”

 

He chuffs and points over his shoulder.

 

You follow the gesture to the carbonite frames and notice that the Tennorian from Saffalore isn’t the only quarry in storage anymore.  There’s a human man frozen now too.

 

After a moment, you start to giggle and look up at Din’s helmet incredulously.  “You… took the quarry’s gear?”

 

He shrugs.  “He doesn’t need them anymore.”

 

A laugh tumbles out of you and you turn your attention back to the coat in your hands.  It’s a little big for you and the pants will be too, no doubt, but you realize that just means you can pull them on over your clothes for extra warmth.

 

A bright smile flashes across your features up at Din as you reach out for the pants too and then lean up to press a kiss against his visor.  “Thank you!”

 

“Do you want to go out?” he asks, a grin in his voice.

 

You pause for a moment, both eyebrows arching, to look towards the closed ramp.  “Now?”

 

He nods. “Yes.”

 

It only takes a fraction of a second before you’re beaming and nodding, dropping the coat so you can pull on the pants over yours and then shrugging the coat on and fastening it up.  Then you’re digging out a fresh pair of socks and your boots, tugging both on.  

 

Din keeps chuckling at you and you just stick your tongue out at him, adding to his amusement.

 

Before you have a chance to excitedly open the ramp, he stops you and reaches into the pockets of your procured coat, pulling out a pair of leather gloves.  You laugh softly as you pull them on.  Like everything else, they’re a little big on you, but you aren’t about to complain.  

 

Din reaches over your shoulder and presses the ramp control as you finish pulling the gloves on.

 

When the wind whips inside this time, it stings your cheeks a little again, but otherwise you can barely feel it past the warmth of the oversized coat and pants.  An excited squeak escapes you, which has Din giving a deep laugh.  

 

With a brief smile flashed up at him, you head down the ramp before it’s even fully settled, and then you stop about halfway.  Your breath catches as you look out across the field of white.

 

It is a startling contrast, where the white covering the distant mountains meets the deep blue-black of the night sky. Light from two distant moons shimmers off of the snow, making it seem brighter than it should be in the middle of the night.  Starlight twinkles overhead too, adding to the mystical feeling of the landscape.  Everything is sparkling.

 

You can’t seem to find your breath.  

 

Din steps up behind you again and slips his arms around you without a word.  

 

You lean back into him, your arms resting over his.  “It’s… gorgeous,” you whisper.

 

"I thought you might like it," he says softly.

 

The two of you stay like that for several minutes, your head resting back against his shoulder as the stillness of the snowscape settles in around you and you take it in with awe.

 

His arms squeeze around you.  "Are you just going to stay here?"

 

You shake your head with a soft smile and slip out of his arms. Making your way down the ramp, you step tentatively into the snow. It crunches underfoot and you laugh as you sink in, halfway to your knees.

 

As Din steps out beside you, you lean down to scoop up some of the snow, marveling at the way the moonlight sparkles off the flakes as they slip between your fingers and drift back to the ground. 

 

Din reaches out to you, to urge you away from the ramp, and then he closes it behind you.  The Crest's idling engine gets a little louder then as the heater kicks on inside the ship. 

 

You smile up at him brightly and pause, admiring the way the moonlight reflects off of his armor and the surrounding snow.  

 

It's only when his head tilts slightly at you, in that curious cant of his, that you realize you've been staring at him. You're not even sure for how long.  You can feel the blush rushing to warm your cheeks acutely in the cold air as you avert your eyes to look down at the snow again.

 

Nibbling your lip, and trying to pretend you don't feel like the most awkward woman in the galaxy right now, you crouch down to run your fingers through the snow.  You pause and then start tugging off one glove.

 

Din is still watching you and clears his throat.  "Don't keep it off long, Sweetling… it won't take much to get frostbite."

 

You nod in acknowledgment, your breath catching as the cold hits your hand.  Flexing your fingers for a moment, you reach down with one finger and trace intricate, nonsensical lines into the surface of the snow. 

 

You don't realize it at first but you hum softly as you draw in the snow: some Lifeday song you'd heard from time to time about snow, but never bothered to learn the lyrics to. 

 

Movement catches your eyes and you pause to look up. 

 

Din is moving back towards the ship, reaching up to examine a panel. 

 

A small smile tugs at your lips.  And then, when you glance back down, it grows into a mischievous grin.  

 

Pulling the glove back on, you push both hands into the snow and gather a pile of the fluffy flakes between your palms.  You cup your hands around it, like you've seen in the holovids, pressing the snow into a ball.

 

Then, looking back up at Din, you pause and go very still for a moment. He's turned partially away from you, intently looking at something on the seam of that panel.

 

You wait, chilled lips pressing into a line. 

 

Oh, Maker, this could be a bad idea…

 

It only takes you a moment to push that cautionary voice away in your mind.   

 

You've made your decision.

 

Din shrugs, satisfied with whatever it is he's found on the side of the ship.  His hand lowers and he starts to turn.

 

The snowball flies.

 

 

Your cry echoes through the hold as your back arches off the bedroll and you strain against the manacles binding your wrists above your head.  

 

The metal is cold against your heated skin.

 

Just like Din's lips and tongue.

 

He licks across your nipples, one after the other, slow and methodical. He pauses now and then, to take more snow from a bowl beside the bed, and lets it melt against his lips and on his tongue. Then, he leans over you again to continue the torturous teasing.

 

The contrast of the cold on your skin is shocking, just on this side of pain, eased by the warmth of his breath.  Still, your nipples are tight peaks beneath the sweeps of his tongue and tender kisses of his lips.  

 

Your head swims from the sensations. Being unable to see because of the blindfold, and unable to touch because of the manacles, only heightens it all, and you can't focus on anything else.

 

"Diiinnn…" His name tumbles past your lips in a stutter, as he draws the peak of a tit into his chilled mouth to suck firmly, your body arching again. The cold dances across your skin, somehow seeming to melt into waves of heat just under the surface and lancing down your body to pool between your thighs. 

 

He releases you a few moments later once his tongue has warmed against you. 

 

Taking more snow into his mouth, he skims cooled kisses down over your ribs and tummy, leaving a trail of goosebumps, and dips his tongue into your navel.  Your stomach tightens beneath him, breath trembling, as if you might be able to escape that chilled tongue. He nips at your tender skin in response, a low growl coming up from his chest, and you give a breathy half-laugh as you squirm. 

 

Din climbs back up your body, capturing your lips in an icy kiss.

 

"I… I w-want… to touch you," you mewl against his mouth after several moments of desperately leaning into that hungry kiss, "...please…"

 

He pulls back with a quick lick over your bottom lip and then his lips, warmed by yours, trace to the lobe of your ear. 

 

"No…" he growls lowly, the tip of that delightful tongue following the shell of your ear, "...you should have thought of that before being a brat and throwing snow at me…"

 

 

It had flown right past him. Your aim wasn't good. Missed him by at least two feet.

 

Still, when his instincts had kicked in, you understood why throwing things at a Mandalorian was probably a bad idea.

 

He had dropped into a half-crouch and his pistol had appeared in his hand. 

 

You were frozen in place, eyes wide and swallowing hard. 

 

It had only taken him a moment to realize what had happened and to clip the weapon back onto his hip.

 

Then, he was standing again, helmet canting to the side gradually, before he'd slowly stalked towards you. 

 

"I'd love to know why you thought that was a good idea…"

 

You had looked up at your own reflection in his visor and gave a tiny shrug. "I've always wanted to do that… and no one else is here…" you admitted with a thin giggle.

 

He did chuckle a little at that, though it was deep in his chest and slightly dark sounding. His fingers curled around the back of your neck and he tugged you in close to him. 

 

"I hope it was worth it, Sweetling…"

 

If you had actually managed to hit him with it,  it might have been.  Now you weren't so sure though as nervous anticipation swam through your veins.

 

He'd gotten you into the Crest only to make you go out again to gather the bowl full of snow.  Yeah, he made you get it.  Meanwhile he extracted the bedroll from the sleeping rack and laid it out before closing the door again, careful to not wake the kid. 

 

Then, once you were back in the warm and closed ship, he had you stripped down and on the bed quickly, blindfold on. He'd started the alternate teasing of cold lips and tongue with warm hands, or vice versa, and had you shivering and writhing beneath him. 

 

His warm mouth on your clit, licking and sucking, as cooled fingers pumped into your cunt.  Or warmed hands roughly moving over your ass and hips, up to your breasts, while he drove his tongue into you instead with snow still melting inside his mouth. 

 

It was only after edging you a couple of times that Din realized it wasn't quite working how he'd expected. 

 

He had leaned in and rumbled into your ear, "Are you ever going to throw something at me again?"

 

Damn, your honesty, but you had giggled softly and arched an eyebrow behind the blindfold, your voice breathy. 

 

"Was… was this meant to be a deterrent?"

 

That was when the manacles had come out. 

 

 

Now, you don't get to touch him. 

 

Kark.

 

This had apparently been option two back on Tatooine. 

 

He knows how much you love touching him. 

 

You gasp his name again as his hands, freshly cooled by more of the melting snow, cup your breasts and pinch at the tender peaks.  Your fingers flex and curl around the chain that's secured to the manacles, the other end of it attached to a tie down near the boarding ramp.  Tugging at it, you arch into his touch.

 

Din moves lower again, warm breath caressing over your breasts as his fingertips trail down your stomach and over the soft mound at the apex of your thighs. Then he traces cold, indistinguishable patterns down the inside of one thigh and back up the other. 

 

Your breath is stuttering and shaking with every touch, anticipation mounting each time his fingers draw near to the heat of your sex, only to move away again.

 

The frustrated whimper that escapes you has him chuckling as he claims your mouth in another kiss.

 

And then you gasp as the world spins.

 

Or rather you spin, as his hands grasp your waist and he flips you over into your stomach. The chain rattles but twists with you easily, so no strain is put on your wrists.

 

It's like the sound reminds him of your wrists though. He pauses to reach up and gently squeeze your fingers between his and then your palms.

 

"How do your hands feel, Cyar’ika?"

 

You smirk into the cushions of the bedroll before turning your head towards him and resting your cheek on your arm.

 

"Empty."

 

"Sweetling…"

 

A tiny giggle escapes you but you flex your fingers and twist your wrists to show you still have plenty of movement. 

 

"They're fine."

 

A deep chuckle rumbles above you. 

 

"Good."

 

Then he's straddling your thighs, the coarse hairs on his own legs sending new quivers through you. Hands braced on either side of you, he leans down and peppers icy kisses across your shoulder blades and in a slow trek down your spine.

 

You mewl, your back bowing away from the chilling touches as fresh goosebumps form and your pussy clenches.

 

He nips and licks his way down your back and over the curves of your butt, his breath sinfully warm in contrast to his lips.  

 

You're a bundle of nerves, gasping for breath and moaning softly. Your knees press into the bedroll as you try to lift your hips towards him, but he just pushes you back down with a tsking sound.

 

Crawling back up and trailing more chilled kisses, his lips caress the back of your neck.  It draws a hiss out of you and another stuttered moan.  The manacles clank against the deck as you pull at them without even realizing it. 

 

A frustrated grumble passes your lips. 

 

With a faint chuckle, his lips are at your ear again. 

 

"Now, Sweetling… let's try this again."

 

He pauses to trail a bit of rapidly melting snow along your side, tiny rivulets of cold water dripping down the side of your breast and belly. You shiver until his warm palm smooths over the same path.

 

"Are you ever…" he rumbles, voice nearly a purr in your ear, "...going to throw something at me again?"

 

"No!" you choke out, biting down on your lip as you tug a little on the manacles again. 

 

"No…?"

 

"No, Sir," you gasp, back arching and ass lifting beneath him to press against the heat of his erection that keeps dragging over your skin tantalizingly. 

 

"Good…girl," he growls huskily against your neck just before he bites under the hinge of your jaw.

 

A tremble races down your spine and you give a needy moan.

 

His weight lowers onto you then, pressing you into the bedroll.  His knees are on either side of your thighs, so they're pushed together, and his stiff dick presses between them, below your ass.  He groans against your shoulder at the firm squeeze of your thighs. 

 

As the head of his cock slides against the puffy lips of your pussy and over your swollen clit, a choked whimper passes your lips.  Pleading and incoherent sounds escape you.

 

He slips into you then, your cunt so soaked from the almost constant teasing by this point that he's able to fill you with one smooth thrust despite how tight you feel from this position. 

 

"Oohhh, krifffing stars… yes!" you cry out as he moans into your hair. 

 

Din grinds against your ass, drawing a strangled sound out of you. 

 

"What do you want, sweet girl?"

 

You whimper again.  Dammit, he loves making you beg, or even just making you ask for what you want him to do to you. It still feels so strange sometimes, but it's not a surprise any more. 

 

"Ple-please, Din…"

 

He interrupts you with a rumbling growl.

 

With a tiny whine, you start again.  "Please, Sir… p-please fuck me… fill me up."  You rock your hips a little and clench your pussy around him to accentuate your pleading words. 

 

A ragged groan comes up from Din's chest and his cock throbs inside you.  Bracing on his forearms on either side of you, he begins to move, fucking into you slowly at first.  It's not long though before he takes up a faster rhythm.

 

Your cries into the bedroll shift from pleading into pleasured keens as he ruts into you, and he's rapidly pushing you back to the edge. 

 

This time he finally lets you tumble over it, until you're coming apart beneath him, dissolving into nothing but trembles and mewling whimpers, until he follows you over. 

 

 

It takes Din several long moments to catch his breath.  

 

He's barely holding himself up on quaking hands and knees, to keep from crushing you beneath his full weight, because he's not ready to leave the warmth of your tight, trembling core.

 

Finally, he does pull out of you though and you mewl again softly, making a languid smile tug at his mouth. 

 

Maker, he loves those sounds.

 

He reaches up to release the manacles from your wrists and rolls onto his side, pulling you into his arms. 

 

Still shivering, you nuzzle into his chest and a soft purr tumbles out of you, muffled against his skin.  

 

He grins, rubbing his hands up and down your back and sides slowly.  Then he gently lifts your hands, one by one, to examine your wrists. They're mostly fine, just a little redness from the times you pulled a little harder. He smooths over the spots with the pad of his thumb, lifting them to kiss the tender skin softly.

 

Then he kisses the top of your head and your temples, murmuring gentle praises against your hair again and again, for how well you took that…

 

Once you stopped being a brat. 

 

That caveat makes you giggle and snuggle deeper into his arms.

 

 

The next morning before leaving the ice planet, Din surprises you with a one time exception.

 

He emphasizes that. 

 

One time. 

 

Confused, you turn to look at him from where you are watching the foundling.  The little one is sitting on the edge of Din's removed cape, patting his little hands in the snow. 

 

Din's first throw, as he sprints past you, has a snowball hitting you directly on the hip. 

 

And the war is on.

 

The child's burbling laughter echoes off the snow all through it. 

 

 

A few days later you are in the cockpit again as Din flies the ship out of the void of space and into another planet's upper atmosphere.

 

This one, you are genuinely excited for just based on the name.

 

Naboo.

 

You've heard how beautiful and lush the planet is.  What you are able to see out of the viewport, past the city the ship is descending into, confirms what you heard.  The buildings within the sprawling city of Moenia are beautiful too, with soft lines and few harsh angles. 

 

You can't help thinking of Ji'anna as you look out over the planet. You smile softly at the memory of the yellow Twi'lek, your only friend on Nar Shadda, and the conversation the two of you had about whether a certain bounty hunter got to visit such beautiful places. 

 

Glancing over at Din, your smile grows tender and you nibble at the corner of your lower lip. 

 

How could you or Ji'anna have ever guessed you'd end up here with him? 

 

— 

 

As he finishes the shut down sequences, Din catches you watching him from the edge of the visor.

 

He doesn't turn towards you as his hands continue to move over buttons and switches. The sequences are second nature and he doesn't have to look at them often, so he takes the opportunity to study your face in those few moments. 

 

Maker, when you look at him like that he’d swear he would take on an entire fucking army just to keep that tender expression on your face.

 

Even though he still hasn’t gotten up the nerve to confirm what it means, and can’t figure out why it’s so familiar.

 

Oh well.

 

He’s sure he’ll figure it out one way or another.

 

Eventually…

 

 

Two days later, early in the afternoon, Din comes back to the ship from his hunt.

 

Empty handed.

 

Well, that’s unusual.

 

You had just returned from wandering through one of the city’s parks with the foundling, admiring the different flora and the few critters that scampered across your path.  Din had been fine with your plans to explore when you mentioned them before he left.  You just had to keep the comlink on you, just in case, which you had.

 

The child has just settled down for a nap when Din stomps back on board, up the ramp that you hadn’t gotten around to closing yet.  It’s a beautiful day, after all. 

 

You move to close the sleeping rack quickly and spin towards him with a soft scowl, lifting a finger to your lips to impress the need for quiet on him.

 

Din’s steps falter and he stops short, crossing his arms over his cuirass.  The set of his shoulders makes you think he might snap at you in response but, after taking a deep breath, he sighs and barely nods, murmuring an apology.

 

Letting your expression soften, you walk over to him and let your arms slip around his waist. Your head tilts to the side as you look up at him and wait for an explanation.

 

“I… might need your help.”

 

An elegant eyebrow arches.

 

Din unfolds his arms and lets one hand rest on your waist as the other rubs at the side of his neck. He heaves another sigh.

 

"It's this karking bounty. There's three clubs connected by skyways and he never leaves them." A faint snarl escapes him, his head jerking slightly to the side in his annoyance. "And he's always surrounded by civilians," he grumbles. "I don't have an issue dealing with guards or his friends –they're all part of the same syndicate– but I don't like putting civilians in their path."

 

A faint smile pulls at the corners of your mouth and when his head tilts at you, you let that smile grow a little. 

 

"It sounds like you need a distraction."

 

 

Din is not sure about this plan of yours.   

 

He doesn't like the idea of having you anywhere near a dangerous bounty,  especially one like the son of a crime lord.  Sure, the plan didn't call for any direct interaction with him, but that didn't mean it was an impossibility. After all, you were going to draw attention to yourself, to pull the crowds away from him. 

 

Still, after bouncing some ideas around and some debate, it seemed like this might be the best way to lessen civilian casualties. 

 

He had considered just saying 'Fuck it,' and charging in, to avoid putting you in danger.  But it was too late for that, now that you were aware of the problem. He had asked for help protecting civilians and you are determined to do just that. 

 

The first thing you needed to do was hide your status.  Some clever rearranging of your hair into a side swept style over your shoulder, a very chunky and whispy braid, seemed to have hidden your slave mark quite well.  

 

Then, you needed to go to a shopping center.  You insisted he couldn't go with you, as club go-ers often went to such places and he tended to stand out.  If you were seen together and recognized at the club, it could ruin everything. 

 

That was where some debating had come in again. 

 

"I thought you couldn't use credits…"

 

"Technically…no."  You shrugged. "But I'm not supposed to hide my mark either.  Luckily for me, you're really the only one with any right to be upset with me about either one."  You gave him a cheeky grin and he had relented with another heavy sigh, one out of many.

 

You had returned from shopping and disappeared into the fresher.  So, Din had busied himself with feeding the kid and getting the little monster to run around a bit and tire himself out again.  He was going to have to be left on the ship, in the sleeping rack.  Neither of you liked the idea but he couldn't exactly come to the clubs.  Din would make sure the ship was locked up tight and the defense protocols were on, since he was leaving after you. The little guy shouldn't be alone for more than a couple hours or so, and hopefully he'll just sleep the entire time. 

 

When you came out of the fresher, Din had nearly called the whole thing off.  He wasn't entirely sure if it was out of a desire to protect you or to possess you. 

 

It was probably both. 

 

The dress you had chosen hugged or draped over every curve just right.  It was a thin satin material in emerald green, trimmed in intricate silver embroidery.  A cowl neckline dipped teasingly to the center of your sternum and left your shoulders and back bare except the thin, criss-crossed straps that held the gown in place. The floor length skirt wrapped around your waist and opened in a slit that almost reached your hip.  Simple but elegantly-strapped shoes of silver adorned your feet to complete the look.

 

You had nibbled at your lip nervously and arched a brow at him. 

 

You were stunning and, Maker help him, Din couldn't think of a single damn thing to say. It also took every bit of his self-control to not just take you right then and there.  If the kid hadn't been sitting there on your bedroll and oooohhhh- ing at you, he might have.

 

It took several long moments before he cleared his throat and found his voice again as he stepped closer.  He caught your chin in his hand and then rested his faceplate against your forehead. 

 

"Maker, Sweetling… I don't… know what to say," he admitted. Then, he smiled behind the visor as the child let out another soft sound of awe to the side. "I think the kid's got it about covered though…"

 

That had made you giggle and your eyes sparkled up at him. 

 

You had picked up the kid then, swaying and humming to him, dancing around the hold a little, to the child's delight.

 

Din grinned as he watched you, his chest tightening a little every time you glanced his way, with that tender look he was quickly coming to crave with every breath. 

 

Then, as the sun started to set, you had put the child down with a kiss to his head. You stepped over to Din, slipping your arms around him for just a moment and giving him a confident smile.

 

"See you in a couple hours."

 

And then you'd left for the party district.

 

— 

 

Despite the crowd surrounding you, you see Mando as soon as he enters the club. 

 

He does stand out after all. 

 

Thankfully, the plan is working out pretty well and not many people notice him. 

 

They're all focused on you.   

 

After all, most of the civilians are far more interested in getting to know the "Princess of Sardecia" than they are in some armor clad bounty hunter, or a random rich kid who fancies himself a playboy.

 

As Mando slips into the side entrance, strobing lights glinting off his armor, you can feel the moment his eyes land on you. 

 

That's when you lift your flute glass high and call out a 'Cheers' to the crowd around you,  whom you had just ordered another round of drinks for.  Everyone cheers and swallows down the contents of their glasses.

 

There's a beep from the hidden comlink in your ear. 

 

Mando checking in, as he moves behind the crowd towards the VIP platform in the back. 

 

You pretend to adjust a lock of hair and press the button twice in quick succession, as you laugh at an off color joke told by a handsome Chiss standing at your elbow.  Two clicks.  The sign that you're okay.

 

At least, you are for now and should be for at least another hour.  That's about when the management will probably find out that you are no longer a princess of Sardecia and there's no diplomatic line of credit available to you to pay for all these drinks.

 

You should be long gone by then though. 

 

You feel a little badly about that, but you figure it's better than a bunch of their clientele dying from being caught in a fire fight. 

 

The new 'friends' around you chatter endless questions at you.  

 

"What's it like living in a palace?"

 

"Do you have many servants?"

 

"How many planets have you gotten to visit?"

 

It's been the same kinds of questions over the last couple hours as the crowd has dwindled and then grown again, sometimes with the same people and sometimes with new ones. 

 

Oh well.  You keep answering the questions, as close to the truth of your previous life as possible, so the lies aren't too obvious.  

 

Then the first shots crack out over the deep base notes of the dance music, and all hell breaks loose. 

 

You follow the plan, ducking down and screaming with the rest of the crowd as Mando, his quarry, and the few others still on the VIP platform all open fire.

 

As the crowd surges towards the exit, you let yourself get swept away with them, but you try to catch a glimpse of Mando as you go.

 

You can't see him past the crowd. 

 

Outside, the crowd carries you across the street and partway down the block before it finally starts to scatter.

 

You stop at the corner of an alleyway, catching your breath and tugging off your shoes. From here you can see the stragglers of the crowd still scrambling out of the club's doors.  You can't hear the blaster shots anymore, but you're not sure if you would be able to either way from out here. 

 

Seconds tick by.  They drift into minutes. 

 

A beep chimes in your ear.

 

You let out the breath you didn't realize you had started to hold.  Swallowing hard, you reach up to click the button on your comlink.

 

"Good work, Sweetling." Mando’s baritone voice sends a wave of relief through you and you sigh softly. "I've got him. I'll see you back at the ship."

 

You smile brightly. "Race you," you purr back.

 

His chuckle fills your ear before the line cuts out.

 

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and exhale it slowly.

 

Really, that had gone even better than you hoped. 

 

Opening your eyes, you turn towards the docks. 

 

And run right into someone's chest.

 

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" you blurt out as you step back. "I didn't see you th-..."  Your voice falters and dies in the back of your throat when your eyes meet his. 

 

A lopsided smile. Square jaw. Unkempt, dusty blond hair. Dark blue eyes.

 

You know those eyes.  You've known them most of your life. 

 

"Starick…" you gasp out.

 

The Captain of the Sardecian King's Guard grins down at you, though there is no warmth in that smile.

 

"Imagine my surprise: to hear the Princess of Sardecia was partying in Moenia at the same time I'm visiting. And then, just as I get to the club she's supposedly at… of all things… a Mandalorian shows up. What a small galaxy it is…"  

 

You swallow hard, trembling, as you slowly take a step back.

 

Starick's big hand snaps out to grasp your wrist and you yelp.  He grabs the other one too, before you can reach up to hit the comlink button again. 

 

"Oh, no, Princess," he snarls, the last word dripping with venom. "You're not calling him again… and you're not going anywhere…"

Notes:

Smut TW: bondage with handcuffs, orgasm delay, temperature play, manhandling, dom/sub themes

Chapter 28

Summary:

Picking up where we left off: the consequences of a surprising encounter with a familiar face from Reader's past.

CW: Angst. Assault. Physical illness. Anxiety. Panic. Basically all angst, my friends. Our beloved characters are having a rough time.

I'd love to hear your thoughts and/or theories on how this will go, if you'd like to let me know! Comments are loved, whether here or on Tumblr.

Tumblr username: Keeshya6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Din drops down from the cockpit alcove, back into the cargo hold of the Crest, with a heavy clang as his boots hit the deck.  His knees bend to absorb the impact but he still winces slightly.  

 

That jump is getting a little harder on his knees these days.

 

As he straightens, his brows knit together and he steps further out from the ladder. He glances into the fresher, confirming that it is empty, before he looks around the quiet hold again and then to the boarding ramp. 

 

He had expected you to get back while he was getting the ship's startup sequences going. 

 

Where is she?

 

He takes a moment to confirm when he had called you.  It's been nearly three-quarters of an hour.   The trip from the party district should have taken half that time, maybe a little more if you had to extract yourself from a crowd.

 

Either way, you should be back by now.

 

Jaw clenching, Din presses the call button again.  It beeps twice and he waits. Seconds crawl by into a minute.  He hits it again.  

 

No response.

 

A huff escapes the helmet as dread starts to take up residence in the pit of his stomach. 

 

You've never not answered before. 

 

"Kriff…" he whispers.

 

He checks in on the foundling in the sleeping rack.  

 

Still out. Good. 

 

Climbing back into the cockpit, he hits the emergency shut down and drops back into the hold as the engine groans to a stand still and the ship goes quiet again. 

 

The strain might cause some issues in the engine, but he doesn't have time for the full shut down sequence.

 

Moving to the armory, he straps his weapons back on, except the pistol which was already on his hip.  Then he's heading out of the Crest again and activating the defense protocols.

 

Din stalks back towards the party district, the blink of a small directional arrow at the edge of his visor's display directing him towards your comlink's signal.

 

 

You stumble as Starick shoves at your shoulder, pushing you ahead of him. When you nearly fall, he catches you with a fist full of hair and yanks you back up, drawing a cry out of you. 

 

Once you're righted, he lets go and jabs a finger forward, silently directing you. 

 

Glaring up at him, you consider once again refusing to move, but there's a stinging across your cheek from the last time you tried that and it still throbs several minutes later. So, after a brief hesitation, you snarl a curse at him and spin away to continue down the road where he pointed. 

 

He gives a dark chuckle behind you.  "That’s not very ladylike, Princess . Not so high and mighty now?"

 

You sneer at him over your shoulder, which just makes him laugh more. 

 

For several minutes you walk along in silence, occasionally jostled by the man behind you.  After a few blocks, with a frustrated sound, you finally spin on him. "What are you doing on Naboo, Starick?"

 

Starick’s dark blue eyes narrow down at you.  "Vacation," he says simply after an extended pause.

 

You give him an incredulous look.  "Since when do you take vacations? We practically grew up together. You've never taken a vacation."

 

He grabs your shoulder and forces you to spin around before shoving you forward again. 

 

You trip once more as your bare foot catches a rock and you hiss in a pained breath. Then you heave a sigh and continue forward with begrudging steps.

 

“I have more time now,” he sneers behind you. “Council members have time for such things.”

 

Despite your better judgment, you pause again and look up at him over your shoulder. “You?  A council member?”

 

Another less-than-gentle shove.  “Stop again and I’ll carry you the rest of the way,” he threatens.

 

Your jaw clenches but you continue forward and ask again, “Seriously? A council member?”

 

“Call it a ‘thank you’ from your father, for not betraying him that day like his daughter did,” he says snidely at your back.

 

You wince a little at that.  Then, your brows furrow.  “When did he elevate you?”

 

“As soon as your position was vacant.”

 

It takes a few moments for that to sink in and you blink in disbelief.

 

Your father gave Starick your council position?

 

The idea of the guard serving in your previous place seems somewhat ludicrous.

 

You are shaking your head as you walk. “Why? You’re not qualified for that role.”  The idea that you might not want to come to these conclusions aloud only briefly enters your mind. None of this is making sense and you need something here to make sense.

 

Starick grabs your arm roughly and turns you back to face him, lip curling.  “Oh? You think you were so much better than me?”

 

You didn’t used to. But now? 

 

Well, yes.  

 

That thought, you manage to keep inside.

 

You glare up at him instead and avoid answering the question.  “It’s not a matter of ‘better than’, Starick.  It’s a matter of someone being able to fill the void that my absence created.  I was my father’s translator and assisted in interviews for sensitive political issues.” Lips pursing together, you arch a brow at him.  “How many languages do you speak, again?”

 

This time the slap across your cheek sends you to the ground and you gasp for breath, eyes blurring with tears from the harsh bite of the pain.  Starick is hauling you back up to your feet before you’ve had a chance to react and he pushes you along his predetermined path again.

 

“Watch your tone,” he snarls at you.

 

Biting the tip of your tongue, you fall silent for a while, nostrils flaring as you try to take slow and steady breaths to keep the panic at bay.  You need to focus on some means of escaping him, unlikely as that seems with manacles around your wrists and no shoes on your feet.

 

And the streets around you aren’t any help.  They’re near empty, so late at night.  The few people that pass by don’t even look at the two of you, much less notice the pleading expression you try to give them. 

 

"Where are you taking me?" you finally break the silence again, keeping your tone as even as possible.

 

"You'll see."

 

You growl under your breath and roll your eyes as you keep moving, twisting your wrists in front of you within the manacles he's secured them in.

 

Well, these ones aren't nearly as much fun as the last ones. 

 

That thought makes your breath catch and you look around again, wishing with all your might to catch a glimpse of a street lamp or moonlight glinting off beskar.

 

No such luck. 

 

Starick grabs your shoulder and forces you to turn a corner. 

 

Your steps falter again and fear grips at your throat. 

 

No, that can't be right.  He was leading you away from the starport.  You're sure of it. How are you at the starport?

 

You plant your feet, stopping so suddenly that Starick bumps into your back.  

 

You are not taking another step. 

 

 

Din curses as he kicks at the pieces of your comlink. Someone had tried to crush it, down the road from the club where you had helped him catch his bounty. They hadn't damaged it enough to break the tracker, though, so at least he knows you were at this spot. He swallows hard, looking around for any other sign of you.

 

Your new shoes are laying a few feet away, at the corner of a building.

 

His breath stutters as he picks them up, the dread in his chest growing into a painful ache.

 

Flipping on thermals, he searches the area for any residual heat left by your footprints.  Barefoot, you should have left more of a sign than most others.

 

There!

 

He sets a fast pace, breaking into a run as he follows your trail away from the ship. 

 

Someone was with you. The lingering warmth of their steps was minimal, probably because they were still wearing shoes, but it was there. They had walked close behind you, whoever it was.

 

His hands grip into fists as his teeth grind together. 

 

Turning a corner, Din skids to a stop, feeling like a hole opens up in the ground beneath him.

 

Dank Farrik, the city’s second starport.

 

His visor sweeps the ground again for your footsteps.  

 

They’re gone.  Stopped right here.  

 

Snarling, he starts to run again, barrelling past the gate workers who holler after him.  Then he stops once more, about a hundred feet inside the gate.

 

His chest rises and falls rapidly with shallow breaths as he looks around the starport, searching.  Desperately searching.

 

People are everywhere, even at this late hour. Maybe not as many as there would be during daylight, but still more than he expected. Some are near personal ships. Others are lining up for commercial flights. 

 

None of them are you. 

 

Spinning, his cape whipping out behind him, Din stalks back to the gate. The workers, a human woman and a male bothan, watch his approach closely.

 

“What ships have taken off in the last hour?” he demands.

 

The tall, blonde woman scowls and crosses her arms, taking the lead with an air of seniority.  “We can’t tell you that," she snaps.  "And if you do not have a ship docked here, or have a ticket for a commercial flight from here, you need to leave. Now.”

 

Mando snarls and steps closer to her.  She’s nearly his height, so his visor is level with her eyes.  She doesn’t back down though. 

 

He huffs, looking back over his shoulder at the docks and the ships that are coming and going.  In the few minutes since he arrived, there have already been a few take offs. This is one of the biggest cities on Naboo.  He shouldn’t be surprised.  Dozens might have left in the time it took him to get here.

 

There's no time to argue. 

 

Breath stuttering out of him, and swallowing around a dryness in his throat, he turns back to the woman.

 

Try a different tactic.

 

“Someone has been kidnapped.”  Mando knows he’s jumping to some conclusions here but it’s the only thing that makes sense. “I believe she was forced onto a ship.”

 

The woman narrows her eyes again, studying him. 

 

The Bothan beside her shuffles uncomfortably before he clears his throat. "There was a woman..."

 

Mando snaps his attention to the canine-esque alien.

 

The diminutive guard rubs his furry hands on his shirt. "A man was carrying her into port, over his shoulder. She was yelling at him, trying to hit him…"  The Bothan's voice trails off.

 

Mando's jaw clenches painfully and he's about ready to throttle the little guard when the woman spins on her subordinate. 

 

"What?!  When? And why did you let them pass like that?"

 

The Bothan flinches but keeps his eyes up on the heavily armed and deathly still Mando, apparently finding the looming man more frightening than his boss. 

 

"It…it was when you w-were on a break," he stammers, practically squeaking, as he answers. "And-and the guy… he was in a uniform.  Said she was a runaway slave."  The Bothan chances a glance at the woman,  shrugging. "She had a mark." 

 

A roar rips out of Mando and the next thing anyone knows he has the Bothan by the collar of his shirt, held up off the ground and struggling against a vice-like grip. He holds the guard so close that the Bothan's breath creates condensation on the intimidating, dark visor. 

 

"WHICH KRIFFING SHIP?!"

 

 

Your yell echoes again as you throw the only throwable thing in the room: a pillow.

 

It's anything but satisfying as it thumps into the locked door of the small quarters Starick has stuffed you into. The pillow slides down the door and into a heap on the floor. 

 

You drop to sit on the edge of a cot, face buried in your hands. 

 

This can't be happening.

 

For a while you go back and forth between rage and fear, especially when you feel the ship take off shortly after being locked away. You yell through the door several times for Starick to get his sorry-ass back in here, and occasionally chuck the pillow across the room again. 

 

Couldn't he have left me a more satisfying projectile?

 

Eventually, you collapse onto the cot, arm thrown across your eyes and holding back tears of frustration.

 

Starick is not getting that satisfaction out of you. 

 

You lose track of time, in the silence of that tiny room.  It could be one hour or several for all you can tell, before the door finally opens again and heavy footfalls break the stillness. 

 

"Where… are you taking me?" you ask, not even bothering to check if it is Starick. 

 

Something drops onto the bed next to you.  You lift your arm a fraction to look.  It's a plastic tray with some sort of meat on it and bread.

 

Shifting slightly, you glare up at Starick from under your arm. 

 

He steps back from you, arms crossing, and moves to lean against the wall by the door.  He's looking far too smug for your liking. 

 

"Where. Are. You. Taking. Me?" you demand again through clenched teeth, emphasizing every word. 

 

Starick's jaw shifts side to side a bit as he seems to consider your.  After a few moments of thought, he grins.

 

"Back where you belong: Nar Shadda."

 

Then Starick ducks, that smug smile disappearing, as you scream incoherently and chuck the tray of food at him.  It hits the wall a few inches from where his head had just been and clatters to the ground loudly. 

 

 

The damn Bothan wasn't any help.  He hadn't seen what ship you were carried off to. The woman was apologetic but kept refusing to let Mando access the docking records, no matter what he tried. 

 

Without a dock employee's help or a hacking droid, he had no way to see what ships had come and gone.  

 

So, he needed to wait until someone more helpful was available. In the meantime, he slipped past her and into the docks again to move from ship to ship, searching for any sign of you and asking people if they'd seen you. 

 

None had.

 

Once the woman was gone, he approached the next employee on duty and offered a bribe. This employee is less concerned with protocols and was willing to help. 

 

It still didn't get him anywhere. 

 

There were no familiar ship names and most of the owners were only listed by surname, also unfamiliar. He cursed loudly and almost broke the man's datapad before he stalked off again.

 

It was all a dead end.  You might as well have disappeared into a puff of smoke.

 

With his options at the second port exhausted, Din runs for the Crest, mind reeling as he tries to come up with a plan.

 

Why would someone have taken you? Your mark is already registered, so no one else can claim your contract from him. And where are they taking you?

 

When Din gets the ship into the black of space he has to stop again, that dread gnawing at him. 

 

He needs to make a decision.

 

Which hyperspace lane should he take?

 

And where to?

 

In an entire galaxy? 

 

The pit in his stomach feels like it splits wide open at that thought, and he has to lurch down the ladder and into the fresher.  He stumbles, throwing his helmet and gloves aside before yanking open the compartment that conceals the toilet and retching into it. His stomach heaves several times, even once it's empty.

 

Then he stands there, hands curled into fists and braced on the cold metal wall above the toilet. He leans over it, mouth shaky as saliva falls from his lips into the bowl.

 

Air fills his lungs shallowly as he tries to catch his breath, pain twinging through his gut and lower back. His eyes squeeze closed and his jaw aches as he clenches it against the tremors.

 

He focuses on those sensations: the cold wall, the burn of air filling his lungs, the aches. He uses them to will away the fear and anxiety prodding at him. To fight every terrible 'what if' scenario threatening at the edge of his imagination, of what could have happened or could still happen to you. 

 

He's never given in to fear before. 

 

But until you and the kid came along he never had much to fear losing. 

 

Still, he won't give in.  Not now. 

 

His fist impacts the wall twice and he hisses as pain blossoms across his knuckles.  

 

That's a familiar feeling.

 

He'll use that for now. Focus on it, while he sets the ship's course. 

 

He needs help. He needs more eyes searching for you. 

 

He'll head to Navarro. 

 

 

With a snarl, Starick steps over the scattered food and to the cot again to grab you by the arms, easily hauling you to your feet, and then off of them. Your toes dangle above the floor as his face comes within inches of yours and he gives you a harsh shake.

 

"Behave yourself, slave ," he hisses, spitting the last word into your face, "or I might just shackle you for the entire trip."

 

You're shaking now, fear running cold through your veins as you swallow hard. Fear of him. Fear of losing everything. Fear of going back to Nar Shaddaa.

 

Despite your shivering, you set your jaw and meet his angry expression with a stern one of your own. 

 

"You can't…take me back there," you say, your voice betraying you with its unsteadiness. 

 

"I can," he snarls. "And I will."

 

He tosses you back down onto the cot, then steps back again, returning to lean against the wall.

 

You unfurl yourself from the crumpled heap he dropped you into and slowly sit on the edge of the cot.  Your fingers curl around the metal frame. 

 

"You can't," you insist, voice a little softer but also steadier. "I don't belong there."

 

His brows lift at you. He looks unperturbed, as if he hadn't just treated you like a used rag. "We sold your contract to the factory district of Nar Shaddaa."

 

You falter for a moment, scowling.

 

We?

 

Then you roll your eyes and sigh. "Yes.  I'm well aware.  But then they sold it!" Your voice starts to rise near the end of your statement and –when you see the big, former guard tense– you take a deep breath and stamp down on the volume. "They no longer have any hold over me," you say more softly, though your teeth grit and there's an edge to your voice. 

 

Starick scoffs at you.  "I've seen your contract. They can't sell it without the council's approval."

 

You stare at him for several seconds, trying to decide if he's an idiot or just misinformed.

 

"No," you argue, though you try to keep your tone level. "An owner can't unwind my contract –for the first half of my sentence– without the council's approval. That means they can't free me. It's similar to a minimum sentence prior to possible parole; if I'd been sentenced to serve my time in a prison instead." 

 

Luckily, the council had decided that you were too high profile and needed to serve your sentence off world. You were still fairly popular with the people of Sardecia after all, even after the events of that fateful night. 

 

You pause for a moment, hoping the words sink in for Starick. "The council has no say in whether the majority holder of my contract sells it or not. They can't force someone to keep a slave they don't want." 

 

Your diatribe cuts short and you blink a few times as your own words sink in. A slight furrow forms between your brows as your eyes dart downward for a moment. 

 

That's exactly what's been happening to Din. And his sense of honor won't let him sell my contract.  

 

Not that you want him to, of course. 

 

Swallowing hard and minutely shaking your head, you push those contemplations aside for now.  They won't help you here. Your eyes raise back up to Starick.

 

He's glaring down at you. 

 

"If that's true, then who owns you?"

 

You hesitate, returning his glare with a scowl of your own.  

 

How will he react to the truth? Anything is possible at this point. He's not anything like the man you remember.  Not that the two of you were ever close. He had befriended your late husband for a time, but never you. Still, you don't remember ever seeing this level of anger or brutality from him before. 

 

Your tongue darts out across your lips nervously.

 

"The Mandalorian," you finally admit.

 

Your answer is met with silence for several long moments before he barks a humorless laugh.  It only lasts a moment before he's glowering again. 

 

"Do you think I'm an idiot?"

 

Starting to. 

 

Biting your tongue, you shake your head slightly.  "No, Starick, I don't.  It's the truth. He bought my contract on Nar Shaddaa several months ago."

 

After a pause, he gives a derisive snort. "Lying won't do you any good.  He obviously helped you escape, Princess , just like you helped him on Sardecia," he says, the title dripping with sarcasm.

 

It takes every bit of your willpower not to sigh and roll your eyes at him. You were never addressed with that title back on Sardecia. Technically speaking, it wasn't exactly accurate, even back then.  Hearing it from him now is just annoying.  

 

You hold on to that annoyance though.  It's keeping the panic at bay for the moment. 

 

You lift a hand and point a finger at the tattoo below your ear.  "It's all right here. Scan my registration. He is my owner." Internally you cringe at referring to Din with a title you know he hates.

 

You have to push that thought aside too.

 

Staricks jaw clenches as he continues to glare at you and shakes his head.  "Don't have a scanner. Never needed one."

 

You sigh heavily, finally letting your eyes roll as your hand drops back down to your side.  

 

"I doubt it would tell me what you are claiming, anyway.  What kind of man would make a slave of a woman that saved his life?"  He ignores your frustrated, huffing sigh and cuts off whatever your retort is in defense of the Mandalorian. "I don't know how he got you out of there," he says, and then his eyes move down over you and the showy dress you're still wearing, "or what favors you're giving him in return, but you're going back. Your father was right to want you sent away."

 

Your scowl deepens, nostrils flaring as you take a slow breath. Teeth clenching, your grip on the edge of the cot frame tightens until your knuckles are white.

 

"My father… hasn't been right for a long while," you say in as measured a tone as you can manage. "No one else is willing to admit it, but ruling Sardecia has made him paranoid and delusional. He is going to get more innocent people killed, just like he was going to kill an innocent man that night."

 

Starick’s arms uncross and his hands clench into fists at his sides.  You tense, but he doesn't move, he just continues his angry staring. 

 

"You should watch your tongue, talking about our king like that," he snarls. Then his lip curls again with scorn. "It truly is a kindness that Axi is not alive to see the traitor…" he pauses, eyes raking over you again, "...and whore his wife has become."

 

You stare at him for a moment before giving a thin, mirthless laugh. "Seriously? Even if you were right –which you're not– do you really think mentioning Axi is going to make me feel badly?" You sneer at him. "That man was an idiot and didn't care about anyone but himself. Why would I care about his opinion even if he was still alive?"

 

Starick bristles. 

 

"He was a good man," he bites out, and snarls at your responding scoff. Then he pauses, considering you.  "If you don't care that you would have shamed your husband, you should care that you would have shamed Saisha.  At least she was spared living with the humiliation of a mother like you."  

 

Your entire body goes still, as your blood turns to fire in your veins.  Trembles move through you and your jaw starts to ache from clenching as your breath quickens. 

 

"How dare you?" you hiss in barely a whisper. 

 

He's smirking now. "What was that?"

 

Before you realize it, you are lunging at him, determined to wipe that smug look off his face at the very least. 

 

Starick catches one of your wrists before it gets close, but you're quicker than he expected and your other hand makes contact with his cheek. The sound of the slap echoes off the metal walls, along with your enraged and incoherent scream.  He briefly cries out too, as your nails rake across his cheek at the end of the strike, leaving raised lines of red below his eye.

 

His grip on your wrist tightens to the point of pain, squeezing bones together as he grabs at your other wrist. When he twists his hand you yelp and try to pry his fingers away with your free hand. That only makes it easier for him to catch your second wrist though and then he's holding both in one big hand.

 

You're panting, a mix of rage and fear burning through you, as you try to kick at him with bare feet. He doesn't even seem to notice. 

 

He tugs you close to snarl into your face, "I warned you to behave yourself."

 

The blow that hits your midsection knocks the air out of you with a woosh and it's followed with two more quick strikes with his meaty fist.  Pain blossoms all across your stomach and torso as you are dumped onto the cot again and stars dance behind your eyelids.  When Starick yanks your arm above your head and you look up, you can't see the details of his face past the blur of pained tears. 

 

Then you feel the manacle being secured to your wrist again and you cry out, trying to pull away.  His grip on you is too strong though and you don't get anywhere before he's secured the other end to the frame of the cot.

 

He leans over you and you can barely make out his features as you freeze, breath caught in your throat. 

 

Starick snarls, "You are a disgrace to Sardecia: a princess reduced to a slave and a whore."  He pauses for a moment, looking you over with disdain.  "You should have remembered your place. It's going to be a long flight."

 

Then he straightens up, wiping a trickle of blood from a furrow in his cheek. With a final sneer down at you, he spins on his booted feet and strides out, sealing and locking the door behind him. 

 

The silence closes in around you like a thick fog, broken only by your shaking breaths. Tears begin to fall down your temples as you slump back into the cot, half-heartedly tugging at the metal around your wrist.

 

What the hell are you going to do now?

 

"Din…" you whisper into the silence, as if the word might summon him to your side. 

 

 

"What do you mean 'she disappeared'?" Cara demands, frowning at Mando's visor. 

 

Mando barely spares a glance her way, too focused on Greef as the normally boisterous man sits quietly while watching the screen of his datapad.

 

Cara, however, refuses to be ignored and reaches out to shove a pauldron covered shoulder. "Hey!" she snaps at him, avoiding the swipe of his hand to smack hers away. "What happened?"

 

The T-shaped visor finally turns her way with reluctance. "I don't know," he grits out.

 

Beside Mando, the foundling whines in his pram, watching the three humans over the edge of it. 

 

He's been inconsolable since your disappearance, crying and whimpering almost constantly.  Mando hasn't had much luck comforting him. 

 

You would know what to do.  Then again, if you were there to do it, the kid wouldn't need consoling.

 

Cara's frown deepens into a scowl, eyes narrowed.

 

Mando's fists clench at his sides several times until he folds his arms over his chest. "She was distracting a crowd while I grabbed a bounty," he hisses through the modulator. "We were meeting back at the Crest. She… didn't make it back." 

 

By the end of the explanation his voice is weaker, strained, and it's obvious that Cara notices. The anger in her face softens a bit as her head tilts slightly at him. 

 

She opens her mouth to say something but Greef interjects at that moment. 

 

"Finished!" He looks up at Mando, holding out a comb.

 

Mando takes it, tucking it into his belt.  It's yours.  Or rather, it's the one of his that you claimed months ago.

 

Greef focuses on his datapad again, swiping a finger here and there across the screen.

 

"Her biometrics are uploaded," the big man says with a firm nod. His thin lips press into a line as he looks up at Mando again. "We're agreed on the payment for the bounty? 20k for reliable information that leads to her?"

 

Mando's helmet moves in a single nod. "Yes.  And 100k for her safe return."

 

Greef gives a low whistle at that, shaking his head in disbelief. "And you'll have to take a free quarry, of my choice, on every negotiation until it's paid off?"

 

Another nod. 

 

"I hope she's worth it, my friend," Greef says.  His words aren't meant to be unkind, and there is genuine concern in his voice.  

 

Mando's jaw tenses and he turns towards the door, the kid's floating crib at his elbow. "She's worth everything," he murmurs.

 

 

You're not sure how much time has passed when you see Starick again. A few days at least.  

 

Other ship crew members have come and gone several times, once to clean up the food you had thrown, and then periodically with more food or to bring you to a fresher to relieve yourself. 

 

They all refused to speak to you and only gave you clipped orders to make their duty of assisting you go as quickly as possible.

 

Each time you are left secured to the cot again.

 

When Starick finally makes his reappearance, with a pile of clothes in his hands, you are sitting near the head of the cot, knees up with your free arm wrapped around them.  Your chin is resting on one knee and you barely lift your eyes to acknowledge him. 

 

He stares down at you for a few moments and you meet his gaze, steady and silent.

 

A slight frown creases the space between his eyebrows and you somehow manage to keep from smirking.

 

If he was expecting you to cower he is going to be surprised. If he had returned within the first day or so to confront you again, you might have.

 

But you've had plenty of time alone with your own thoughts now, to come to grips with your situation. Too much time, maybe.  

 

You keep replaying the events on Naboo, wondering if you could have changed the outcome. The only change that might have worked was if you hadn't helped Din at all. But neither of you could have seen this twist of fate coming, so you finally put those contemplations out of your mind. 

 

That left you with nothing but your mounting fears for days. 

 

Fear of loss. Images of Din and the kid took their turns playing through your mind. 

 

That was when the tears had finally come. 

 

You finally had to push those images away. Lock them up in the back of your mind before they drove you mad. 

 

Fear of being left to the living hell of the undercity of Nar Shaddaa, again.  

 

That was when the tears had finally stopped. 

 

You won't cry again, you've decided. Not for yourself. Not for the kid. Not for Din. 

 

You can't. 

 

Any bit of hope you might have of surviving will break apart if you let yourself focus on what you've lost. 

 

Tears aren't going to help you survive down in the undercity.

 

So, now, you just feel spent and a numbness has settled over you as you've waited.

 

Starick's scowl deepens as he looks at you.  Then, after a long silence passes between you, he steps closer and unlocks the manacle.  

 

"Get up."

 

 

Cara catches up when Mando's almost back to the Crest. He doesn't respond as she calls out to him, until she finally reaches him and grabs at his arm. 

 

He spins on her, hand at the grip of his pistol,  and her hand clamps down on his wrist.

 

They stare at one another, the air between them charged with tension. 

 

Finall, he releases the pistol grip and yanks his wrist free from her. "What?" he snaps.

 

Cara’s nostrils flare as she frowns at him, arms crossing over her chest.  "Where the hell are you going? Karga just sent out notice on your girl to every bounty hunter on this side of the core!" Her lips purse together for a second. "You're not going to wait to see what comes back?"

 

Mando's teeth grit and he looks away from her for a moment, chest heaving. His gaze moves down at the child, who looks back at him with big, sad eyes.

 

"It could take days to hear anything back. I can't just sit here," he grinds out. "He can send me any information he gets." Din's fingers curl and uncurl spasmodically at his sides. "Besides, I have other…help…to seek out."

 

Cara’s eyes narrow a bit, unconvinced. "What help?" she demands. 

 

The beskar helmet barely turns towards her in silence. 

 

After another tense few moments, she lifts a hand to twirl a finger in the direction of his visor. A thin, mirthless smile pulls at her lips.  "You do know that if you're glaring at me, I can't tell, right?"

 

A huff escapes the helmet and the bottom edge of it tinks against his cuirass as his chin drops. A silent moment passes before he looks up at her again. 

 

"I've heard there may be Mandalorians on Trask," he says. "I'm hoping they can help get word out to more Mandalorians to keep an eye out for her." He pauses, looking back down at the child.  "And that they can lead me to one of his kind."

 

Cara's lips purse again, her brows pinching as she looks down at the little one too.  "Still looking for them, huh?"

 

His fists clench at his sides again and his jaw tenses. "Have to. I don't know how to train his abilities." His tired voice takes on a sarcastic edge then. "Do you?"

 

She scoffs in response and then smirks briefly as she shakes her head.  "No.  Can't say that I do."

 

The beskar helmet moves in a faint nod, the visor still focused on the child. "Right.  So, yes, still looking for his people. At least…" His voice falters and he takes a slow breath. "Maybe I can keep my word to one of them."

 

Cara gives him a questioning look, head tilted and dark hair falling across one eye before she pushes it back.

 

There's a long pause. He doesn't meet her eyes again, but he can feel that look.  "I… I told her she was safe with me."

 

His voice barely makes it past the helmet's modulator, and Cara's brows arch a little with surprise. 

 

"I can't fail him, too."

 

After a few heartbeats pass, Cara just nods. 

 

They both fall silent then, for several drawn out moments, watching the foundling as his head twists back and forth to look at each of them in turn.   

 

It starts to gnaw at Mando: that silence hovering between them. Normally, he prefers to not talk. But now it feels like it settles into his stomach, before clawing up from his gut and digging into his chest like some ravenous creature. It doesn't matter that the sounds of the town carry out from the entry archway with distant voices and footsteps. The silence right there, surrounding him, feels all consuming.

 

Because, after taking about a week to get to Navarro, silence is starting to be familiar again. 

 

And he hates it. 

 

He's talking before he realizes it, voice soft and strained as he swallows against the growing tightness in his throat. The leather of his gloves creaks faintly as he clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides. 

 

"The ship's quiet," he chokes out, biting back a strangled sound. A vice squeezes at his chest and he can't find his breath. "She was always making some kind of noise.  Talking to herself, to the kid…to me." He pauses, shaking his hands at his sides as he notices a slight tremble. "Or she'd be humming. Or singing. I don't think she even realized it most of the time."  He rubs roughly at the side of his neck. "And now it's… it's so fucking quiet."  The words drift away as his voice quavers and falters again.

 

Cara watches him closely through it all, concern written on her face. She reaches out to him –just a hand towards his shoulder to offer comfort– at the same moment that the kid makes a soft, sad cooing sound. Mando jerks back from them both with a stuttered movement and freezes.

 

He swallows hard around the lump in his throat, looking up from one to the other, staring for a moment.

 

It was like he’d forgotten they were there. 

 

He clears his throat, shoulders squaring.

 

"Tell Greef to send a holo if he hears anything," he says, voice once again void of any inflection.

 

He catches the edge of the pram and pushes it so it floats up the ramp ahead of him.  Then, with a final glance at Cara, he turns so swiftly into the Crest that he doesn't even noticed her nod of agreement. 

 

 

“No,” you hiss into Starick’s face, refusing to take the pile of base layer clothing he’s pushing at you.

 

You’re still wearing the green gown you’d bought for the bounty hunt on Naboo.  At nearly a week, you know it’s looking worse for wear from sleeping in it and stomping around angrily when you occasionally have the chance.  Nonetheless, you’d rather wear it to the point of rags than accept anything from Starick.

 

“Stop being a stubborn bitch,” he snaps back, trying to shove the clothes into your hands again. “You must know you need a shower and the crew is complaining." 

 

You huff at him, brows arching with a disdainful air. "Oh, I'm so sorry the captors find their prisoner's scent so offensive," you say, sarcasm dripping. 

 

Starick's mouth pinches as he frowns. He changes tactics. "When do you think you’ll get a chance to use another fresher again? We reach Nar Shaddaa tomorrow."

 

A wince crosses your features at that and you know that he notices, because he smirks. 

 

The last time that you were on Nar Shaddaa you never got to use a fresher.  There were only sonic showers, about once a month. They hardly counted as showers and you constantly felt filthy.  The fresher on the Razor Crest had felt like heaven the first few times you’d used it.

 

Your jaw clenches and you concentrate on keeping your eyes dry as your breaths quicken a touch.  

 

You don’t want to go back to that.  You don’t.  But you also aren’t about to let him see the fear that’s been clawing at your mind.

 

Huffing a sigh, you snatch the clothes from his hands and march past him, chin held high. You step out into the ship’s hall and then stride down it and into the fresher.  You’re about to close the door when Starick's big hand catches it.

 

“Keep it open.”

 

You gape at him before glaring again.  “You have got to be kidding me. What the hell do you think I’m going to do in here?  Crawl out a window into the vacuum of space?!"

 

Starick’s stern expression doesn’t change, but neither does yours.

 

Finally, he steps back to the side of the door and rests his back against the wall beside it, looking at you.  “I will stay here.  Out of sight.  You will leave the door open.”

 

Your eyes remain narrowed up at his face and your jaw tenses several times.  

 

Is one final shower, for who knows how long, really worth this? 

 

Heaving a sigh, you throw up your hands. “Fine.”  You point a finger up at him. “Don’t turn into a creep though, Starick. It’s bad enough you’ve turned yourself into a criminal.”  With that final jab, you flash a bitter smile his way and disappear into the fresher.

 

Before you’re out of sight, you see Starick scowl at the metal panel across the hall from him, his arms crossing over his chest as he listens to your movements.  “You’re the criminal here.”

 

Inside the fresher you smile to yourself thinly.  You knew that would irk him.  Taking your time to answer, you poke through a few cabinet doors until you find a pile of towels and pull one out.  Then you untie the straps of your dress.  Holding the front of it up still, against your breasts, you poke your head and bare shoulders out of the door to look at him with a smug expression.

 

“You do know that kidnapping is considered a crime, right?”

 

And you disappear back into the fresher, turning on the water.

 

You know you’re treading dangerously here. But after him ignoring every logical point you tried to throw at him, and then ignoring you for days, you're getting desperate.  With the ship due to arrive at Nar Shaddaa tomorrow, you’ll take whatever chances you can get to finally get through to the stubborn man. 

 

Starick huffs outside of the fresher.  “It’s not kidnapping when you’re not a person.”

 

Your hands freeze from where they were about to finish pulling off the dress.  Your brows knit together and you bite back your initial response: to snap at him.  A deep breath lifts your chest as you let the words sink in.

 

Not a person.

 

Right.

 

A slave.

 

Why does that title sting so much more now than it used to?

 

Because it used to feel right.  Justified.  Earned. 

 

Lately, thanks to Din and Cara, it hasn’t been sitting quite so well. 

 

Clenching your jaw, you lift your chin again and look at yourself in the mirror for a few breaths before letting the dress drop to the floor and working off your undergarments. You glance at the door occasionally, making sure he isn’t peeking.  

 

Not that you could do much about it if he decided to stoop that low. 

 

“Alright,” you begrudgingly concede to the hidden man, “Not kidnapping.  Theft then.”  You sneer.  “Theft of property is still a crime, right?”

 

You can hear his faint laugh just before you step into the shower and the water drowns it out.

 

When he speaks though, you can still hear him past the rushing sound  “Wouldn’t that make your Mandalorian the thief?” he asks.  “I’m the one returning a runaway slave to her owners."

 

Partway through rubbing some forest-y smelling body wash on your skin, you pause, scowling at the open but empty doorway.  Then, after a few moments, you start laughing.  You spot Starick’s shoulder briefly come into view, as if he was about to look in at you but remembered that he shouldn’t at the last moment.

 

“What is so funny?” he demands.

 

“Oh, Maker,” you mumble, resuming your washing. “You still think that he helped me escape.”  It's a statement, not a question. 

 

You can hear the scowl in his voice. “Well… yes.”

 

You’re giggling fills the shower. There's nothing actually funny about your situation, you know that, but you can't help it. “Oh, Starick, you are an idiot,” you say.  “I've told you.  He didn’t help me escape.  He bought my contract.”

 

There’s a long pause.  “And you still expect me to believe that?” he finally responds.  

 

“You believing it or not doesn’t make it any more or less true,” you quip, just before dousing your hair.

 

“You know, the more you try to convince me of your lies, the more I understand why your father wanted you off Sardecia," he grumbles. "You wouldn't have stopped at disobeying the king, would you? Your path would have led you to sedition."

 

You go quiet after that, worrying at your lip as you finish washing up and drying off. 

 

Maybe he's right.  Maybe you would have continued defying your father… and more. But you're no longer convinced it would have been the wrong path. 

 

Either way, you know you're not getting anywhere with him. He's had days to consider what you've told him and nothing has changed. 

 

You're not going to be able to avoid Nar Shadda.

 

You swallow hard against a tightness in your throat. 

 

But… maybe someone there, someone who actually understands bond contracts, will see what a huge mistake this has all been.

 

It's the best hope you have right now. 

 

As you pull on the base layers Starick gave you, you sigh shakily, biting your lip again.  



The clothes are too big. They remind you of the set Din gave you, the first night you were on the Crest. 

 

Gritting your teeth, you mentally shove the memory away and squeeze your eyes closed until the sting of tears dissipates.  

 

You will not cry again. 

 

You remind yourself not to give in to the tears, knowing the thread that you're barely hanging on by will start to fray.  You can't let it. 

 

So, you won't cry for Din again.

 

Not even for him. 

 

You can't give in to that despair.

 

Not yet. 

Notes:

I'm sorry (kind of) for the continued cliffhanger! It's just how this storyline demanded to go.

The next chapter shouldn't take too long, though. Hoping to have it up within a week or so. We'll see if that resolves our dilemma, at least somewhat.

In the mean time, if you need something distracting (and gratuitously smutty 😈), I have recently posted an off shoot story within this AU. It's still Mando/Reader but is a "What if..." scenario that would not fit these two within this storyline. Here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43541881/chapters/109475449.

I have also created a series for this story and any other one shots or off shoot fics that come out of it. Details of how any of those fics fit into this AU will be in the description of each one. If you'd like to follow the series, here's that link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3254209.

I think that's all for now. Like I said, the next chapter shouldn't be too far out.

Thank you for sticking with me!

Chapter 29

Summary:

Continuing the drama from the last two chapters!

CW: Lots of angst and heavy emotions, physical assaults, implied threats of SA

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

A heavy gate closes over the entrance to the industrial grade elevator with a loud metallic bang, and it feels like the entire galaxy just shut itself off from you. 

 

Swallowing hard, you square your shoulders and lift your chin, willing away the cold fear that settles into your gut. Your hands, bound in manacles again in front of you, flex into fists over and over to stave off any trembling.

 

You have your green gown bunched up and tucked under your arm.  It's still in terrible shape and may not even be salvageable, if you ever get the chance to try. However, you wouldn't let Starick's crew throw it away. It's the only link you have to the last several months of your life. You aren't ready to think about that in much detail yet, but you would not give up the last thing you now possess in the galaxy.

 

The elevator lurches and the massive chains above it clank as it begins to lower into the hive city of Nar Shaddaa, leaving the brightly collored surface behind. 

 

You snap your teeth together with a wince when your jaw quivers briefly. 

 

This is all too familiar. A living nightmare. 

 

Sparing a glance at the three men around you, Starick and two Nar Shaddaarian guards, you sigh.

 

Hearing the sigh, Starick turns to you, a satisfied look in his eyes. "Does it feel like home?" he quips. 

 

Your lip curls at him in a sneer before you roll your eyes and turn your attention straight ahead again.  

 

His ruthless laugh makes you cringe. 

 

Staring down at your bound wrists, you sneer again, a tiny flicker of fire welling up in your chest.  You're not sure where it is coming from, or why now, but you decide… why not?

 

It's not like you have much else to lose. 

 

With a sharp rise of your chin, you level a cold stare at Starick's face. 

 

"What happened to you, Starick?" you ask, and his laughter stops as he abruptly looks back down at you. When he scowls, you lift your hands in front of you, palms up as if to shrug despite the manacles. "What? I can't know? You're about to throw me into a hell pit. I know we were never friends but, before all of this, I wouldn't have thought you were cruel."

 

He considers you for a moment, a muscle ticking at the hinge of his jaw. Then, he takes a step closer to you and grabs your chin in a rough hold.

 

It takes every bit of your willpower not to pull back.  Instead, you keep your eyes locked on his and your jaw tense.  He's so close that your hand in front of your chest ends up against his arm and he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. 

 

" You happened," he hisses into your face. " You and your Mandalorian ." 

 

His gaze darts up as the two guards each take a discreet step away, towards the elevator walls. They are here to keep the peace, make sure no one that is unauthorized uses the elevator, and nothing else. Their unwillingness to get involved doesn't surprise you. 

 

You swallow, your mouth suddenly feeling dry as he looks back down at you. 

 

"I was the Captain of the King's guard," he snarls at you quietly. "The Captain ."

 

You blink up at him a few times, your brows inching upward. "Oh…" you whisper as realization starts to dawn. "I think I understand."

 

Starick's eyes narrow in suspicion. "What do you think you understand?"

 

"Your anger. And why my father made you a council member."

 

His scowl deepens and his lip curls.

 

But you really do think you understand now, and hell, it's nice for something to finally make some sense.  So, you press on, all while keeping your voice disarmingly soft.

 

"It was embarrassment," you say, watching his eyes closely. "First, one lone man nearly takes out all of his elite soldiers." In self defense , you don't add. "Then, his daughter helps that man escape… by catching the last of his soldiers off guard."

 

Starick's nostrils flare as your words hang in the air, and he stares at you, his grip on your chin bruisingly tight. "Because we trusted you," he hisses, every muscle in his neck and shoulders tense.

 

It's like you're standing on the edge of a vibroblade. Despite a voice screaming in your head for you to shut up, you step off that edge. 

 

"Yes," you agree, with a miniscule shrug. Your eyes narrow up at him a touch. "You trusted me to do what I had always done: exactly what was expected of me. Even if it was wrong."  Your head tilts just barely in his grip, to one side. "My father gave you that position to buy your silence; to lessen the embarrassment of his disobedient daughter, didn't he?" you murmur, your eyes boring into his.

 

He just returns your stare, his jaw so tense that you wouldn't be surprised if his teeth crack. 

 

Your lips purse in thought. Really, you should have listened to that voice in your head, but now the words are tumbling out. "My guess, knowing my father, is that he helped you weave some elaborate tale of how close the fight was, how brave his soldier was, until his wayward offspring showed the 'would-be assassin' an escape route." 

 

Starick's almost imperceptible grimace tells you that you're on the right track. 

 

"The council never knew the true extent of my 'treason', did they?" You let the word of your supposed crime come out coated in sarcasm. Then, for a moment, you glance downward. "I thought they knew. The few questions they asked didn't suggest otherwise. I just… thought they didn't agree with my choice of action." Your eyes raise up to him again. "That's why I was banished instead of executed, isn't it?  Father knew they'd look closer at what happened if  execution was on the table and they might have actually agreed with me."

 

Finally, his harsh expression cracks and he smirks thinly. 

 

Drawing in a deep breath, you reach out to the Force as he speaks. 

 

"Yes. And you gave them no reason to question it further," he says. "You accepted the fault, like a good politician's daughter."

 

A faint pulsing of warmth moves through your hand from Starick's arm, with a distinct feeling of smugness attached to it. 

 

That phrase makes you draw in another sharp breath, the air hissing through your teeth.  You finally try to pull back from him and the pulsing warmth that confirms your suspicions. To your surprise he lets you, releasing your now aching chin.

 

A good politician's daughter. 

 

He got that phrase from your father. 

 

You've been hearing it from your parents for your entire life. 

 

Silence descends between you then, broken up by the cough of a guard and the clanking of the chains as the elevator finally creaks to a halt.

 

Your mind reels as the gate swings open to the sickeningly familiar, dark and dirty streets of Nar Shaddaa's undercity. 

 

 

“I’m afraid she’s not lying, young man,” Leestun says, looking at you with narrowed eyes.  “The Mandalorian bought her contract.”

 

His words don't give you the comfort they should, given the disdain in his voice and on his gray face. 

 

Kriff, could nothing go your way? Why did Leestun have to be on duty?

 

Because fate appears to hate me. 

 

You bite the tip of your tongue, trying to keep the damn thing under control. It's been running a bit wild against Starick, while you've poked and prodded for information.  You doubt he's even noticed just how much. 

 

That thought makes you hide a smirk.  Does Father actually expect him to survive in politics?

 

Probably not.  Starick's a pawn for your father, to replace the one he, apparently, had in you.

 

Trusting fool .

 

You're not entirely sure if that thought is aimed at Starick or yourself. 

 

Either way, letting your tongue continue its wild disregard will only cause you more problems with the Nikto overseer. You remember him quite well and his short temper for talkative slaves.

 

From the look on his face, you have no doubt he remembers you too, and the way he'd been threatened when you were taken away. 

 

"He…" Starick’s face contorts in disbelief and anger all at once. "He did?"

 

Leestun nods. 

 

Groaning, Starick rubs a hand down his face. 

 

The willpower it takes for you to hold back a smug comment feels like the stuff of legendary ballads. 

 

The man looks down at you with a scowl before turning back to Leestun. "What do I do with her then?"

 

"Take her back?" you mutter, earning a growl from them both to Shut up. Your lips purse together, nostrils flaring a bit as you take a deep breath.

 

Leestun considers you for a moment, a pudgy finger tapping his two-horned chin.  "One moment…" he says, turning to meander back behind his desk and sit, the chair creaking beneath his weight.

 

The Nikto pulls out his datapad and begins to tap away at it as you and Starick stand there, waiting.

 

Starick scoffs beside you, shaking his head and crossing his arms. 

 

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. "Could have saved yourself the embarrassment, Councilman ," you say softly, the title filled with bile, "if you had listened."

 

Sneering, Starick leans closer to you, towering over you. "If you can't keep quiet, I will make sure you cannot speak for a week."

 

A wave of cold rushes through your veins and you don't need to touch him to know he's telling the truth. He's already proven his willingness to do damage to you. 

 

So, you clench your jaw and turn your attention straight forward and down again.

 

"Ah, yes," Leestun speaks up, either not having heard your brief exchange or not caring.  "We can keep her here. Put her back to work."

 

"Good," Starick says, with a sharp nod, and turns towards the door. 

 

Meanwhile, your eyes snap up to the overseer, widening. "What?" you gasp, as another fiber frays off of the thread holding your hope. "N-no, I don't belong to the company anymore."

 

Leestun narrows his eyes at you as he pushes his bulk up from his desk and leans his hands on the desktop. A wicked smile pulls at his lipless mouth. 

 

"We will enact the abandonment clause of your contract," he says, pointing at the datapad now laying on the desk. 

 

Your mind reels for a moment and you quickly shake your head. "I wasn't abandoned! I was stolen!"  

 

Starick stops inside the open doorway, turning to glare back at you and then look at Leestun. "Is this going to be a problem?  Am I needed?"

 

Leestun glances between you both for a moment, taking in the panic starting to show on your face and the growing annoyance showing on Starick's. Then he shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively.  "No, we can handle one little slave's outburst. Thank you for returning her, Councilman. Please send in the guards on your way out."

 

With a nod, Starick turns to walk out, not even sparing you another angry glance. 

 

"Starick, you cowardly pile of fathier shit! I swear, you are going to regre-"  Your words cut short as Leestun –how could you so quickly forget his opinion of mouthy slaves?– comes around the corner of his desk and knocks you upside your head.  You collapse under the blow, barely catching yourself on your manacled hands, your temple pounding with pain and your vision going blurry.

 

Why does everyone keep thinking they have a right to hit me?!

 

You sit back on your heels pressing a hand to the side of your head.  When you pull your hand away there is a small smear of blood, though not as much as you feared there might be with the way the strike hurt. 

 

As the door slides open again, and two guards walk in, you glare up at Leestun. "You cannot just claim my contract!" you hiss at him. 

 

He looks down over his doughy cheeks at you, eyes narrowed.  

 

You can tell he's considering striking you again and you brace for it, but you don't back down.

 

Instead, he surprises you by tutting and walking back around his desk. With a gesture of his hand, the guards pull you to your feet, none-too-gently. As you are hauled up, you frantically grab the filthy green dress you had dropped and you tuck it back under your arm. 

 

"Of course not," he says, his voice far too sweet. "That would not be legal.  At least, not until you are declared abandoned by your owner."

 

Your fists clench in front of you, nostrils flaring. 

 

The overseer looks at you with a smile that doesn't reach the coldness in his eyes. "Your contract has the standard abandonment or death clause," he states. Then, he picks up his datapad and reads from it aloud. "'In some situations, there may be reason to believe the current contract holder has abandoned the bonded, or that the contract holder has perished.  In that case, the bonded contract may be claimed by the possessing party. Transfer of the contract may take place when the contract holder has failed to retrieve the bonded within eight weeks time, after a sufficient attempt has been made to send notice of the bonded's location.'" He sets the datapad down and smirks thinly at you. "So, we will not simply claim you. You will be kept here –so you don't disappear of course– and you will work. And in eight weeks, your contract will transfer."

 

Your jaw trembles as your nails dig into your palms.  You try to keep your voice calm. "You need to inform my contract holder of my location," you say through grit teeth.

 

Leestun's mouth purses. He holds up one pudgy finger and shakes it back and forth.  "Incorrect. I need to 'send notice' of your location. I will send it to the Slaver's Guild."  He tilts his head at you. "Do you think he will see the notice there?"

 

Swallowing hard, you can feel the color drain from your cheeks.

 

No.  Din won't see the notice there.  Even if he weren't banned from the guild's offices, you're not sure if he'd even realize to check with them. And, given the smug look on the Nikto's face, you figure he saw the notice against Din.

 

Another fiber frays from that thread of hope. 

 

"You're a bastard," you hiss. 

 

Leestun gives you a cold stare. "I do not appreciate being threatened," he says flatly. 

 

Then, it's as if he transforms back into that false, carefree personality, putting on a grin and swiping through screens on his datapad. "Now, where shall we put you? Hmmm… You were in district ten before. No, that won't do. They are full." He drums a finger on his chin and then his grin takes on a sinister note.  "Perhaps district twelve… or district nine."

 

You blanch again, breath catching in your throat. "You can't…" you whisper.

 

District twelve is known as the worst district in this sector of the planet's undercity. It is where the power is maintained for the upper levels; with backbreaking, sweltering work, shoveling fuel into giant furnaces. You know you're not built for that kind of work.

 

Leestun's eyes lift to you and he studies you for a moment. "Hm. You could do well in nine. You're pretty, for a human."  He pauses. "But that might need to wait until we officially hold your contract again." The malevolent grin returns. "Perhaps twelve is the right one for now."

 

Despite the dangers of working in district twelve, you know you would choose it over nine, if you have a choice.  District nine is the 'relaxation' district. That's just a nicer way of saying it is the pleasure district; where guards, supervisors, and overseers go to 'unwind' and where well behaved bonded occasionally get to go as a 'reward'.

 

You might seriously consider stepping off of one of the hanging bridges before you let him send you there. 

 

When your brows draw together in a scowl and you glare at him again, he cuts you off before you can talk back again. "Oh, by the Maker! Shut up, woman!"  He looks at the guards.  "Just throw her into isolation for a few days while I decide," he snaps at them, all pleasantries gone again and his anger showing. He returns your glare. "Perhaps that will remind you of your place."

 

Your enraged shout echoes through the small office as the guards grab you and drag you away. 

 

 

Din winces as the ramp to the Crest closes again.  It cuts off the sounds of Trask's crashing oceans behind him, sealing him and the kid in again. 

 

With that damnable silence.

 

He's frozen for several moments in that spot, just inside the boarding ramp. He looks down at the child peeking out of the bag at his hip, those big eyes staring back up at him sleepily. Then a bitter taste fills his mouth as he looks around the hold and scowls in thought behind the helmet's visor.

 

The events of the past couple of weeks replay in rapid succession through his mind: agreeing to transport a passenger and her cargo to Trask in exchange for information; crashing on an ice planet and nearly being killed by giant spiders; the Crest barely making it to Trask; fighting for their lives against Quarren sailors that tried to steal his armor; meeting Mandalorians that removed their helmets without a second thought; fighting alongside those same questionable Mandalorians to take over an Imperial freighter.

 

His scowl deepens at the thought of the trio of warriors.  He just parted ways with them a couple of hours ago. 

 

By what right do they question his Creed? He holds to the old, true Mandalorian ways. They don't. 

 

The scowl fades some as he takes a slow and deep breath. 

 

But what gives him the right to question if those born on Mandalore are truly Mandalorian? Especially when he wasn't?

 

Gritting his teeth, Din pushes the questions out of his mind.  

 

At least they agreed to spread the word and keep an eye out for you.  They also gave him a lead on the possible location of a Jedi.

 

He carefully pulls the kid out of the sling bag that has replaced the now broken pram.  The little one gives him a sleepy smile and Din sighs softly against the weight that simple smile puts on his shoulders. 

 

How can he give the kid up?  Especially right now?

 

Kriff.

 

Shoving those questions aside too, Din carries the foundling to the sleeping rack and tuck hims into his hammock.

 

Then Din pauses for a moment, staring at the bedroll in the back of the rack.

 

The night after he'd left Navarro he had realized he couldn't stand tripping over that constant reminder of you every day, so he had stuffed it in there.

 

Now he has to fight the urge to pull it back out; to throw his helmet aside and lay on the bed he had shared with you for months, getting lost in whatever small remnants there might be of the honey sweet scent that clung to you. 

 

With the press of a button, the rack door slides closed and he grimaces at the jarring sound. 

 

Turning, he pulls off his helmet and steps into the fresher to splash cold water on his face. When his eyes raise they stop on your purple pendant and ring necklace, hanging from the corner of the mirror.   

 

You had left it behind that night on Naboo,  worried about losing it somehow in the chaos of the clubs.  

 

Teeth gritting, he reaches up to touch the pendant, making it clink softly against the silvered glass.

 

Touching it has become a habit.

 

He swallows against the fear that keeps sneaking up on him, pressing at the edges of his control. Then he tugs his hand back and replaces his helmet before heading up to the cockpit. 

 

Kark, you're everywhere on his ship.

 

A green blinking light on the console tells him a message is waiting.  

 

He tries not to get his hopes up…again.

 

Pressing the button, a blue static image of Greef Karga appears hovering over the ship's console.  

 

" I'm sorry, my friend. No news yet ," the recorded image stutters before disappearing.

 

That was it. No other message. 

 

Jaw clenched, Din sits motionless in the pilot's seat for several long minutes, a now familiar numbness creeping into his bones and over his skin. He resists the urge to turn towards your jumpseat, as if you'll suddenly appear there for the first time in weeks. He knows he'd end up just staring at it for only-Maker-knows how long.  It's happened so many times already.

 

Finally, he starts up the ship's flight sequences and pulls the ship away from the docks and out of Trask's atmosphere. The Crest is barely flying, despite the pile of credits he paid at the docks to fix it after the crash and his own haphazard patches. 

 

He'll have to head back to Navarro for proper repairs.

 

 

If Leestun expects you to become contrite, you've decided he's going to be disappointed, just like Starick.

 

However, the endless days in the dark cell known as an 'isolation box' are worse than you'll ever admit.

 

There isn't much to the cell: a threadbare mattress on the ground and a toilet in the corner. It's almost pitch black, with no light fixtures and only a little illumination coming in through cracks around the steel door.  

 

Your only interaction with anyone, if you can call it that, is twice a day when a tray with a sorry-excuse-for-food is slid into the cell through a small hatch at floor level, and the previous meal’s tray is taken away. 

 

Other than that, nothing. You can hear the undercity just outside, like a teasing mirage in a desert. People pass by with muffled steps and voices. You call out from time to time, but no one answers. 

 

You know better. 

 

No one pays any mind to the slaves foolish enough to get tossed into one of these cells that are scattered throughout the undercity.  

 

Still, you are not going to let this break you. Not this time. 

 

You pass the time in meditation or doing what strength and flexibility exercises you can in the dark. Otherwise, you sleep, or just listen to the sounds outside your cell. 

 

Time crawls by and the numb feeling in your chest grows.

 

When the door finally opens, you're not sure how many days have passed. They've all blurred together again. It's been at least a week, you figure, probably more. 

 

You blink rapidly against the sudden shaft of light. The dimness of the undercity is almost blinding in comparison to the dark cell. Your hand lifts to block it as a guard steps into the doorway.

 

A gravelly voice comes out of the silhouette. "Leestun wants to see you."

 

"Oh, joy," you deadpan, nonetheless grabbing the dress you've been using as a pillow and getting to your feet. 

 

The guard pulls you out of the cell and shoves you ahead of him. 

 

You blink several more times as you find your footing. Then, chin lifting a bit, you walk ahead of the stocky guard –a pale, purple Lasat, it turns out– and let your eyes wander around a bit as they adjust to the light. 

 

Days in isolation and you still haven't come up with a way out of this nightmare.  

 

If you weren't feeling so numb, you'd probably be panicking as you head towards the overseer's office.

 

Then, your breath catches in your chest as you spot a familiar flash of yellow in the crowds of bonded moving about their day. 

 

Your eyes follow the glimpses of that bright color off to your right and you bite hard at your lip, a truly desperate idea leaping into your mind. 

 

It might be my only chance. 

 

Steeling your nerves, you take a deep breath. 

 

There's no time to second guess yourself. 

 

You surprise the Lasat guard, dropping down directly in front of him. Wrapping your arms around your knees, you duck your head. The guard can't stop his forward momentum in time and he stumbles right over your curled back. 

 

On the way down, he yelps out a curse just before his nose connects with the metal grating of the floor. There's a crunch and he lays still for a moment, groaning.

 

You don't wait to see if he gets up again. 

 

Shoving to your feet, you tear off into the crowd.  

 

 

With the Crest limping along on auto pilot and about a day out from Navarro still, Din makes his way down into the hold with the kid. 

 

He's been avoiding it for the last few weeks. The hold. The memories. He has only stepped into it briefly to grab supplies or rations, or to pass through it on his way out or to the fresher. But today the kid has been ready to bounce off the walls of the tiny cockpit and he needs to let the little one run around for a while.

 

So, he sets the foundling down and watches as his diminutive ward totters out into the still space, wooden toy in one hand and the sphere-shaped lever head from the cockpit in the other. Din's own feet remain rooted to the spot by the ladder, his arms crossing and a shoulder resting against a rung.  

 

As the minutes stretch out and the foundling plays, despite his best efforts, Din's mind wanders to the last time he saw you here.

 

To the shine of that green dress and the way it hugged you, just right. 

 

To the way you held his kid on a hip –he adored watching you with his kid– swaying and dancing to your own melodic humming.

 

To how you kept glancing his way, that soft and strangely familiar look in your eyes and a smile curving up your lips, making his heart hammer in his chest. 

 

Din's breath catches in his throat suddenly at the memory, air burning his lungs and his eyes widening behind the helmet's visor. 

 

Kriffing Maker, he remembers where he's seen that look before!

 

 

Din had run down the dust filled street of his family's Aq Vetina village, avoiding the legs of adults as he and his friend weaved through the market on their way home from school. 

 

He was about seven years old. 

 

Deftly dodging a crumpled paper thrown his way to distract and slow him down, Din leapt onto the first step of his house, moments before the neighbor girl did the same at the house across the narrow road. Din raised his arms and hopped, cheering triumphantly, brown eyes sparkling; the victor in their impromptu race. 

 

With a brilliant grin, he waved to the girl before spinning to run inside. 

 

He found his mother in the small home's kitchen, listening to classic jatz on their small, box, music droid. She was dancing as she cooked and they laughed together as she scooped him up.  She tousled his unruly hair before giving him a spoonful of something meaty and spicy to taste test.

 

The boy gave his mother an enthusiastic thumbs-up, mouth too full of a second spoonful to tell her he liked it. 

 

Din's mother laughed at him, stirring the pot once more. Setting down the spoon, she took hold of one of his hands and danced with him around the kitchen, expertly balancing him on her hip. 

 

And then she paused. Her eyes softened and a new light filled them as she looked over his head and smiled. 

 

Din knew what that look meant. 

 

Twisting in his mother's arms, he grinned and waved to his father.

 

His father chuckled as he stepped into the kitchen, dark eyes sparkling. "May I cut in?"

 

When Din nodded, his mother chuffed a soft laugh and set the boy down. 

 

Din had barely moved out of the way before his father had pulled his mother into his arms, holding one of her hands in his larger one and pressing his other hand to the small of her back. Her other hand rested easily on his shoulder. 

 

Stepping back to stand in the doorway, Din watched his father sweep his mother around the kitchen to the music, her hair flying and her laughter lilting. They moved smoothly together, as if they'd done this a million times.

 

His mother's eyes never left his father's face through the dance, trusting in his guidance with each step, her eyes soft and adoring and her smile bright.

 

 

A stuttered breath escapes Din's helmet, as the recognition sinks in. 

 

“That’s how she looked at him…” he murmurs.

 

With a choked sound, he takes a couple of steps forward and braces his hands on one of the supply crates.  Your crate.  The one you perched on the most. He's staring down at the metal under his hands without really seeing it. 

 

He's still seeing you. 

 

And that soft, sweet expression.

 

"She… she loves me?" he chokes out in a whisper. 

 

Something in his chest fractures at hearing the words aloud, even in his own voice, like a spidering crack making its way across transparisteel. His breath hitches and his jaw tenses as he drags his eyes away from the crate. 

 

They find the foundling standing in the center of the hold, looking up at Din with concern.  He trills at the beskar helmet, head tilted curiously just like he sees his father do so often. "Patoo?"

 

A strained, humorless laugh escapes Din as he looks down at the child. 

 

"Could she… does she love me, Kid?"

 

It's one of those rare moments, where Din would swear the child actually understands every word he's saying. The big ears twitch and a few new wrinkles appear on the kid's forehead as he makes a quick "Ba!" sound with a sharp, serious nod. 

 

Din huffs thinly, half a smile pulling at his mouth.  "She loves me…" he whispers again, though it's more a statement than a question now. 

 

The thin laugh and partial smile dissolve into a strangled sound as that crack in his chest deepens.  His fingers curl over the edges of the crate, gripping so tightly that his knuckles are white beneath the leather. 

 

"And I let… someone take her away..."  His voice breaks at the admission.

 

And the thin veneer remaining over his control shatters.

 

Din stumbles around the side of the crate and slumps down to the floor in front of it, his helmeted head dropping into his gloved hands and his eyes closing against the unfamiliar, hot sting of tears. They finally spill over though, unable to be brushed away, to burn streaks down his cheeks, hidden behind the stolid lines of his helmet.

 

Every breath shudders as those silent tears fall, pain tearing across his chest.

 

Time seems to slow as his mind cruelly replays every memory it can that he's been avoiding: every sweet smile, every thought-numbing caress, every bite of your lip, every laugh. The times spent tangled up with you, or skirting around you when you were upset. The joy of watching you with his son. Seeing you blush, hearing your breath catch at his touch. 

 

Every memory wracks him just a little more, like they are laughing at him for not finding the word on his own sooner.

 

Love .

 

A small hand on his elbow snaps Din back into the present and his blurred eyes land on the foundling. The little one has sidled up next to Din and sat close to him. With a tiny paw patting Din's elbow, the child's head leans to rest on his arm.

 

Choking back on the torrent of emotions, breath hitching with every inhale, Din picks the kid up and holds him in the cradle of his lap.  The little one places his hands on Din's helmet, on either side of the T-shaped visor.  His big brown eyes stare into the visor intently, worry knitting his little brow.

 

"What if I've lost my chance, Kid?" Din rasps. "Did she…"  He pauses, swallowing hard. "...does she know I feel it, too?"

 

This time the kid doesn't give him any apparent answer and Din heaves a shaking sigh, his head tilting forward to rest his helmet against the kid's forehead as his eyes clench closed again.

 

 

The next day the boarding ramp creaks and groans as it opens halfway and then shudders to a stop.  Din grumbles under his breath as he walks to the end of it, the kid carefully held in the crook of his arm, and then jumps down the remaining few feet to Navarro’s dusty ground. 

 

Greef Karga is there to greet them and holds out a hand to shake Mando's.

 

"Looks like you're in need of some repairs."

 

"How's my credit here?" Mando asks.

 

Karga chuckles. "We can work something out."

 

After instructing a couple of local ship mechanics to fix up the Crest, like new, Karga takes the foundling from Mando and leads the way into town. He proudly shows Mando the school they've made out of the old cantina, where they had stood against the Imperials a little less than a year ago along with Cara and an IG-88 droid. It takes some persuasion –a lot of persuasion– but Karga manages to assure Mando the kid is safe in the school and should stay there while they talk business. Once they are in Karga's office, he begins to detail out a lingering Imperial problem on the other side of the planet.  

 

As he is trying to convince Mando to help, Cara comes striding into the office.  She stops short at seeing Mando, giving a half-hearted smile.

 

"Oh, you're here."

 

On the other side of the desk, Karga lifts his brows at the marshal. 

 

"Reliable?" he asks. 

 

Cara gives him a slight shrug. "Not sure."

 

Mando turns his head to look between them once and then tilts his helmet at Cara.

 

"What's going on?"

 

Cara hesitates before looking at him with uncertainty.

 

"Just been working through a few tips that have come in on the bounty. Nothing solid yet.  Sorry, pal."

 

 

A stuttering breath hisses past your lips as you try, in vain, to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress, back in the isolation box. 

 

You're laying on your stomach.  In this position, the pain across your back is dulled to a burning ache instead of being mind numbing.  And it's been getting better, gradually, over the last few days. 

 

At least your mad dash across the sector, and the subsequent punishment, hadn't been in vain. You did what you needed to. 

 

 

"Ji'anna. Ji'anna!"

 

"Y-yes? Oh! What are you doing here?"

 

"I was stole-…kidnapped. There's no time to explain. Leestun's lackey could be right behind me. I… oh, come in here…in here!"

 

"Um… this is a janitor shed."

 

"I know.  Ji'anna, I need to get back to him."

 

"Who? The-the bounty hunter? Your owner?"

 

"Yes. I need your help though."

 

"You want to go back to him?"

 

"Yes! Ji'anna, there's no time. I don't want them to catch me with you."

 

"Oh, right. Okay. What can I do?"

 

"Can you get a message sent off planet?"

 

"Oh… um. I'm not sure…"

 

"Please , Ji'anna. I know you've got that supervisor at textiles wrapped around your finger."

 

"Heh, well, yeah.  Maybe I could. But what message?"

 

"Send it to… to… oh, Maker… Oh! To the Bounty Hunter's Guild, for Mando. They can get it to him. Tell him I'm here. He's looking for me, I'm sure of it… but he won't have any idea where to look."

 

"The Bounty Hunter's Guild.  For Mando. Okay… are you sure they'll believe me?"

 

"Oh… yes!  Ta-take this. Send an image of it with the message. Mando will know it's mine."

 

"Ohhh, it looks like it was beautiful… once."

 

"It was. Can you do it?"

 

"I'll try. It might take a little time."

 

"I don't have much time… so as fast as possible, please. Thank you, Ji'anna. I'll slip out. You wait a few minutes before you leave so they won't spot us together, okay?"

 

"Okay. Good luck..."

 

 

Wincing as you shift, you sigh shakily and rest your chin on your folded arms. You miss the dress that had made a passable pillow for you, but now it will hopefully help Ji'anna's message to get through.

 

Still, it would be nice to have a pillow.  With the lash marks across your back still aching, you can’t do much more than lie there  on your stomach while you’re kept in seclusion. 

 

Leestun had not taken kindly to your act of defiance and did his best to make an example of you, right in the middle of one of the sector’s busiest intersections.  You had often wondered what the poles at those intersections were for.  Now you know they are for public displays of punishment, where extra defiant bonded are tied and beaten or whipped.  

 

Punishment doled out, Leestun’s guard had hauled you back to your little box of darkness and tossed you back in. 

 

Since then, once a day, a medic has come in to check on the progress of your healing.

 

After all, Leestun can’t have a pretty asset with such potential dying on him, especially before your contract is reverted back to the company.

 

When he told you that, the day after whipping you, you had spit at him.  

 

That earned you a fresh bruise to your cheek and one less meal a day. 

 

Now, lying there in the dark, barely able to move, your mind keeps disobediently wandering to places you don’t want it to go. You shove the unbidden thoughts and memories aside, one after the other, back behind that door in your mind.  You try to focus on anything else, even something as simple as the dulled sounds outside of the box.

 

Anything else but the things you’ve lost.

 

On the fourth day you’re feeling a little better and try to move around more.  The pain is still severe, but it doesn’t cause you to nearly black out, at least.

 

After a week, now pacing your cell, you come to a decision.  

 

After this seclusion, unless something changes drastically, you have to stop outright fighting.

 

There’s nothing else you can do.  You’ve expended every option you can think of, other than complying.

 

Escape isn’t possible.  Even if you could get free of the overseer’s minions again, the guards at the elevators would never let you off the level.  

 

Pleading with your captors hadn’t gotten you anywhere and it isn’t going to. Given enough time, they are going to claim your contract and you’re going to belong to the company again. With how they are willing to hurt you now? If you keep fighting, what will they be willing to do once you legally belong to them?

 

And if Ji’anna wasn’t able to get a message out, or it doesn’t reach Din in time?

 

You have to stop fighting, play the obedient role again… or you might not survive.

 

That realization has you collapsing down onto the makeshift bed again, swallowing back an angry sob and locking that emotion away too as you bury your face into the questionable mattress. 

 

 

Din jams down the autopilot control as the Crest leaves the forest planet of Corvus behind, before sitting back with a heaving sigh.

 

Another delay in his search for the foundling's people, after another dead end in his search for you. 

 

He's been chasing wild leads for weeks now and he doesn't feel any closer to finding you than he did when he first left Naboo.

 

If anything, he's struggling against the doubt and the pain of realizing that he may never see you again. 

 

At least he did manage to find a Jedi on Corvus, even if she'd refused to teach the kid. Something about the danger of his connection to Din.

 

And to you. 

 

Din had been confused when the Jedi, Ahsoka Tano, mentioned you after her meditations with the child.  He wondered if he was starting to hear things because you were on his mind so much, but then she had repeated your name and even described you. 

 

"What does she have to do with this?"

 

"His emotions are too strongly tied to you both for me to train him. Someone else might be able and willing to, but I can't. He'd miss you both too much.  He already misses…" She had paused, looking down at the kid and then back to Din. "He misses his mama."

 

Din had nearly broken again at hearing that, a shuddering breath hissing out of him.

 

But then, instead, he'd squared his shoulders and nodded.  He picked up the kid and gave a strained thanks when she directed him to another possible lead to find other Jedi: a seeing stone on Tython.

 

Whatever a seeing stone was.

 

At least the trip wasn't a complete waste. He had a thin lead. He had gained a beskar spear in helping to free a local town from tyrants.  

 

He had learned his foundling's name.

 

With the ship on autopilot, he turns to look at the kid, strapped in and playing with the little wooden dewback.

 

"Grogu?"

 

Big ears perk up and the little ones' eyes get bright. He gives Din a toothy smile with an "Eh?" sound.

 

A genuine smile pulls at Din's lips for the first time in weeks.

 

Then, out of the corner of his visor, he notices a light blinking on the console.

 

An audio message.

 

It's Cara's voice. 

 

" I think we've got a good lead this time,  Mando! There's a Twi'lek, Ji'anna. She said you'd remember her and you should find her. She'll help you ." 

 

Cara's voice pauses. 

 

" Sounds like your girl's back on Nar Shadda ."

Notes:

I promise, my lovely readers, we are *almost* there!

Chapter 30

Summary:

Picking up where Chapter 29 left off! Reader and Mando have been separated. He's been desperately trying to find her and finally has a lead!

This is a long one!

CW: Lots of emotional angst, physical abuse, canon-typical violence. Please let me know if I've missed any. It's super late here. Lol

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Din's movements are jittery as he begins the Crest's start up control sequences.  The old vessel roars to life and he shakes his hands, huffing out a strained breath. 

 

The message from the Twi'lek, Ji'anna, had been brief, her petite face looking very anxious on the hologram. " This message is for the bounty hunter, Mando. Please, get this to him. He hope he remembers me. I can help." She had paused as if searching for the right words before blurting out your name. " Um…She’s here, on Nar Shadda. Back down on the factories level. She said someone took her but-but you'd be looking for her. Please, come get her." Ji'anna paused again and then lifted a piece of cloth into view. It had taken Din a moment to recognize your dress in the static blue of the hologram. " She said you'd recognize this, so you'd know she really is here. She also said she doesn't have much time.  S-so please, hurry."

 

That last bit scares the hell out of him. 

 

What do you mean, you don't have much time?

 

He had swung back over to Navarro, to see the hologram message for himself and to drop off the foundling –Grogu, he had to remind himself– with Karga and Cara. There was a lot of internal debate over that decision: stopping, instead of heading straight for Nar Shaddaa. But he knew that there were still no guarantees of getting you back yet. He couldn't risk losing the kid too, with not being certain of what he is heading into. 

 

As soon as the Crest breaks away from the Navarro atmosphere, he slams the throttle control forward, heading straight for the nearest hyperspace lane to get him back to Nar Shaddaa.  

 

Four days. If he pushes the Crest hard, he can be there in four days.

 

"I'm on my way, Sweetling. Hold on…"

 

 

The days in the Box, followed by day after day of shoveling some kind of fuel, –you're not sure what it is, coal maybe? it's like coal, whatever it is– into the District 12 furnaces, have all blended together. 

 

Days pass. Weeks pass.

 

You've completely lost track of all time. Each day just melds into the next and then into the one after that. In the undercity, there's no difference between morning, afternoon, or night. There's just the cycle of bonded labor: work the furnaces, eat the excuse for food that the company offers, catch a few hours of sleep on a lumpy cot, repeat.

 

Has it been eight weeks yet? The question comes unbidden to your mind once in a while. 

 

You don't think so, since you imagine Leestun will want to gloat a bit about it, but you're really not certain.  

 

If you're honest with yourself, you're so exhausted that you're not sure if you're even capable of caring anymore. 

 

The lashes across your back are finally staying closed, for the most part, but there's still some stabbing pain and bruising. That's making the work even more arduous and sometimes agonizing. 

 

You're doing the best that you can, though you know the foreman in District 12 isn't happy with your performance. Most of the other bonded in this section are obviously strong and able to keep up with the grueling demands.  They're mostly males and/or large: humans, Zabraks, Devaronians, Trandoshans, Houks, Klatooinians, Zalats, etc.  There's even one Wookie that you've come across, though he might have been doing worse than you, due to the heat and his fur.

 

You figure it's only a matter of time before the foreman complains to Leestun and you're carted off to another district. A shudder runs through you at the thought, any time it comes to mind. 

 

So, you just keep pushing, keep trying. 

 

It's all you can do until your shift is over each day –or night, you're really not sure– and the foreman sends you back to the living quarters with a disgruntled sneer.

 

Each day ends the same. You try to choke down some food and collapse onto an available cot, praying to whatever powers-that-be, who might be listening, for the oblivion of sleep to come quickly. 

 

At least if you dream, you can see Din and the kid without breaking down, knowing that the exhaustion when you wake up will chase the details away. 

 

 

The Crest is strained by the end of the journey, but Mando manages to make it within the four days he'd hoped for. 

 

Once landed, he throws a bag of credits at the dock manager –with more force than was necessary, but also fuller than was necessary– and tells the man that he needs the ship systems checked and repaired, if needed, and ready to fly in a hurry. 

 

The manager mutters after Mando's departing back in consternation, until he looks into the bag and his expression lights up. Then he has the dock crew quickly getting to work.

 

Mando doesn't waste any time, heading straight for the elevators. 

 

The guards try to question him. His replies are curt. Showing them a blinking bounty fob, he tells them he needs to get to the factory level. After a few moments talking in hushed tones, they nod and direct him into the elevator.

 

The entire way down, he stands stock still, hands clenched into fists and jaw tense as he stares straight ahead at the elevator's gate.

 

The guards fidget with their carbines, watching the beskar statue wearily. 

 

A short while later, Mando strides down a dingy side street of Nar Shaddaa's undercity. The people surge around him like water around a boulder, quick to move out of his way. 

 

His eyes dart through the crowd in search of you or your Twi'lek friend.  

 

He had asked around as soon as he was off the elevator, showing your bounty puck hologram to several people. No one recognized you. It didn't take long to find out where Ji'anna usually was though. A bright yellow Twi'lek tends to stand out more.

 

Mando makes his way to the edge of the crowd as he nears the textiles factory and ducks inside past a couple of exiting workers.  

 

Inside, the factory is huge, spanning what is probably a couple of blocks on the surface. There are at least a dozen different types of large machines, and scores of each type. The only ones that he can somewhat guess the use of are the ones that are spinning some kind of thread and the ones that appear to be dying fabric in various colors.  Other than that, he doesn’t have a clue, but he also doesn’t really care.

 

He weaves his way through the machines, dodging around workers and ducking under various machine parts or cloth spanning across spaces from one machine to another. Once he’s a little ways inside he pauses and sighs with a snarl.  

 

Damn place is too big.

 

He stops a worker. The short, human woman looks a bit panicked at being waylaid, her arms piled with pale green cloth. She hesitates to answer his questions at first, looking up at him warily. Once she realizes that he’s not going to get out of her way without an answer though, she directs him to the sewing section of the factory, several hundred feet away in the opposite direction than he’d opted to go.

 

Mando gives a gruff thanks to the woman, who just grumbles as she pushes past him and continues on her way.  He turns and heads in the direction she had indicated.

 

It takes him about another hour, but he finally spots the Twi’lek’s bright yellow lekku, between gaps in the machines and the bustling workers.

 

When he catches up to her, walking between two massive mills of some sort, Ji’anna almost leaps out of her skin with a surprised yelp when he grabs her arm.

 

He immediately releases her arm when she spins on him, his gloved hands raised up in front of him.

 

Ji’anna’s dark green eyes widen when she looks him over and recognizes him, once her shock at the scare disappears.

 

“Oh! Oh, you’re here!” she says, almost having to yell over the noise. 

 

Scowling up at the machines beside them, she reaches out to grab his arm this time and pulls him after her, around behind one of the mills.  She guides him in and out of a couple of aisles and comes to a stop between some sort of large vat and a wall. There is still quite a bit of noise, but it’s not nearly as bad here.  

 

Letting go of his arm, the little Twi’lek turns to face him again, pushing her lekku off of her shoulders. 

 

“Where is she?” Mando demands, tension coming off of him in waves.

 

If his tone bothers Ji’anna she doesn’t show it. Either that or she just understands the reason for it.  She shakes her head slightly, her lips pressed into a line and her lekku twitching.

 

“I don’t know.  I know she’s down here, but I haven’t seen her in…” Her petite features scrunch up in thought.  “...almost two weeks.  It was a week after I sent the message.”  Her expression turns apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

 

Mando curses, one hand rubbing roughly against the side of his neck through his cowl.  He has to resist the urge to punch the vat next to them in his frustration.  He hadn’t realized how long it had taken the message to reach the Bounty Hunter’s Guild, before Karga got it to him. 

 

His visor levels on Ji’anna agian. “What did she mean, about not having much time?”

 

Her shoulders lift in a shrug. “I’m not sure. We didn’t have much time to talk either time I saw her. Just enough for her to give me the message the first time and enough for me to tell her I got it out the second time.”

 

Jaw clenching behind the helmet’s faceplate, Mando gives a sharp nod. Muttering, he paces in the small space between the vat and the wall, his cape whipping around his legs with each sharp turn.  After a few passes, he pauses and looks at her again.

 

“How did she look?” he grinds out.

 

The way Ji’anna’s eyes dart away and she looks at the ground, arms wrapping around herself, Mando suspects he might not want to hear the answer.

 

“Not… not good,” she says.

 

He curses again and Ji'anna winces a bit.

 

Then, she looks up at him and takes an uncertain step closer. “If we can just figure out which district she’s been assigned to, I can help find her. I know people down here. A lot of people. It’s just… too big to start blind.”

 

Mando’s helmet turns back to her yellow face, framed in a typical, black Twi’lek headdress. Her green eyes stare back up at his visor in earnest.

 

He gives her a curt nod. “Alright. How do we find that out?”

 

 

Leestun stumbles back a couple of steps from his office door when he opens it to Mando's pounding knock, his black eyes widening in his leathery face.

 

"Wh-what? Oh! M-mandalorian…" he stutters over his words. Swallowing hard, he brushes his chubby hands down over the front of his tunic as he tries to look unperturbed. "It's a surprise to see you again," he says, steadier.

 

Mando stares at Leestun's wide eyes, his own narrowed behind the visor. 

 

He had hoped to avoid the sniveling Overseer when he got here. Given how things had ended the day he bought you, he didn't expect the Nikto to be feeling very helpful. However,  Ji'anna assured him that you had mentioned Leestun when she saw you, so he must know where you are. And even if you hadn’t confirmed that, this would be the fastest route to finding you, since she didn't know your location. So, here he is.

 

With one long stride, Mando closes the distance to Leestun and looms over the Nikto. "I'm here for what's mine," he states. "Where is she?" he grinds out the question for the second time in the last hour. 

 

Leestun tries to stand a bit taller, shoulders back and head held high with false bravado.  "Where is who?" he asks in an innocent tone. Then he blinks in surprise and takes another involuntary step back when a growl comes out of the beskar helmet.

 

“Don’t play games with me, Leestun. You kriffing-well know who,” Mando snaps.

 

The Overseer visibly swallows again, but then his jaw sets and he looks up at the bounty hunter with consternation.

 

“There are many females under my charge. How am I to know which one you are here to collect a bounty on?” 

 

When Mando takes another single stride forward, Leestun’s bluster falters once more.  He stumbles back again towards his desk, frantically glancing past a beskar covered shoulder.

 

He's likely looking for the guard that Mando had convinced, with a generous bribe, to disappear. 

 

"Leestun," he says, "what am I?"

 

A faint, confused scowl crosses Leestun's features. "What?"

 

"What am I?" Mando repeats, enunciating each word.

 

"A…a Mandalorian…"

 

Mando steps closer again and Leestun backs up. "A Mandalorian what?" he demands.

 

Leestun's breathing is shallow now, and he swallows hard. "B-bounty hunter."

 

The beskar helmet moves in a slow nod. "That's right, Leestun," he says, tone flat and unfeeling. "I make a living finding people. That includes getting information out of other people that they don't want to share, by any means necessary."  

 

A long pause lingers in the air between them, Leestun's wide black eyes moving rapidly over the dark visor. 

 

Mando leans into the Overseer’s space, causing Leestun to lean back right into his desk. The voice through the modulator is a low snarl now. 

 

"Would you like to see just how good I am at my job, Leestun?"

 

 

Mando stalks back out of Leestun’s office, pausing just outside of it to look around.  He spots Ji'anna a short ways away and heads in her direction. 

 

"District 12."

 

He doesn't miss the way Ji'anna's eyes widen a little, or how some of the brightness of her coloring drains from her face. His teeth clench against the gut punch of dread her reaction causes.

 

"O-okay…" she says, giving a quick nod. "This way." Turning, she leads him away down the filthy street.

 

Neither of them notice Leestun watching from his office door, or when he glares after them and reaches for the comms device on the office wall.

 

 

A hard shove against the back of your shoulder yanks you out of the sleep you'd only just found a couple of hours ago. You sit up with a startled cry, pain lancing across your abused back as you pull away from the aggressive hand.

 

The bruising just hasn't healed right yet, constantly agitated by jostling movements and the brutal work you've been tasked with each day.

 

Maker, if you could just be left alone for a day or two, you know it would get better. You also know that's never going to happen. 

 

The looming, dull-teal Feeorin guard says your name in a question. The thick tendrils on the back of his head, and the thinner ones on his chin, twitch with agitation. When you give a numb nod, he barks out, "Get up!"

 

It takes you a moment to catch your breath through the ache, but you nod and climb up from the cot onto shaky legs.

 

"Follow me," he snaps, turning and heading for the exit from the barracks.  

 

You sigh shakily, raking your fingers through your tangled hair as you move to follow. 

 

He leads you down a few haphazard alleyways between the bonded quarters and the furnace warehouses. His pace is quick, unforgiving, and he stops now and then to grab your arm and urge you into a faster walk. 

 

Dank Farrik, you've barely slept two hours after working at the blasted furnaces for almost fourteen. Can't he just give you a break?

 

You bite back the complaints before they can tumble past your lips. They won't do you any good.

 

The guard takes you out onto a main road, leading you over a few of the high bridges that overlook the even deeper levels of Nar Shaddaa. That's about when you realize he is leading you towards the large bridge that exits District 12.

 

A faint claw of dread tightens in your chest, squeezing air from your lungs.  

 

Is he taking you to Leestun? Is this it? The eight weeks have come and gone?

 

Do I belong to the company again?

 

You battle against that dread; pushing it down, taking a deep breath, and lifting your chin. The Overseer will not get the satisfaction of seeing that dread in your eyes. 

 

When you reach the start of the bridge out of District 12, you stop short when the guard turns instead of crossing, your brows knitting in confusion. He heads to the right instead, starting over a different bridge. 

 

"Where are we-" Your words cut short, eyes widening when you see the isolation box against the railing, halfway down the smaller bridge. Your feet remain rooted to the spot where the two bridges meet, your breath coming quicker as you stare at that box. 

 

That can't be where he's taking you. You haven't done anything since the whipping to deserve punishment. 

 

But sure enough, that's where he's bee-lining for, until he realizes that you've stopped following and turns back with a snarl.

 

"Get over here!" he snaps at you across the fifteen feet between you. 

 

Despite your best efforts to be strong, a tremble has started deep inside you and is moving outward, into your limbs.  Numbly, you shake your head at him. 

 

A snarl curls his lips, the tendrils on his head twitching with renewed aggression.  He stalks back towards you, fists clenched. "You will follow, slave," he orders in another snarl as he gets closer. 

 

You backpedal a little. "No, please. Wh-what did I do?" The pitch of your voice rises as you fight against a growing panic.

 

The Feeorin's big hand reaches for you and you're too uncoordinated in your exhausted state to avoid it. It clamps onto your arm and yanks you forward, so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your face. "I don't know. Leestun's orders. You're for the Box." He tugs you along beside him then, turning back towards the tiny building.

 

You dig your heels in, pulling back as much as you can, which isn't much. "No!" you cry out, swallowing down a sob. "I didn't do anything!"

 

Spinning on you, the guard growls and unhooks a shock baton from his belt with his free hand. "I don't care. Move," he snaps again, the threat obvious as the weapon buzzes to life with an electrical sizzle.

 

A faint whimper escapes you as you look at the electricity arcing along the stick in his hand. At that point you try to move your feet, you really do, but another glance up at the isolation box has your body involuntarily freezing up again.

 

With another growl he yanks you forward with one hand, as the other arcs the baton towards your midsection.

 

Your eyes close as you brace for the impact.  For the pain. 

 

Neither come. 

 

Instead, you're jerked forward by the hand on your arm before it suddenly releases you as a roaring sound rushes past. You're frozen in place for a moment, breath lodged in your throat. 

 

Then, the crowds that had been flowing around you and the guard start to scatter with sharp cries of distress. Someone jostles you as they run by and you nearly collapse in surprise, but a pair of skinny arms catch you to keep you steady, one arm around your waist and the other hand gently gripping your upper arm.

 

You blink a few times and look over to find Ji'anna's bright face looking up at you with a soft smile, concern evident in her eyes. "Hey, I got you. You're okay," she says in a soft tone, giving a soothing rub to your arm.

 

Swallowing hard, you blink again at her, taking a slow and shaky breath. 

 

Then you finally notice the crowd backing away from the area, murmuring to each other and staring.

 

But not at you. 

 

You turn your head to follow their eyes and a strangled sound tumbles from you, your legs giving out beneath you.

 

Ji'anna gives a small, surprised " eep " next to you but she manages to keep you from simply collapsing, helping you down to the ground. She kneels down with you, the arm at your waist moving to around your shoulders. 

 

You wince a little as her arm brushes your tender back, but you ignore the pain. "Ji'anna," you whisper and she leans her head in close to hear you better. "Is this…is this real?" you gasp out.

 

Or is your exhausted mind playing cruel tricks on you now?

 

Ji'anna gives a squeeze to your shoulders, her head resting gently against the side of yours. "Yeah, honey, it's real. He's here."

 

Each breath you take is labored as you stare across the bridges' intersection, your eyes locked on the figure in beskar that is crouched over the fallen guard, about seventy-five feet from you. It's like you're afraid to look away, that he might disappear if you do, despite Ji'anna's reassurances. 

 

 

Mando's fist connects with the side of the Freeorin's face with a dull thud, and then again, and once more, snapping the guard's head to the side. 

 

The guard manages to roll with that last punch though, throwing Mando off balance above him.  He shoves the armor-clad man off and rolls away, spitting dark blood as he pushes to his feet. The Feeorin faces Mando with a snarl, shock baton up and sizzling again.

 

Mando sets his feet into an offensive stance as he pulls the beskar spear off his back and squares up to his opponent, a sneer curling his hidden mouth. 

 

The guard charges, swinging the baton rapidly. He seems to be counting on the armor weighing his enemy down, slowing his movements. 

 

Obviously, the guard is not familiar with Mandalorians.

 

Mando side steps with ease, arcing the back end of the spear up to block and knock away a swing of the baton. It throws off the guard's balance as Mando spins the spear in his gloved hand and swipes the razor-sharp tip across the Feeorin's side as the alien careens by.  Then he twists the spear again, bringing the tip down and in front of him, hands spread wide on the shaft as he waits for another attack.

 

No other attack comes. 

 

That swipe tore a large hole into the side of the guard's shirt and the dull teal flesh beneath it split open into a wide gash. Blood sprays from the deep wound, arcing across the bridge for a moment before the Feeorin collapses to his knees, hands frantically pressing against his gushing side.

 

 

Your breath catches again in your throat, choking off your cry, as the guard charges at Din.

 

But, in what feels like an instant, the guard has dropped his weapon and is on the ground. 

 

The captured air rushes out of your chest in a shaking sigh as you watch Din straighten. His visor stays trained on the guard for a few moments, ensuring the threat has passed, as the spear is secured to his back again.

 

"When did he get a spear?" you whisper under your breath, and then your brows pull together a little.

 

Why is that the detail your mind chose to focus on?

 

Then Din is spinning on his booted feet, cape sweeping out as his visor scans the road and the crowd until it comes to rest on you. 

 

Your teeth catch your bottom lip as you watch him across the intersection. 

 

For the first time that you can ever remember, Din's stride falters when he takes the first steps toward you. Gloved hands clench at his sides, again and again, like the familiar feeling of them is reassuring him. 

 

Your mouth trembles as you take in a stuttering breath and your lips form his name without sound. Din…

 

Whatever uncertainty is holding him back seems to crumble and Din breaks into a run across the remaining distance between you. 

 

 

His boots pound over the metal plating before Din slides to a stop and drops to his knees in front of you. As he reaches for you, Ji'anna releases your shoulders. 

 

His hands are on either side of your face, leather-clad fingers buried into your hair before he realizes it. He leans over you and presses his helmet against your forehead. 

 

"Sweetling…" he whispers the endearment, his eyes scanning your drawn features. 

 

He can hear your breath shudder as your eyes search through the visor for his, unfocused and more subdued than he's ever seen them. Your trembling hands lift up to touch the back of his, hesitant, as you swallow hard and dart your tongue over chapped lips. 

 

"Yo-you came for me…" you murmur, thinly. 

 

Din bites back a strangled curse at how frail you sound.  He shifts a little closer to you, his knees parting to bracket you in. 

 

"Cyar’ika, I will always come for you," he chokes out through clenched teeth. 

 

You give him an unsteady smile before a silent, dry sob shakes your shoulders and you squeeze his hands. Then you reach out, tentative, and curl your fingers around the edges of his chestplate. Your eyes close as you lean into him, dropping your head to nuzzle into the cloth at his neck. 

 

Eyes also closing for a moment, he swallows against the lump in his throat.  One of his hands curls around the back of your neck and he presses the visor of his helmet against your hair, as if to press a kiss to your temple.

 

His other hand slips out of your hair and moves down to pull you into him. 

 

 

Din's movement, and his intention, register in your frazzled mind a fraction of a moment too late. 

 

Stiffening against him, you gasp out a "Wait!", only for the word to dissolve into a cry of pain as his palm slides down your back. You try to bite it back, but it spills out of you before you can help it. Your back arches away from his hand and your fingers clench hard onto his armor as you press your face against the curved beskar on his chest, biting your tongue to stop any further sounds.

 

He freezes, hand hovering over your back.

 

After a heartbeat passes, the hand at the nape of your neck squeezes a little and he pulls back, just enough to duck his head down to the level of yours.  His other hand moves to the side of your face again, cupping your cheek.

 

"You're hurt?" he asks, and you can feel his eyes moving over you. 

 

You swallow hard, fighting back pained tears and avoiding eye contact when his visor lifts back up to your face.

 

Maker, why does the first time you're truly near to tears in weeks have to be now, brought on by his touch? You should be feeling relieved, right now.  Not…this.

 

He leans his helmet against your forehead again. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice a strained whisper. "Tell me what it is."

 

You shake your head at his apology, trying to find the words to explain that it's not his fault. Your lips tremble as your mouth opens and closes a few times. But nothing comes out and you press your lips together to still the shaking, looking up at his visor for an instant before dropping your eyes again. 

 

Movement to your side catches your attention and you glance over in time to see Ji'anna, just as she leans behind you.

 

Her soft gasp makes you bite your lip.

 

You know what she's seeing. The guards hadn't bothered to give you a new shirt after your punishment. The coarse gray material is still stained from the lashes you received.

 

Din head lifts to look at Ji'anna when she gasps and he tenses. Then he looks down at you for a moment before his hands fall away from your face and he shifts to move around you. 

 

With a soft gasp of your own, you twist as he moves, to keep your back out of his view. 

 

Din stills again, and then his hand lifts to catch your chin and coax your eyes up to his.  "Please, don't hide from me, Sweetling," he says softly.

 

Your eyes dart over his visor as you swallow around the lump in your throat.  You take a few shaking breaths again and worry at your lip. Finally, at the gentle urging of his hands, you twist back to facing forward, and he finishes his movement around you. 

 

The curse that comes out of Din then is such a low and dark growl, that it sends a chill through you.

 

 

Din's fists clench as he stares at the bloody stains criss-crossing the back of your shirt.  Drawn out moments pass before he reaches down to the bottom edge of the dirty cloth, but he pauses when you flinch.

 

His eyes lift to find you looking back over your shoulder, though not directly at him. A flush colors your skin and a shiver runs through you.

 

The look he sees on your face twists in his chest like a knife: shame.

 

After a quick glance up, Din releases the hem of your shirt without lifting it. There are too many people still milling around, watching you all curiously. He won't add to whatever embarrassment you are feeling if he can help it, whether the embarrassment is justified or not. 

 

Instead, he leans in close to your shoulder and rests his helmet against your temple, watching as your eyes close with the contract. The soft leather covering his fingertips barely touches the back of your neck and the edge of your shirt's collar.

 

"May I?" he asks, the gentle words barely escaping the helmet. 

 

Your eyes flutter open and your head turns just a bit more so you can look up at him. It takes you a few moments to answer, your lips pressing into a hard line as you consider.  Then you give him a miniscule nod.

 

With a slight nod of his own, he dips his head behind yours. Then he carefully draws the collar back from your neck. 

 

It doesn't allow him to see much of the damage that was done, but it also doesn't allow the curious crowd to see any. And it's more than enough to tell him what he needs to know, for now.

 

He can see the ends of several angry dark bruises, and some lines of wounds still healing.

 

Fingers curl tightly into the cloth as he inhales as slowly as he can force himself to.  His teeth clench so hard against a wave of anger that he half expects them to break.  

 

Releasing your collar, he huffs out a stuttered breath and turns his head to press against yours again.

 

He's quiet for a while, not trusting himself to speak right away. Until he sees you start to fidget, twisting your fingers in your lap, and he reaches out to take one of your hands in his. 

 

Din's words shake with the tenuous hold he has on that building rage, but he keeps his voice as soft as he can. The last thing he wants is to scare you. 

 

"Who did this, Sweetling?"

 

 

You barely manage to keep from cringing at the ferocity in those soft words.

 

It is not directed at you. You know that. Din is not upset with you. 

 

And yet you have to close your eyes and force yourself to take in a lungful of air as slowly as possible. You have to remind yourself a few times in silence that, for the first time in weeks, someone's angry words aren't directed at you. 

 

When your eyes open to look up at his visor again, you find him waiting. The tense set of his shoulders shows you his contained fury, at the same time that the tilt of his head shows his concern for you. 

 

You swallow hard, brows peaking as your tongue slips across your lips. Your lips part, but once again you find yourself struggling with the words. 

 

Why is this so hard?

 

Din's other hand lifts, taking your chin in a soft hold and then brushing his thumb across your lower lip.  His hands are shaking, just barely, with the volatile emotion he's keeping in check, and your eyes widen a little at the realization.

 

"Was it him?" he asks, jerking his head towards the other side of the intersection.

 

You both look that way then and you both pause.

 

The guard isn't alone anymore.  A multi-person speeder pulled up beside him at some point, a medic's symbol on the side of it.  A human woman is kneeling beside him now, applying bacta strips to his wound.  You recognize her as the medic that visited you in isolation after the whipping.

 

Behind the guard and the medic, is Leestun.

 

He's standing with his pudgy hands on his hips and he's going back and forth between berating –you think, it's hard to tell from this distance– and glowering at the guard, to glowering across the intersection at you, Din and Ji'anna. 

 

"Not the guard," Ji'anna says beside you, her voice soft and low.

 

You and Din look over at her.

 

The little Twi’lek’s green eyes regard you for a moment and then rise over your head to look at Din.

 

"It probably wasn't the guard. It was probably Leestun," she clarifies.

 

Your eyes widen at her a little, but you don't try to stop her. A small part of you is grateful that she's able to speak the words that you can't seem to yet.

 

Din doesn't say anything at first. You suspect he's waiting to see if you confirm her statement, but you don't look back at him. Your eyes are locked on Ji'anna's face in surprise.

 

Does she realize the risk she's taking by speaking out against Leestun? You suspect she does. Why is she?

 

"What makes you say that?" Din finally asks her.

 

Ji'anna sighs, her eyes meeting yours again, and you're struck by the profound determination in them.

 

She definitely knows the risk she's taking.

 

"Because he doesn't order a whipping very often," she says. "And the sadistic, karking bastard likes to do it himself when he does."  Her eyes stay on yours with every word.

 

You bite your lip, not sure whether you want to give in to the emotions poking at your mind and just cry, or if you want to laugh because you've never heard the sweet Twi'lek woman swear before. 

 

Both options disappear when Din catches your chin and guides you to look at him again, his visor filling your field of view. 

 

"Was it him?"

 

You're still as a statue for a moment before giving a tiny nod. 

 

His entire body tenses then as an almost tangible wave of rage rolls off of him. You don't even need to use your Force ability to feel it.

 

His visor lifts to train on Ji'anna again. "Stay with her," he says in a low rumble. Then, he starts to rise, until your fingers grip tighter around his hand. He pauses to look at you again.

 

"Din…I don't want…" Your voice trembles as you search again for the right words, your chin tense and eyes shining with tears that simply refuse to fall. You look past him, over to where Leestun stands, still snarling something at the guard as the medic works on him. 

 

Dropping back into a crouch beside you, Din pulls your attention with his free hand under your chin once more. "Sweetling," he says and it's obvious he's struggling to control his tone. "If you don't want me to kill him, I won't." His fingers squeeze your chin. "But I'm…really hoping you don't ask that of me. "

 

You blink up at him a few times, swallowing hard.

 

Was that what you were going to ask him? It might have been. It sounded like you.  Maybe. 

 

Nibbling at your lip, you shake your head slightly and release his hand.  "Be careful," you whisper. 

 

Din seems to study your face for a couple of heartbeats before giving a sharp nod and leaning in to softly tap his faceplate against your forehead. 

 

 

Releasing you, Mando shoves up to his feet and turns to stalk back across the intersection. 

 

The crowd spots him coming first, and murmurs begin to spread through them in a wave. Several of them also begin to back further away.

 

When Leestun looks up again from berating his subordinate, and finally spots the closing beskar figure, an odd squeaking sound escapes the Nikto. He looks around in a panic, before reaching down by the guard to pick up the dropped shock baton.  

 

He's straightening and bumbling with the weapon when Mando reaches him.  

 

As the baton activates with a loud crackling sizzle, Mando's hand lashes out. He hits the overseer's wrist and the baton goes somersaulting through the air over the medic and the guard.

 

It hits the metal ground and slides over the edge of the bridge into the darkness below.

 

Leestun yelps in pain, his hand going limp. He doesn't have time to focus on it though as Mando’s other hand snaps out to wrap around the lower half of the Nikto’s face. He tries to stumble back and to claw at the gloved hand, but he can't escape it. 

 

"Woah! Hey! You can't do that!" the medic's voice rises from beside them as she stands up, hands stretched out towards the pair.

 

Mando doesn't even spare her a glance as his hand squeezes over Leestun’s mouth and jaw and the Overseer’s eyes widen as he gives a muffled cry. "Are you going to stop me?" he snarls. 

 

He can hear her moving and then there's the distinct sound of a safety clicking off. "Yes," she gasps out. "Now…let him go."

 

The beskar helmet turns towards her and Mando is faced with the quivering barrel of a blaster. The visor ticks up just slightly, to focus on her instead of the gun. 

 

"No."

 

The woman blinks at that unexpected response. "I…I'll shoot you…"

 

"You can try."

 

She swallows hard at the deadly tone. Then she glances at Leestun, who is gasping down tiny gulps of air past the gloved hand as he struggles, and she looks down at the guard, passed out now but stable. Her brows pinch together as she lifts her eyes up to Mando's visor again.

 

"W-why are you attacking our people?" she asks.

 

Mando’s visor briefly tips down towards the guard, and he kicks the Feeorin's foot. "He attacked her." Then he looks back at Leestun, who's eyes widen even more as he's pulled in close to the unreadable visor. “And this piece of Bantha shit whipped her,” he snarls.

 

The medic scowls. “Who?” she demands, taking a deep breath and trying to steady her shaking hands.

 

Mando just jerks his head over his shoulder, eyes never leaving the Nikto who has started trying to hit him out of desperation.  His meager attempts keep landing ineffectively on pieces of beskar.

 

The woman’s eyes follow the jerk of Mando’s head and she spots you and Ji’anna across the intersection where he left you.  You're staring hard at her across the distance, a scowl marring your features as she continues to hold the gun at Mando.  In fact, your friend is holding your shoulders and it looks like she's trying to urge you to stay there.

 

After a moment, recognition lights in the medic's eyes and she swallows hard, looking back at Mando and his captive.

 

“Y-yes, he did,” she says, trying to make her voice sound sterner. “But unfortunately that’s legal. Killing him won’t do you any good…or her.  It is his job to dole out punishment on slaves, as he sees fit.”

 

Mando’s visor snaps over to her and she takes a frightened step back.  “It’s his job to punish a slave belonging to someone else?” he growls.

 

She blinks at him, eyes widening a little. “What? ‘Someone else’?”

 

His free hand lifts, batting away one of Leestun’s flailing hands. He points a gloved finger at his chest. “ I hold her contract, Medic,” he grinds out, emphasizing the first word. “She is mine .”

 

A shaking breath lifts her chest and the hands holding the gun, which she obviously isn’t ready to use anyway, lower a little. “ You do?” She blinks a couple times and then her brows pull together into a scowl. “And…Leestun knew that?”

 

Mando looks at the Overseer again, who is starting to look a bit pale as he uselessly struggles against the grip on his face. “He sold her contract to me,” he spits out.

 

The medic swallows hard again, lowering the gun completely down to her side and looking at Leestun. “You… you whipped a slave that did not belong to the company… and refused her proper medical attention?”

 

Leestun’s eyes are almost comically wide as he tries to look over at her and shake his head, though instead he just receives a hard jerk from Mando’s hand and gives another muffled cry.

 

Her eyes turn back to Mando. “If that’s true, and you can prove it, he’s broken the Slaver Guild laws, as well as Nar Shaddaa’s slavery laws.” She lifts a hand out towards Mando, palm patting the empty air. “Please, just take a breath and reconsider this.  He can be brought up on charges…”

 

Leestun gives some kind of snarling response behind the hand that’s still holding him.  Then he starts clawing at Mando’s hand again with one of his own and tries to throw his ample weight back to break the bounty hunter’s death grip on his jaw.

 

A pair of human guards come pushing through the crowd of bonded at that moment. After taking in the scene, they're quick to remove the shock batons from their hips, sending more of the slaves scattering. The weapons activate with almost synchronized hisses as the pair stalk in towards the trio.

 

 

"No!"

 

Your cry is lost across the distance and in the noise of the crowds that still linger, here and there.  With a jerk, you yank out of Ji'anna's grasp and lurch to your feet.

 

"He said to stay here!" she calls, scrambling to her feet after you. 

 

"No," you say over your shoulder, glancing her way. "He said for you to stay with me. And I am going over there ." You jab a finger at the group across the intersection. 

 

What the hell you're thinking you can do…you have no idea. 

 

You're still so exhausted that you can barely keep your wits right now. But you'll be damned if you're just going to sit there with no idea what's going on and being said, and just watch Din fight for you.

 

With shaking fingers clenching at your sides, you make your way across the distance. Ji'anna doesn't have any problem catching up to you and she's trying to talk you into stopping, but you're not even listening to her now.

 

You reach a distance to hear the other group’s voices just as the medic is holding a hand out towards the approaching guards and calling for them to back off.  Meanwhile, Leestun is frantically trying to wave them closer.

 

Din still has his dominant hand clamped onto the lower half of Leestun’s face.

 

Your steps falter at seeing that.  From across the intersection, you had thought Din was holding him by the throat, not the face.  You almost start laughing at the absurdity of holding someone like that, but instead you just stop walking and stare.

 

Ji’anna comes up beside you and wraps an arm around your waist again. 

 

Is she trying to stop you from continuing forward, or keep you from collapsing again?

 

Either one is a distinct possibility you realize, as you lean into her for support, staring at Leestun past Din’s shoulder.  

 

Leestun’s flailing movements pause for a moment and his eyes widen a bit again at seeing you. Then they narrow into a glare. 

 

He frantically waves at one of the guards that is approaching from behind the medic.

 

And then he points at you.

 

 

Mando’s eyes tear from the medic when Leestun’s thick hand points past one of his beskar covered shoulders.  He looks back to see you and Ji’anna, only about fifteen feet away now.

 

A curse rips out of him as the guard charges past the medic, jumping over the still prone body of the first guard.  He ignores her orders to stop, and heads straight towards you.  

 

With a hard shove against Leestun’s face, slamming him down to the ground on his back, Mando leaps after the guard.  

 

He would just shoot the man, if you weren’t so close.  Instead, he catches up about five feet from where you and Ji’anna are backpedalling away.  His fist connects with the back of the guard’s head, at the base of the skull, and there’s a snapping sound before the guard collapses in a heap at your feet. The guard’s baton skitters away across the ground, still arcing with electricity.

 

Mando spins on his toes back towards Leestun and the other guard, just in time for that guard’s baton to crack across the side of his head. The blow jerks his head to one side, staggering him for a moment as his temple hits something inside the helmet and drops him to one knee.  He blinks away stars that appear across his vision as he instinctively lifts his arm, barely deflecting another downward arc of the baton with a vambrace.

 

Then, with a roar, he leaps at the guard’s midsection, catching him with a shoulder and forcing the man to bend in two.  With a push to his feet, he flips the guard over his head and the man lands on his back, groaning with the wind knocked out of him.

 

Mando turns and stoops to punch that guard into oblivion too, before looking back towards Leestun.

 

The Overseer is running, shoving through the thin crowd that has remained throughout the confrontation.

 

Leestun’s got a blaster pistol in his hand now and, with the medic on the ground with her head in her hands and blood seeping through her fingers, it's not hard to figure out where he got it. 

 

Mando snarls and shoves off his right foot.  He charges after the fleeing Nikto, unstrapping his Amban rifle and swinging it over his shoulder as he moves.

 

He quickly begins to close the distance on Leestun, weaving around the onlookers easily even as they try to stumble out of the way.

 

The Nikto looks over his shoulder as he huffs, scurrying away. His eyes bulge when he sees the bounty hunter closing the distance and he stretches an arm behind him, squeezing off several bolts from the stolen blaster.

 

Mando dodges the poorly aimed shots with ease, hoping the people behind him are smart enough to duck and get out of the way.

 

Then, there is finally a break in the crowd. Din immediately drops to one knee, lifting the stock of the Amban to his shoulder.  

 

It only takes a moment for the reticle of the scope to center on the fleeing Overseer’s back.

 

Din waits, his breathing slow and steady.

 

Leestun turns and screams something incoherent at him, spraying another handful of bolts down the length of the bridge.

 

Din’s finger squeezes down on the trigger.

 

 

You watch the chase, your heart in your throat.

 

At some point you had sunk down to your knees once more, and Ji’anna is right there with you again, doing her best to keep you as steady as she can.

 

When Din drops down to his knee, you almost cry out, worried that one of Leestun’s crazy shots had managed to hit him.

 

But then you see the yellow streak of the pulse rifle’s bolt tear down the bridge.

 

An instant later, Leestun bursts into a cloud of smoke and smoldering ash. After a moment, it begins to drift downward to the metal of the bridge. Some bits catch on the warm breezes from the lower sections of the undercity and they flit in the air and flutter over the railing and down, out of sight.

 

Everything on the bridge seems to come to a screeching halt then. Everyone is staring at the space the Overseer had occupied only a moment ago. There are a few gasps; even a soft cry. Most of the people around just stare in shock.

 

Air finally fills your lungs in a stuttered breath as you watch Din push up to his feet again and turn back towards you. 

 

His steps are slow at first as he restraps the rifle to his back, next to the spear. Then his strides come quicker, lengthening, until he’s at your side again and kneeling down to capture your hand in his. He lifts it, pressing your palm against the bottom of his visor.

 

You swallow hard, your eyes searching through the dark transparisteel again as your fingers curl against the cold but familiar lines of his helmet’s cheek. You can see your eyes in the reflection, shining with unshed tears.

 

Thank you. Your lips form the words soundlessly as you lean closer to him.

 

Din’s helmet presses to your forehead and he nods just barely, his other hand lifting to brush his thumb across your cheek and then over your lips.

 

You both jump slightly as Ji’anna moves next to you, making room for the medic that crouches down. You blink at the woman and the fresh bacta strip that is plastered against the side of her head. 

 

Noticing your questioning look, she shakes her head dismissively.  “It’s nothing. Superficial.”  Her dark eyes dart between you and Din for a moment then, before she sighs. “Look, don’t worry about all of… this mess,” she says, gesturing around you all. “I’ll clear it all up with the authorities. It’s the least I can do for playing a part in Leestun’s…” She sighs again, shaking her head and resting her temple against her palm. “...whatever the kriff he was doing.”  Her brows pinch together and she gives you a sad look.  “I’m so sorry.”

 

A soft sigh escapes through your nose as you look back at her. 

 

It would be so easy for you to hate her too. She had refused to treat your wounds beyond the bare minimum because the Overseer had forbidden it.  But you can see the genuine dismay in her face. The self-loathing at the limitations of her position.

 

If she weren’t here to help the slaves, at least a little, would anyone else be? you wonder.

 

You push aside the nudging of that hate in your mind and give her a small nod. You’re still too numb to hate her anyway.

 

She holds out a small bag to you then and you take it with shaking hands, your brows knitting together.  

 

“Bacta strips,” she says, “and a syringe of e-bacta. It… it won’t prevent the scarring that’s already there, but it’ll help with the rest.”

 

After you give her a stunned nod, she pushes to her feet and moves to the bodies of the guards nearby. One is obviously dead, from Din’s punch to the spine.  The other is unconscious and badly bruised.  She enlists the assistance of a few nearby bonded to pull the living guard over to the speeder and load him and the guard from earlier up.

 

You watch her guiding the work for a moment, holding the precious medical supplies to your chest.  Then you turn and look at Ji’anna.

 

The little Twi’lek gives you a soft smile.  “You going to be okay?” she asks, softly.

 

A thin little laugh escapes you and you nod, leaning over to hug her.  

 

She laughs a little too, returning the hug, careful to barely touch the edges of your back.  

 

“Thank you,” you say, pulling back and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

 

Ji’anna gives you a beaming smile then and you can’t help it when your own brightens a bit.  Her smile just seems to have that effect.

 

Din leans past you then, surprising you by reaching a hand out to give Ji’anna’s shoulder a grateful squeeze.  “Thank you, Ji’anna,” he rumbles. He releases her quickly though and rubs the side of his neck, before resting his hand on your shoulder instead. “I can’t…”

 

When he pauses, you look up at him over your shoulder with a brow quirked. His visor turns to you and it tilts slightly.  Then his voice takes on a slightly rougher tone, like he’s struggling with the words, even more than usual.

 

“I can’t say how thankful I am, Ji’anna,” he says, slowly looking back over at her. “And… it’s not enough to really show it… but there is a reward for helping me find her. I’d like to give it to you.”

 

You blink up at him in surprise.  “A reward?”

 

Din looks down at you, nodding. “Yeah.  I put out a… a bounty on your safe return. Or a reward for information that led me to you.”

 

Your eyes widen a little. “Oh…”  Then your lip catches between your teeth and you sigh softly, shaking your head.  “Din, bonded can’t have credits,” you remind him.

 

“Oh, right,” he groans.

 

A soft laugh from Ji’anna has you both looking at her again and she lifts her shoulders in a shrug.  “Actually… I haven’t been bonded in about three years.”

 

Your eyebrow arch upward. “What?!” you gasp out.

 

She gives you a sheepish smile, nervously running a hand down one of her lekku.  “Yeah.  My contract was up.  I just… didn’t have anywhere to go, or any way to get there.”

 

For a few moments you just stare at your friend, but then you laugh softly and shake your head ruefully.  “Well, it might be selfish of me… but I’m glad you were here,” you say, reaching out for her hands and giving them a squeeze.

 

Ji’anna gives you another bright smile and squeezes your hands back, nodding in understanding. 

 

Next to you, Din digs into a pocket of his belt and pulls out a small bag.  He holds it out to her, credit chits inside clinking together.  “Here… please take it. It should be enough to give you a fresh start, almost anywhere.”

 

You look down at the bag in his hand and then up at your friend.  With a soft smile, you lean in and say softly, “I suggest Navarro.  We have friends there.  I think they’d be happy to help you get on your feet.”

 

Ji’anna nods with another soft smile and releases your hands. She toys with her lekku for a moment before reaching out to accept the bag.  “How… how much?” she asks shyly.

 

“Twenty-thousand.”

 

You and Ji’anna both blink and then look up at him with wide eyes.

 

Din pauses before canting his head at you.  “Sweetling… I would have paid or done anything to find you.”

 

A soft, little “aww” comes out of Ji’anna as she clutches the bag of credits to her chest, sitting back from you.

 

You glance at her, giving a faint laugh and blushing softly.  Din even chuffs a soft laugh with you, rubbing his hand against the side of his neck.

 

Biting your lip softly, you lift your eyes back up to Din’s visor.

 

“Din…?” you whisper.

 

He gives a little nod, leaning down to rest his visor against your forehead. “Yes, Cyar’ika?”

 

“Can we… can we please go… home to the Crest?”

 

There’s a long pause as his hand lifts and he brushes the back of his fingers against your cheek. When he answers, his voice is thick and choked sounding, but you can hear the soft smile in it. 

 

“Yeah, Sweetling.  Let’s go home...”

Notes:

We made it! We finally made it! Let the healing process begin... in chapter 31! See ya'll then!

Chapter 31

Summary:

Returning to the Crest after the horrors of Nar Shaddaa, Reader and Din have to start dealing with the aftermath of those terrible events.

CW: Angst, fluff and smut

Oh, and it's another long one! Lol

Hope you all enjoy!

Come find me on Tumblr! Username: Keeshya6

Chapter Text

The trek across the undercity to the elevators takes longer than you expect, after you say your good-byes to Ji’anna. 

 

Din had offered her a lift from Nar Shaddaa to anywhere she might like to go between here and Navarro.  She declined though, with a thank you.   There were things she needed to do on Nar Shaddaa before leaving it.

 

So, you and Din begin your journey towards the elevators. You are moving slow though, the exhaustion weighing on you, and Din patiently keeps pace with you. He also keeps having to pull his hand away from behind you, you notice; probably struggling with an instinct to rest his hand on your back.

 

After an hour, and realizing you haven’t even made it half-way, you stop to lean a shoulder against a wall and close your eyes, rubbing your hand over your face.

 

Without looking, you know that Din stops close to you; where a short time ago you could feel his anger coming off of him in waves, now you can feel his concern. It seems to permeate the air surrounding you, and somehow it feels wonderfully familiar and oddly foreign all at once. Like you imagine seeing the mountains of Sardecia might, if you suddenly found yourself there again after so long. 

 

Your eyes flutter open and you look up at him. 

 

His helmet cants to the side as he waits.

 

"This is going to take me forever," you say with a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

 

Din's hand lifts to your face and he brushes a lock of your hair away from your eyes before barely touching your cheek. "There's no rush, Sweetling. We can take however much time you need."

 

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you reach up to touch his hand. "I appreciate that." Your chest lifts as you take a deep breath, which you then expel with slightly puffed out cheeks. "But I really just want to get off this kriffing planet."

 

He chuffs a little and nods in agreement. 

 

Your eyes slip down his torso, to the small medical bag now hanging from his belt.  Lowering your hand from his, your finger traces the edge of the bag. "Maybe I should take some of the e-bacta," you whisper. "I've heard it…dulls things as well as heals."

 

Din looks down at the bag and nods a little. "We could try that," he says, his visor lifting back to your face. "And I'd be happy to carry you then, Sweetling, if you want. I just…don't want to hurt you."

 

Looking back up to that dark, T-shaped visor, you give him another small smile. "I know," you say and then nibble at your lip. After a few quiet moments of thought, you nod. "I think that's a good idea. Otherwise…we might not get to the elevator before the next cycle starts."

 

Din's chuckle is thin as he nods too, reaching down to open the bag.

 

 

About an hour later, Din sighs with relief when he steps into the docks and the Crest comes into view.  He's careful as he shifts you in his arms and you murmur softly in your bacta-induced haze, nuzzling into the cowl at his neck.

 

He had only given you about a third of the syringe of pale, blue medicine, but it hadn't taken long to affect you. You were unsteady on your feet within about fifteen minutes.  When he had given a tentative touch to your back, you had hissed in a tiny breath, but then you seemed fine. So, he had gently scooped you up into his arms and picked up the pace to get back to the ship. 

 

Maker, despite the circumstances, he can't deny how good it feels just to have you in his arms again. 

 

He looks around for the spaceport manager, and spots him across the dock.  Striding over, Din's head tilts at the man.

 

The manager peers down at you curiously and then up at the beskar helmet. He looks like he might ask questions, but then thinks better of it. 

 

"Is it ready to fly?" Din asks.

 

The manager nods and starts rattling off several strained systems that they had to work on.  Din shakes his head slightly when the foreman asks if he wants a break down.

 

"No,” he says shortly. “As long as it’s good to fly, I don’t care. Keep the change.”

 

The man blinks at him in surprise as Din shifts you in his arms and turns towards the ship.

 

Boarding the Crest, he moves to lay you on the bedroll, which he had hurriedly pulled back out on the last day of his trip to Nar Shadda. You whine softly though and shake your head. "I need… a shower," you murmur, clinging to him.

 

Din hesitates and then chuckles softly. He sets you on your feet beside the bed instead, keeping one arm wrapped around your waist to hold you steady. 

 

"Sweetheart, you can barely stand," he says as his free hand lifts to brush hair from across your face. 

 

You nod a little, leaning into him and resting your cheek on the curve of his chestplate. "I know…but we'll have to burn the bed otherwise."

 

There's a quiet moment and then his chest shakes a little under your head with his soft chuckle. 

 

Your eyes lift up to his dark visor. "Will you help me?" you ask, almost inaudible.

 

"Of course, Sweetling." He presses a 'kiss' to your forehead with his visor and then guides you over to the crates by the opposite wall.  Gently, he lifts you to sit on one.  

 

You tilt your head at him, a brow lifting slightly. 

 

"Wait here," he says, with a soft squeeze on your hips. "I'm just going to get us off planet and heading in the right direction."

 

With a thin smile, you nod and lean back against the bulkhead.

 

Then, as he starts to step away, you grab his hand again. He stops short, head cocked at you. 

 

Your gaze is trained past him as you speak softly, eyebrows peaked. "Where's the kid?" you whisper. 

 

He glances back to see that you're staring at the open, and empty, sleeping rack.  Turning back to you, he gives your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

 

"He's with Karga," he answers. "That's where we're heading."

 

It takes a moment but you finally look back to his visor and give a small nod. Then, you release his hand.

 

Din moves up to the cockpit and begins to run the Crest's startup sequences with impatient movements.  He keeps looking back at the alcove entrance to the small space, torn between checking on you and just getting this done.

 

And he keeps having to fight with some part of his mind that struggles to believe you'll even be there when he goes back down. Like this has all been some cruel dream.

 

When the Crest finally breaks out of Nar Shaddaa's gravitational pull, he sets the autopilot for the hyperspace lane that will lead back to Navarro.  Getting to that lane will take about two hours. 

 

He almost leaps back down the ladder then, but stops himself at the last moment. After taking a steadying breath, he forces himself to ignore the irrational part of his brain and climb down with calm steps.  When he reaches the bottom he swallows hard, gripping the sides of the ladder for a breath before he turns into the hold.

 

And then Din's heart leaps up into his throat when he sees the hold is empty. He lurches forward a step, a strangled sound slipping out of him. 

 

Panic nearly grips him, until he spots the trail of clothing –covered in dirt, grime and blood stains– leading from the crates to the fresher. A moment later his mind registers the sound of running water.

 

Gasping in a breath, he turns to the fresher door.  It's open a crack and steam from the shower pours out of it.

 

His fists brace on either side of the door and his eyes close for a moment, as he tries to slow the galloping pace his heart has taken up. After a couple of breaths he knocks –harder than he'd actually meant to– and then he pushes the door open. 

 

 

The hot water feels amazing. 

 

You're pretty sure it's even better than it felt the first night you were on the Crest. 

 

The fact that the e-bacta in your bloodstream might be dulling any stinging pain isn't a thought you're lingering on. The medicine is doing its job.  Between that and rincing away the grime of Nar Shaddaa, you're already feeling a bit better. 

 

The hard knock on the door causes the air to lodge in your chest though, and your eyes snap up from where you are sitting below the wonderful stream, as Din's gloved hand appears in the crack of the door. When he shoves the door open, the rush of steam trying to escape the tiny room momentarily blocks your view of him.  

 

Blinking moisture away from your lashes, and swiping a hand over your face, it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust and settle back on him. 

 

He stands leaning into the door, hands braced on either side of the frame.  Every inch of him is tense as he looks down at you, the condensation smeared on his helmet from where he must have wiped a hand over it. 

 

You sit completely still, arms wrapped around your knees, your back to the spray of the shower. The position puts the door, and therefore Din, to your side and you look up at him over your shoulder. 

 

An unfamiliar apprehension –unfamiliar with him anyways– crawls up your spine as you meet the steady stare of his visor.

 

After several quiet moments pass, Din's shoulders just barely droop. When his voice breaks through the quiet, it is strained through the electronic tinge of the modulator. 

 

"Don't…don't d-disappear like that, Sweetling… please."

 

It takes a moment for you to realize what he means, and then a stuttered sigh escapes you at the pleading tone. Something twists up in your chest and you swallow hard, the apprehension beginning to melt away.

 

"I'm sorry, Din," you say softly. "I was falling asleep and… just needed to get in here."  Your lip catches between your teeth. "I didn't mean to worry you."

 

He nods slightly before his head drops down between his shoulders as he takes a visibly shuddering breath.  Then, another.

 

You tilt your head to rest your cheek against your arms, watching him with your lips pressed into a line. 

 

After a moment the helmet lifts to level on you again. His weight shifts, as if he's going to step inside the fresher, but then he hesitates and lingers in the doorway instead, watching you with his head canted to one side.  

 

A faint smile tugs at your lips. You know that questioning tilt, and being able to recognize it is somehow reassuring. 

 

You extract one arm from under your cheek and hold a hand out to him. 

 

Din only hesitates a moment before he is shedding his boots, belt, weapons, and armor. It's done faster and with less decorum than you can recall ever seeing before. They're left in an unceremonious pile outside the door. He shucks off his armorweave and, after a brief pause, his base layer shirt too.

 

All through it, your watch him, hand still held out in silent invitation and your cheek resting on your other arm.  

 

Left only in his base layer pants and helmet, Din steps into the fresher. He takes your offered hand and leans down to press your palm to the bottom of his visor for a moment.

 

A soft smile dances across your lips again at the familiar gesture.  

 

He releases you hand, and you tuck that arm back in under your head. Your eyes stay on Din until he moves behind you, blocking the flow of the shower for a moment.  At his gentle urging you turn to face the door, so the water streams down on you from the side. Then he's settling down onto the floor behind you with his legs bracketing you. 

 

You can feel him pause after he's on the floor; can feel the tension begin to roll off of him again. You lift your head to look back at him over your shoulder, just as his calloused fingertips graze along the outside edges of your back, over your ribs. You hiss in a soft breath and his hands freeze.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, quickly pulling his hands back.

 

A thin chuckle passes your lips and you reach under your left arm with your other hand, to catch his left hand before he pulls back too far.

 

“It’s okay,” you say, giving him a little smile past locks of wet hair.  “You didn’t hurt me.  It… it actually tickled a little.”

 

That dark visor stays level on your face for a couple of breaths before he chuffs softly and nods, tilting his head down to look at your back again.

 

You nibble at your lip as you let go of his hand and turn your head to rest your chin on your knee. “Does it look that bad?” you ask, voice breaking a bit. You scowl softly at yourself after the words are out.

 

Dumb question.

 

His fingers brush over your skin again, a bit higher this time rather than over your sensitive ribs. “It’s…not great, Sweetling,” he says gently.

 

Your lips purse together and after a breath you can't help the faint laugh that tumbles out of you. "That was a very…diplomatic answer, Mandalorian."

 

His touch stills on you again and then the light huff of his laugh reaches your ears before it dies away again. "There's… a lot of bruising. Though, it's not as dark as it looked on the bridge."  A single fingertip traces a soft line from one shoulder blade, over your spine, to the other blade. "And I thought there were still open wounds, but there aren't any now."

 

Your jaw tenses a little at that soft touch, eyes closing and head dropping forward to press your lips against your arm.  A warm flush creeps up your skin from somewhere in your belly, up your chest and neck and into your cheeks. You can feel it traverse across your skin as you take a small, shuddering breath.

 

Din stills again behind you at that shaking breath, his hand moving to rest on your side. “Did that hurt?”

 

You give a slight, negative shake of your head.  “No,” you squeak out.  Then you clear your throat and try again. “No. It didn’t. The bacta seems to be doing pretty good at keeping any pain away…” The words trail off and you take a slow, steadying breath.  

 

He doesn’t offer up a response, but you can feel him watching you and can practically see the concerned and questioning tilt of the helmet behind you without even having to look. You bite at the inside of your cheek a little as you search for the words. “I… I don’t like you seeing me like this,” you whisper, not even sure if your words will reach him over the spray of the water.

 

Din shifts, bringing himself a little nearer to you, and slips his arms lightly around your waist. When he leans in closer to you, he doesn’t let his chest more than brush your back.

 

“Why not, Sweetling?”  He pauses briefly before adding. “I don’t enjoy seeing you like this either, but why did you want to hide it from me?”

 

You chew on your lip for a moment, turning your head to rest on your arms again and look back at him over your shoulder, from the corner of your eye. “Because I wasn’t strong enough to stop it. To fight it,” you say, voice steadier than you’re actually feeling, and laced with a touch of anger. “Those… those marks are proof of that.”

 

Muscles tensing, Din takes a moment to respond. When he does, he lifts one hand up under your arm to catch your chin and urge you to look at him more directly. 

 

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Cyar'ika,” he states, his visor filling your field of view. “Nothing.” You bite your lip at that but his thumb gently pulls it loose again. “You are strong.”

 

You blink a few times and then give that dark visor an incredulous look.

 

His hand slips up to cup his palm to your cheek. “You’re a survivor, Sweetling. That takes more strength than most people in the galaxy have. Especially given the… karking shit you were being put through,” he says, the last portion coming out in a hiss through clenched teeth. “And you endured long enough for me to find you, so I could fight what you couldn’t.”  His head tilts forward, helmet resting against your temple. “That is strength, Sweetheart.”

 

Swallowing hard, you blink away the moisture from the shower and your eyes search the visor for a moment before you give him a miniscule nod and close your eyes, leaning carefully back into him.

 

You’re both quiet for a few minutes then, with Din wrapped around you like a human shield against the outside galaxy.  

 

You try to let yourself relax. Each slow breath shakes a little, but gradually it lessens with each one.

 

After a while, his voice comes out gently through the modulator, against your hair.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Sweetling, so you can go to sleep,” he says.  Then he’s leaning back from you and reaching for the bottles of your body soap and shampoo, which are sitting in the same spot where you left them all those weeks ago.

 

That realization makes you smile softly.

 

Over the next little while, Din is firm with you, almost to the point of stubbornness.

 

He won’t let you do anything . Not even reach for the washcloth by the sink, which you are closer to. But no. He insists you stay put and he gets up to grab it.

 

Then he’s gentle with you as he wipes away what is left of the undercity’s grime and carefully works the soap over your skin. He shifts now and then to let the water stream over you, often guiding the flow of it with his own body to help it reach other parts of you, so you don’t have to move too much.  When you try to protest, he just gives you a cant of his head that you know means your objections aren’t going to do you any good. So, after a few attempts, you give up with a shake of your head and a brief, sardonic laugh, submitting to his ministrations.

 

At one point, looking down at his leg beside you, you question why he got into the shower without taking off the base layer pants too.

 

He hesitates in answering, busying his hands with something behind you. “I… well… I didn’t…”  

 

You twist your torso slightly, raising a curious brow as you look back at him. 

 

He almost sounds embarrassed.

 

Clearing his throat, he looks down at the bottle of citrus-scented shampoo in his hands. “I was worried about possible… reactions… to being close to you, Sweetling,” he stumbles over the words.  He coughs lightly as he flips open the lid of the bottle. “Didn’t… didn’t want you to think I expected anything, if that happened...”

 

You study him for a moment, biting the tip of your tongue to keep from giggling.  Finally you lean closer to him to lightly thunk your head against the side of his helmet. Then you give him a soft smile before ending his misery by turning back towards the door.

 

He’s quick to find a distraction by beginning to work the shampoo into your hair. You practically melt with a purr and tilt your head back into the touch of those calloused fingers, making him chuckle.

 

A short while later, Din is gathering you up into his arms and carrying you out of the fresher. The impromptu head massage had quickly relaxed the last of the tension out of your body and you had started fighting the urge to fall asleep right there, under the spray of the shower.

 

He carries you over to the crates and sets you down on top of one and then steps away. He’s back a moment later, rubbing a towel over you with careful movements, especially across your back.

 

You lean into him as he finishes drying your hair and hum with a soft whisper, "Hmmm. Can I wear one of your shirts?"

 

The movement of his hands stutters and he pauses, a faint chuff passing the modulator.  "You might drown in it, Sweetling," he rumbles with a smile in his voice.

 

You don't even open your eyes as your head tilts up towards his. "At least I'll be comfortable," you murmur. 

 

He chuckles softly. 

 

Once you're dressed in clean underwear and engulfed in one of his base-layer shirts, he gives you another portion of the e-bacta shot.  Then he changes into dry pants and carries you onto the bedroll. 

 

Soon after that, you are drifting off, surrounded by the familiar scent of leather and spices as you snuggle into his chest.

 

 

Din jolts up from the bed, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun that is not on his hip.  It's still laying on the pile of his armor by the fresher. 

 

And you…are screaming.

 

He spins towards you and then goes still for a moment, his heart pounding in his ears and his breaths jagged as the haze of sleep is chased away.

 

You're curled up on your side, still on the bedroll, though you turned in your sleep at some point to face away from him. Your arms are over your head as sharp, broken wails escape past them to echo off the hold's walls.

 

Snapping out of the shock, Din hesitantly reaches for you. “Sweetling?”

 

You don’t answer and your entire body is tense, locked in that curled position, as he touches your shoulder. After a brief moment to consider, he shifts closer to you and carefully draws you into his lap.

 

"Sweetling, wake up," he says, firm but soft, as he cradles you against his chest. He doesn’t want to startle you, but Maker, he wants to free you of the nightmare ravaging your mind.

 

You instinctively curl into his body's warmth in your fitful sleep, your hands clutched together between your torsos. He can see your eyes moving rapidly behind your closed lids.

 

Din pushes the hair out of your face with one hand as his other arm squeezes your shoulders. “Come on, love, please wake up,” he chokes out, his palm resting against your cheek.

 

Your body jolts in his lap with another cry and a soft, incoherent plea. 

 

He grimaces and bites back a curse. The pads of his fingers brush across your forehead and down your cheek as he murmurs to you, urging you to come out of the dream as he squeezes your shoulders again.

 

It takes a couple of agonizing minutes, and a few tries, but you finally gasp and your eyes flutter open.  

 

You go deathly still in his arms, your breath caught in your chest and your eyes unfocused.  When they start to clear, you look up at his visor, exhaling shakily.

 

“D-din?” you whimper.

 

A faint sigh passes through the helmet and he cups your cheek.  “Yeah, sweet girl, I’m here. You're safe."

 

You bite down on your lower lip, hard, and draw in another stuttered breath.  Your eyes shine but no tears fall down your cheeks.  “W-where are we?” you ask, confusion creasing your brow and your eyes dart around. 

 

He swallows hard, forcing his voice into a calm timbre. “The Crest, Cyar’ika. We’re on the Crest.”

 

You take several slow, deep breaths as your eyes dart a bit more before settling back onto his visor. The confusion eases from your face and you finally nod a little. Then, with a glance around again, your lips purse together and a flush creeps up into your cheeks. 

 

"I…I'm sorry I woke you," you whisper. 

 

Din is shaking his head before you even finish the apology, wrapping you up tighter in his arms and pressing his helmet against your forehead.  "Nothing to apologize for, Sweetling," he rumbles. "I'm here to help."

 

After a breath you nod a little, swallowing hard. Then you're shifting in his arms and move to rest your head on his chest. 

 

He holds you like that for a while, fingertips tracing along your arm in nonsensical patterns.

 

Once again, the medicine in your veins is shortly tugging you back down into sleep. Then Din rearranges you both back into bed.

 

 

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you finally extract yourself from the comfort of the bedroll, stretching towards the ceiling. Your brows rise upward with a bit of surprise. The aches across your back have significantly lessened.

 

Tilting your head, you listen to the quiet of the ship and after a moment you hear movement up in the cockpit.  Nodding to yourself, you move to the fresher and carefully peel off Din's shirt. You twist, trying to see your back in the mirror over the sink, and your eyes widen.

 

It’s the first real look you’ve gotten at the damage and a lump forms in your throat.  It’s mostly bruising now, but that’s not even as bad as you expected. Either the e-bacta has really done its work or you slept for days.

 

Or both, you realize with a soft scowl.

 

So, it isn’t the bruising that upsets you.  It’s the criss cross of about half a dozen new scars between your shoulder blades. They are various thicknesses and lengths, though none are wider than a quarter of an inch or longer than six inches.  Still, the sight of them is shocking and makes everything that happened on Nar Shaddaa all too real.

 

Your brows pinch together as you swallow hard against the lump in your throat.

 

As if you will ever need a reminder.

 

Closing your eyes briefly, you pinch the bridge of your nose. Then you turn towards the sink and brace your hands on it, staring at your reflection.  

 

Your eyes are hard to recognize.  

 

They look hollow.  

 

No other fitting word comes to mind.

 

Sighing heavily, your gaze falls on the purple pendant and silver ring necklace that hangs from the corner of the mirror.  You stare at it for several long moments, a smile briefly touching your lips. Then, pressing your lips into a thin line, you reach out to lift the chain.

 

 

Din looks up from the Crest’s control panel to watch your reflection as you step off of the ladder and into the cockpit, looking hesitant.  He takes a moment to appreciate the sight of you, still dwarfed within his shirt. 

 

Then, he quickly finishes the flight sequence he had been adjusting, from switching the ship to another hyperspace lane. With that done, he spins his seat towards you.

 

“Hey, Sweetling,” he greets you gently. 

 

It takes a moment for your eyes to pull away from the rushing lights of hyperspace and settle on the “T” of his visor. The corners of your mouth lift just a bit and you murmur a soft “Hi” in response, absently fingering the necklace that is once again hanging down over your sternum. 

 

He smiles at seeing that, but the smile fades as your eyes drift back up to the space beyond the viewport, and his head tilts gradually to one side.

 

Something feels off, more than he was expecting. 

 

His eyes search your face, watching the way your gaze follows the streaks of passing light. It’s so similar to the first time you had stepped into the cockpit, except your expression is even more haunted than that day so long ago. It creates a ball of dread in the pit of his stomach.

 

It takes several moments but you finally notice his fixed attention and turn your eyes back down to him, a brow lifting just a bit.

 

Reaching out to you, Din lets his gloved fingertips just barely touch your waist.  “How are you feeling?”

 

Your lips form a line before your tongue slips out over them. Then you’re nibbling at your lip and Din can’t help a brief smile behind his visor at the familiar sight.

 

“I’m…” you voice catches in your throat and you clear it a little. “Physically better,” you whisper.

 

Din nods, his hand on your waist squeezing softly. “Can I see?” he asks.

 

There’s hesitation in your movements and written across your face. You chew on your lip and glance over at the seat you used to occupy so often, like you need something to look at other than him.

 

He waits, fingers faintly flexing and relaxing against your waist.  When you finally concede with a soft nod, Din pushes to his feet and gently urges you to turn.  Once your back is to him, he is careful as he lifts the hem of your shirt.

 

A frustrated hum escapes him but he does nod slightly, letting your shirt fall back into place.  “It’s definitely better,” he agrees, even letting his hand lift to gently touch your back.

 

You tense at first, expecting pain, but a soft sigh escapes you and you relax when the ache doesn't come.  Thankfully the worst is the pain finally seems to be over.  

 

With a half turn in your toes, you look up at him over your shoulder, his hand still resting softly against your spine.

 

“How long was I asleep?”

 

“For the better part of,” he pauses, thinking it over,  “two and a half days.”

 

At the sharp rise of your eyebrows, the beskar helmet cants again. "You did wake up a few times, briefly.  You don't remember?”

 

Licking your lips, you shake your head and brush back the hairs that fall across your face.  “No… The last thing I remember is the shower.”

 

He nods after a moment, debating on mentioning your recurring nightmares.  He decides against it, for now.  “Probably just because of the exhaustion and e-bacta.”

 

You nod a little too, lifting a hand to tuck a stubborn lock of hair behind your ear as you look around the cockpit, unfocused. 

 

After a moment, Din lifts his other hand –the first one has stayed on your back– and catches your chin in a firm but gentle hold, guiding your eyes back to his visor. 

 

"'Physically better'," he repeats your words back at you, before asking, "What else, Sweetling?"

 

You stare up at the cross-section of his visor for several heartbeats, and Din can see the way your mind is reeling behind the uncertainty in your eyes. His jaw tenses painfully as he waits.

 

Finally, you give an unsteady sigh. You shake your head in the hold of his hand and your shoulders lift in a shrug. "I'm not sure how to explain it," you whisper. "I feel… No, that's not right…" Your lip catches between your teeth again and your nostrils flare a little as you try to draw in a steadying breath. "I'm not feeling how…I should be."

 

His hold on your chin relaxes a bit and he softly brushes his thumb against your cheek. "How do you think you should be feeling?" 

 

Your brow furrows as you take another deep breath.  "Relieved, I guess," you say. With your chin still in his hand, your eyes drop down to the center of his chestplate. "Comfortable," you add, and then pause. "Happier," you finish in a whisper as your hand lifts and your fingertips trace the lozenge-shaped centerpiece of his armor, the Mandalorian Iron Heart.

 

Din releases your chin, swallowing hard. His hand captures yours and holds it against his chest. Before he can say anything in response though, you look up at him again and sigh softly, words spilling out. 

 

"But I'm… I feel numb. Sometimes there’s fear, or sadness, or anger…," you whisper. "But mostly I just feel numb.  Then there are brief moments where I'll feel what I think I should. But it's over so fast and I'm just… empty again." Your free hand lifts to lightly touch your necklace. "Like when I found this… I should have been elated. And for a moment, I almost felt it. But then it was gone…" Your words finally drift off and you bite your lip again, eyes dropping once more to where your hands are joined against his chestplate. 

 

His head cants to the side again. "Maybe that's just the e-bacta still working out of your system, Sweetling."

 

It takes a moment for you to respond with a shake of your head. "It's not. I've been feeling this… disconnect for a while," you say, your fingers curling and uncurling beneath his gloved hand. "When…" You pause again, seeming to search for the words.  "After Naboo, I was… a wreck for a few of days."

 

Din's jaw tenses and he squeezes your hand in his, waiting and watching the frustration playing across your face. 

 

"Then, I realized I couldn't let that keep happening, or I wouldn't make it long on Nar Shaddaa. So, I pushed it all down," you say, voice getting soft and strained.  You don't look up at him as you speak, just staring at your intertwined hands still. "I couldn't… let myself feel or let myself think about it all. About everything lost," you whisper. "So, I didn't. Most of the time."

 

When you glance up at Din's helmet he gives you a slight nod in understanding, trying to ignore the ache taking up residence in his chest at your words.

 

You bite the corner of your lip, glancing around the cockpit. "I guess I hoped coming back here would fix all that," you say. "That I would just be able to let go and feel normal again." Your voice trembles a little as you shake your head. "But I don't.  I…"  Finally, your eyes settle back on the T-shaped visor. "Have you ever known someone who lost a limb, and they said they can still feel it sometimes?"

 

That ball of dread in Din's stomach has doubled in size by now and he takes a steadying breath as he nods.

 

"It's like that," you whisper. "I look around here…I look at you…and I know what I should be feeling. I remember how it felt. But now…I-I can't seem to find it again. Even though I want to."

 

A blaster shot to the gut probably wouldn't tear at Din as much as hearing you say that does. And he doesn't think he's ever been so grateful for the helmet hiding whatever pained expression is likely crossing his face as his teeth clench. 

 

He takes a few breaths, working to keep the ache out of his voice as he lifts the hand that isn't holding yours, to lightly touch your cheek. 

 

"You've been through Hell, Cyar’ika," he manages to say steadily.

 

Your lip is caught between your teeth again as you nod. "And I-I'm scared I'm just broken now, because of it."

 

Din swallows hard and pulls you in close, notching your head under his chin. You're tense at first, but then you relax in his arms, letting your arms slip around him. "You're not broken, Sweetling," he says as firmly as he can. "Give yourself time. We'll get through this, too… I promise."

 

 

You hold onto him, letting the baritone of his voice wash over you. Eyes closed, air fills your lungs slowly as you inhale and try to let his words sink into you, grasping at the hope. 

 

With each equally slow exhale, you also try to lean further into the safety of his arms.  But frustration quickly starts to poke at you and your brows knit together as you pull your head back from him. 

 

His head tilts down and to one side slightly as he looks at you. 

 

Nibbling at your lip, your fingertips drum a sporadic pattern on his chestplate.  "Can I…" You pause, concern filling your mind at the possibility of overstepping. 

 

At your hesitation he catches your chin and lifts it so he can meet your eyes. "What, Sweetling?"

 

"I'm tired of… the feeling of unfeeling metal," you whisper, pressing your lips into a line and giving him an anxious look.

 

The words are barely past your lips though before he's stepping back and tugging off his vambraces. He tosses them onto the jumpseat to the left of the door, where the foundling is usually strapped in. They're quickly followed by almost everything else, until he's only wearing his helmet, boots, and armorweave over base layers.

 

Then he spreads his arms out to you in invitation. 

 

Your eyes dart over his familiar, broad frame for a moment, before a tiny smile forms and you step back into the warm circle of his arms. He envelopes you, resting his chin on your head again, as you nuzzle against his shirt. Armorweave isn't exactly soft, but it's better than the armor itself right now. 

 

His bared fingers comb through the locks of your hair, caressing down the curve of your neck. The tender touch makes something inside your chest and stomach quiver and your breath catch.

 

For a little while, you're quiet and still in his arms, your mind flitting around.  Your head rises and falls with each breath he takes and you close your eyes to listen to the thu-thump of his heart. 

 

When he speaks this time you can feel the vibrations of it under your cheek, and the familiar feeling makes your lips curve upward a little again.

 

"Is there any way I can help, Cyar’ika?"

 

You mull over that for a moment, licking your lips and then rubbing them together in thought. After a few moments, you lift your head and lean back a little in his arms to look up at his helmet. 

 

Your eyes dance over the T-shape of the dark visor, and then over the angular lines of the beskar. Finally you settle your gaze on the cross-section, where you think his eyes are. 

 

"D-do you trust me, Din?"

 

His arms, still wrapped around your waist, tighten a little around you. "Of course, Sweetling. Why do ask that?"

 

The tip of your tongue darts across your lips again and you take a slow breath to steady your nerves. "Because I'd like you to kiss me," you say, "but… I can't handle a blindfold right now. Or a dark room." When his head cocks to the side questioningly you shrug, as if the reasoning isn't a big deal. "They kept sticking me in a tiny… pitch black room.  For days. It's called an Isolation Box."

 

He mutters a curse under his breath. 

 

You shrug again, babbling on a little. "So… I need to know I can turn away and open my eyes to see around me, if necessary," you add, the words coming quickly now as your eyes drop to look at your hands resting against his chest again. "I would never want to endanger your Creed, so I swear I won't look at your face.  If you can trust me-" 

 

Din’s hand lifts and he presses the end of his index finger against your lips, cutting off your continued fountain of words. 

 

You look up at him in surprise, your brows lifting again.

 

There’s a faint chuff that escapes the helmet as it slants to the left.  “Can I answer?”

 

Your lips press together and a light flush touches your cheeks as you nod.

 

With another soft laugh he steps back, pulling you with him.  He sits down in the pilot’s chair and tries to gently tug you into his lap.  You resist the pull at first and he looks up at you curiously as you chew on your lip, but then you finally settle onto his lap.  One of his arms circles your waist and the other lifts to trace his fingers over your brow bone and then softly down your nose.

 

The unexpected, tender touch makes you nibble at your lip and your eyes flutter.

 

“Sweetling, on Rodia,” he says and then pauses at the way your eyes suddenly snap back to attention and settle on his. “Did you think that I had never considered a blindfold before?” he asks.

 

Your head jerks back slightly, as if he had flicked you on the forehead.  “Oh… um… well, I didn’t really think about it like that at all.”  You pause.  “And I’m glad I didn’t.”

 

The helmet tilts again.

 

You shrug.  “If I had, I probably would have thought you disregarded the option at some point… because it wouldn’t protect your Creed. Then, I would have been out of ideas."

 

He nods slightly as he brushes a few stray strands of hair from your eyes. “That would have been a logical thought.”

 

You swallow around a lump in your throat at the memory of Rodia and a faint scowl pulls down your brows.  “So…if that wasn't it…” you say, nudging him to continue.

 

His hand stills, fingers resting on the side of your neck and thumb caressing your cheek.  “It was because I couldn’t trust anyone with the idea.”

 

After a few blinks, your frown softens and your expression turns curious.

 

The pad of Din’s thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, before moving back to your cheek. His broad shoulders shrug a little.  “There have been a few other women, Sweetling. Not many, and nothing that meant anything, but a few…” He pauses, and you can feel his frown as he studies your face.  “Do you want to hear this?”

 

As your hand lifts to rest on the back of his, you nod slightly.  “Yes. You’ve got me curious now,” you say with a faint smile.

 

He chuffs slightly and nods the helmet.  “Okay. Well, there was one, a Twi'lek. She was part of a… questionable crew I worked with for a while."

 

That makes your brows arch and then you smirk. "If I knew you had a thing for Twi'leks, I would never have involved Ji'anna again…" A faint squeak passes your lips when he lightly pinches your side. 

 

The laughter that escapes you is brief, but it feels good and you try to grasp at it. It fades quickly though and your expression softens.

 

"Brat," Din mumbles, getting a slight smirk in response. "Anyway, Xi'an was the one who… let's say she helped me… learn some things about myself," he says, voice taking on a somewhat hesitant note. 

 

You quirk a brow again, the ghost of another smirk playing across your lips. "Oh… So, she’s the one I have to thank for the delayed gratification, hm?"

 

Din goes still for a moment. You can feel his narrowed stare through the visor.  Then he laughs again, resting his head back against the pilot's seat and giving it a rueful shake.

 

The sound of his laugh brings a tightness to your chest and a dryness to your mouth that you swallow against. You had missed it, you realize, even if you never let yourself think about it over the past several weeks.

 

Clearing your throat, you tap lightly on his chest and give him a thin smile when his visor levels on you again. 

 

"What does Xi'an have to do with the blindfold?" you ask.

 

He's quiet for a moment, looking down at your hand on his chest and then he catches it with his larger one. 

 

"She wanted to use one," he began. "At first I kept putting her off, but she kept asking until – being young and dumb– I agreed." There's a slight wry chuckle at that. "But, when I put it on her, something still didn't feel right. So, I unlatched my helmet so it would sound like I'd taken it off, but I didn't." He hesitates again and you can feel the glance he gives your face. "Then, as I was… touching her… I saw her nudge the cloth aside to look up at me."

 

A shocked heartbeat passes before your eyes widen and your brows shoot up towards your hairline.  Then they drop and a deep scowl creases the space between them instead. 

 

"Bitch…" you state.

 

Din chuckles again, giving a single nod in agreement. "That may be the nicest term I used for her that night."

 

Your lips purse together for a second before you snort a soft laugh.  "I'm guessing that was the end of that?"  

 

Another nod. "Yes. The crew and I had a… falling out, shortly after. For the best. For many reasons."

 

You chew at your lip for a moment, curious but not pressing the questions. 

 

"After that, I decided I'd never blindfold a partner again, since it would be so easy for them to lie and still try to look at me," he says. His fingers come up to your chin and his thumb traces the lower line of your bottom lip. "By the time you and I… became involved, I never let myself even consider it."

 

The tip of your tongue darts across your lips after the pass of his thumb and you nod a little. "I suppose that makes sense," you say.  A soft scowl crosses your face then and you look down at the bottom edge of his visor rather than at the cross-section. "I- I'm sorry I took that choice away from you," you murmur. 

 

A huff escapes Din at that and he urges your chin back up for you to meet his gaze. "You're missing the point, sweet girl."

 

You blink up at him in confusion. 

 

"You spent days wearing that blindfold to avoid seeing my face, even though I couldn't have known the difference," he says, his voice going a little thick. "And then you proved you hadn't seen me…" he pauses and chuckles, "...when you were surprised by my mustache."

 

That memory gets a brief snicker out of you and brings warmth into your cheeks. 

 

"So, yes, Sweetling," he continues, voice serious again as he leans his head forward to press his helmet to your forehead, "I trust you. As far as I'm concerned, the blindfold or turning off the lights is just precautionary, so you don't have to worry about it…when there are much better things to focus on."

 

He's smirking by the end of that statement. You can hear it. And you can’t help the fleeting smirk that tugs at the corner of your own mouth.

 

 

Din has watched your face carefully throughout the entire conversation, gauging your reactions. 

 

Each brief smile, smirk, or laugh gives him a little hope.  Despite your concerns about feeling numb, he can see the real you come out in those fleeting moments. They don’t linger or come on as easily to you as they did before, but at least they are there.

 

And if that’s all you can give right now… well, he’ll take whatever he can get and hold on to some hope that it will get better.

 

It’s only been a couple of days, after all, and you slept through most of that.

 

Your chin lifts towards him then, the latest smirk fading away as your gaze seeks his through the visor. The way you nip at the corner of your lip is so familiar that it spreads a bit of warmth across his chest.

 

“Kiss me, Din?” you whisper.  

 

Plead.

 

Without hesitation, his hand rises up to the latch of his helmet and he smiles when your eyes immediately close. The helmet hisses in his ears as he pushes it up and then his lips are brushing against yours before he’s even brought the helmet down to rest in your lap.

 

Your hands wrap around the cold beskar without even thinking about it as you lean into him, your breath stuttering across his skin.

 

Releasing the helmet, Din brings his hand back up to curl against the side of your neck as he kisses you. It takes every bit of control in him to hold back; to not just crash into you at the first touch of your lips after so long.

 

You sigh softly and relax a little against him.

 

His fingertips caress the curve of your neck as his head slants and his lips mold over yours. When the tip of his tongue traces the seam of your lips, you open to him, and he tenderly sweeps his tongue into the warmth of your mouth.

 

A whimper escapes you into the kiss, and Din can’t help his own quiet moan at the familiar taste of you.

 

Then you gasp and pull back, your chin dropping down towards your chest as your fingers curl around the hard edges of the helmet in your lap.

 

Din freezes, breath shuddering as he watches you. 

 

 

You stare down at your hands against the shining beskar, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat as you draw in a trembling breath.  

 

Silent moments stretch out between you, only broken by unsteady breaths.

 

“I’m sorry,” Din says gently as his fingers curl against the nape of your neck.

 

You shake your head a little, your hair tumbling around your face.  “No,” you murmur, searching for the words, “please, don’t apologize.  It… I…”  As you wet your lips, your breath catches at the lingering taste of his kiss. 

 

You take a steadying breath, close your eyes, and lift your chin up again. Your words come out in a whisper with your brows drawn together. “It’s just been so long since… since anything felt good, Din.  It was just a lot… for a moment.”  Your voice trails off as you nibble at the corner of your lip, a flush creeping up into your cheeks.

 

Din’s hold on the back of your neck shifts so he can brush his thumb across your cheek.  “I understand, Sweetling,” he rumbles. “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

 

A shuddering breath lifts your chest.

 

“What if… what if I’d like you to?” you breathe out.

 

A few heartbeats pass and Din is very still.  Then his fingers capture your chin and he lifts it, leaning his head down. His mustache and the stubble on his chin brush your skin, making you shiver, as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

 

“Are you sure, sweet girl?” he murmurs against your skin. “I’d love nothing more than to make you feel good again. But, I don’t want to do anything too soon.”

 

You allow yourself a moment to consider, nibbling at the corner of your lip.  Then, you let go of his helmet with one hand to lift that hand upward.  Your fingertips find his chest and then follow up the line of his neck to card into his hair.  Your touch leaves goosebumps on his skin in its wake.

 

With a shuddering breath, you turn your head to let your lips find the corner of his again. “Please, Din,” you say softly.  “I need to feel something… other than numb, or angry…or hurt.  And I-I want to feel you.”

 

A groan comes up in his chest then, and Din lets himself give in.

 

He pushes his helmet off of your lap, making you jump a little as it clangs on the floor.  A faint laugh tumbles past your lips, until his mouth claims yours again.

 

You surrender to that kiss, whimpering softly as he lifts you off of his lap and pushes to his feet, holding you against his chest without breaking away.  Then he’s turning, setting you down on the pilot’s seat instead and he’s leaning over you.  His calloused hands cup your cheeks and your hands rest on his wrists as he kisses you deeply, exploring your mouth as if he needs to relearn every bit of it.

 

When he finally pulls back, to let you both catch your breath, his forehead rests against yours. “Maker…I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.

 

Something in your chest squeezes and you swallow hard, biting your lip. “I-I missed you too,” you whisper.

 

Then he’s kissing you again and your head swims.

 

Before you realize it, Din has moved you again, pulling your hips to the edge of the seat so you’re leaning back into it.  And you can feel as he kneels in front of you.  All the while, he keeps kissing you, occasionally shifting to mouth along your jaw and neck, but never straying from your lips for long.

 

Calloused hands glide up your thighs, under the hem of the oversized shirt that you are still wearing.  

 

No, he realizes during a break in those desperate kisses, this is a different shirt.  The thought of you stealing another of his shirts, before coming up to the cockpit, makes him grin. 

 

His fingers curl into the waistband of your panties then and he drags them over your hips and down your legs, slow enough to allow you to stop him if you decide it’s all too much.

 

Nothing could be further from your mind now.

 

Your breath trembles into his heated kisses as your fingers bury into his soft curls and you both moan.

 

With your panties discarded, Din finally breaks the kiss and pauses, his mouth hovering over yours. “Tell me… if you need me to stop.  Anytime,” he rasps out as he grips your hips, soft flesh pillowing around his fingers.

 

Biting your lip with a whimper, you nod rapidly. Your brows furrow slightly as you keep your eyes clenched closed.

 

Then, Din finds his way down your body, lingering at sensitive spots to tease you through the thin base layer shirt with kisses and soft nips, drawing trembles and whimpers out of you. When his mouth finally meets your core, your head drops back, and the cry that falls from your kiss-swollen lips bounces off the cockpit’s walls. Warmth and pride swell across his chest. 

 

It is only the firm grip of his hands that keeps you from arching off of the seat as your fingers fist in his hair, making his cock ache.

 

Din takes his time though, despite the desperation you are both showing. He traces your sex with his tongue until you’re panting, like he’s remapping every hill and valley of you: reacquainting himself with your folds, your heated center, and your clit. He looks up to watch your reactions as he tenderly works his mouth against your aching flesh. The way your lips barely part as you gasp, the heave of your breasts beneath his shirt, and the flush invading your cheeks are all intoxicating. 

 

After another slow lick up the slit of your entrance and over your throbbing clit, he draws back to catch his breath. He licks his lips, savoring the taste of you with a groan. 

 

With a soft whimper, you tug at his hair, where your fingers are still tangled. He lets you pull him in, your mouth seeking his eagerly. The low growl that comes up from his chest makes your empty core clench and you moan into his mouth.

 

"Almost forgot how kriffing sweet you taste, Cyar’ika," he says, voice low and husky. "And… Maker… how good you sound."

 

He releases your right hip, as he murmurs those soft praises, and slips his hand between your thighs. Rough fingertips drag through your slick folds until you're rocking desperately against his touch. 

 

"D-d-dank farrik," you stutter out, trembling with need. Then you moan out his name as he slowly presses a single, thick digit into your quivering sex. 

 

Din rests his forehead against yours and his eyes dance over your face, watching every twitch of muscle and every stuttered breath you take.  He can see how your eyes roll back beneath your eyelids at the penetration, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. 

 

He presses a soft kiss over each eyelid and then against your lips as his finger moves in you. Your soft gasp against his mouth makes him smile. 

 

"You're so fucking pretty, Sweetling, coming apart for me," he rasps out softly.  

 

You mewl into the kiss as Din's lips slot over yours again, his tongue darting against yours with the lingering taste of your arousal. Your nails rake across his scalp, drawing a groan out of him, as your other hand releases the chair's arm.  You reach for his arm instead, gripping his forearm and feeling the way the muscles flex under your fingers as his hand works between your thighs. 

 

Stars dance against your eyelids when he slips a second thick finger into you and you whine into his mouth. They plunge into your fluttering cunt again and again, curving to stroke that devastating spot within you until you can hardly breath.

 

"That's it, Cyar’ika. Good girl," he breathes against your skin, his lips trailing along your jaw. "Give in to it, Sweetling…"

 

The meat of his palm grinds against your clit as he pushes his fingers deep into you, stroke after stroke.  And when his teeth find that tender spot below the hinge of your jaw the tension in your belly snaps.

 

Those stars burst behind your eyes as you clench them tighter and throw your head back, a keen tearing out of you. Din's baritone fills your ears with groaned praise as you moan out through the orgasm, clinging to him with each wave of pleasure that sweeps through your body. 

 

He strokes those long digits into your core through your climax, watching the way your face and body tense with each swell. 

 

Just when you think it might be too much, his fingers pull from you, and yet you whimper at the loss.  His soft chuckle sends another shiver down your spine. 

 

And then he's gone, pulling back from you completely. 

 

Your breath stutters and you whine, reaching out for him. You almost open your eyes to see where he is going, but the tiny bit of your brain that is still able to think barely stops you in time. 

 

He only leaves you for a few moments and, after some rustling of fabric, he's gently picking you up from the chair. You give a soft squeak in surprise, which makes him chuff again, and then you've completely lost a sense of where you are as he moves you.

 

At least until he's lowered you to the cockpit floor. Your fingers find cloth beneath you, a barrier against the cold metal, and your lips curve into a soft smile at the familiar feeling of his cape.

 

After carefully stripping you of the procured shirt, Din settles over you, claiming your lips in another kiss with his arms braced on either side of your shoulders. 

 

With a quick dance of your fingers over his shoulders and chest you find he's removed his armorweave and base layer shirt, and the slight cushion under your head makes sense. It brings a soft smile to your lips. With a lift of your hips though, you can feel the strain of his erection. It's still covered by his base layer pants.

 

You break the kiss, a soft scowl creasing between your brows as you blindly aim a pout up at him. 

 

Din laughs lowly at that pout, tilting his mouth back down to catch your lower lip between his teeth. Your breath hitches at the faint sting of the bite. Releasing you, his lips trail along your jaw again until his teeth scrape the lobe of your ear, making you shiver. 

 

"Should I have assumed, Sweetling?" he purrs into your ear, sending fresh shards of heat spearing through you. 

 

You tilt your head to nip at his jaw, smiling as his breath hitches this time.  "Y-yes," you hiss against his skin, and you're rewarded with another deep chuckle.

 

"Then get them off me," he growls into your ear.

 

With a breathy moan you rake your fingers down his sides, catching the waistband of his pants and the boxers underneath. You push them down his narrow hips, feeling a brief pang of delight at the stuttered breath that escapes him and flutters against your skin as his cock is freed from its confines. 

 

You don't waste any time, desperate need guiding your actions as you take him in your hand. The chest deep groan that comes out of him makes you tremble as you stroke his hard length.  His face buries into the curve of your neck as his body jolts above you. 

 

With your teeth sinking into your lip, you guide him to the cleft of your sex and arch your hips to urge him in. 

 

As Din pushes into you, it's as if air ceases to exist and you can't find it in you to focus on anything except that exquisite, burning stretch. Devoid of any coherent thought, your hands fly up to where his are on either side of your head.

 

Din watches the mix of emotions that flit across your features as he flexes his hips to sink further into your tight, though slick, tunnel.  Your walls clench around him and he groans, intertwining his fingers with yours when your hands find his. 

 

Leaning his head down, he caresses a soft kiss over your lips.  “Breathe, Sweetling,” he murmurs, and smiles as you gasp in a forgotten breath.  “That’s it. Good girl.”

 

You bite your lip and shiver, which tugs a strangled sound out of him. That makes you smile softly, a fresh wave of heat coloring your skin up from your chest and into your cheeks.

 

Despite the need lancing through his body, and every sign you give him of the same, Din takes his time with you again. His body complains, muscles trembling with the restraint, as he gradually pushes deeper into you. Still, he eases into you inch by slow inch, letting you adjust after so long apart and savoring every quiver of your eager pussy around him. Your soft mewls and whimpers urge him to plunge in, to thrust and fill you, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to be the one to cause you any lingering aches right now.

 

But finally his patience is rewarded and he’s seated deep into your pliant flesh, a stuttered groan in his throat. The coarse hair at the root of his cock presses against your tender clit and makes you gasp at the feeling of fullness. Your fingers curl around his rough knuckles and his hands squeeze yours in return, his panting breaths mingling with the sweet, pleading sounds that tumble past your lips.

 

When he moves within you, thrusting almost languidly, you feel as if the heat that sears through you could set the ship around you ablaze.

 

Your nails dig into the back of his hands as your legs wrap high around his narrow hips, opening you up to him more. Arching your hips to meet the steady, slow pace of his thrusts, you mewl wantonly, unable to find the words to beg him for more. 

 

And where Din is normally a man of few words, now he can't seem to stop the husky mumbling that tumbles out. "Dank f-farrik, Cyar’ika… feel so fucking good . So , wet for me. Fit me per-perfectly." His words stutter as he presses his mouth against your neck, face buried in your hair. "S-sweet little thing, take me so well…like I was m-made to fill you up…" 

 

You whimper to spur him on and arch your head back, gasping for breath. When you feel his face bury into your hair, you chance letting your eyes open for just a few moments, taking in the familiar and comfortable sight of the cockpit around you. Then your eyes close again and you cry out huskily as the plowing of his hips punches the air from your lungs. 

 

His steady pace finally begins to quicken, words broken by the occasional grunt as he bites at the curve of your neck and shoulder. "So kriffing perfect, Sweetling. N-never wanna lose you a-again…" he growls out.

 

You tug one hand free of his and reach up to grip at his hair, pulling him away from your shoulder until his lips crush into yours again. 

 

It's not an elegant kiss: a little messy and clumsy as you meet together with intense need, tongues and teeth and lips crashing together. 

 

And then Din's movements falter, that steady pace stuttering.

 

His breath hitches against your lips and Din shifts to brace on one arm. Then he drives his other hand down between your bodies, to where you're joined with scorching heat, and you come undone in an instant as his thumb finds and sweeps over your swollen clit.

 

A keening scream rips from your throat as you bow up from the cockpit floor and Din snarls as you cunt clamps down and flutters around him. Light bursts behind your eyes again and you feel as if you are shattering like glass; the pleasure of the orgasm is so exquisite that it's almost too much, almost painful, and tears slip from the corners of your eyes and down into your hair.

 

Din shudders above you, barely holding it together as you fall apart. 

 

But then when your lips caress against his ear, to whisper trembling words, " P-please, Din… cum. Let m-me feel you, " he breaks, throbbing inside you and cumming with a roar of your name.

 

He barely manages to keep from just collapsing, instead shifting to the side so he's only half draped atop you. 

 

Shivers course through you again and again as you slowly drift down from the orgasmic high.

 

Din lifts his head to look down at you, reaching up to brush sweat-dampened hair from across your face. 

 

Your eyes flutter, but you manage, even with your brain feeling like mush, to remember to keep your eyes closed as you turn your face towards him. Soft lips part in a pant and your tongue darts out across them briefly. 

 

A single, calloused fingertip traces the line of your nose and then across your lips. "How.. are you feeling?" he chokes out. 

 

A tiny smile tugs up the corners of your lips and you swallow against a thick feeling in your mouth. Your head settles back again as you sigh softly. 

 

"Satisfied…" you purr softly, and you can feel his smile when he lifts your hand to press a kiss into your palm. 

 

 

It took a little while but you and Din finally managed to extract yourselves from the tangle of your limbs and the cloth of his cape.  Once his helmet was securely in place again, and he had double checked the flight controls, you both headed down into the cargo hold. 

 

Now, you've finally fallen asleep again, curled up against his side with your head on his chest. For the first time since leaving Nar Shaddaa, you don't seem to be bothered by nightmares. 

 

Din watches you for a while, still marveling at the fact that you're back in his arms. 

 

'Satisfied' you had said, and he was proud of that, to a degree. 

 

Still, if he were to tell himself that he wasn't craving your tender expressions and easy, sweet smiles, he'd know he was lying. 

 

He keeps reminding himself that your recovery from Nar Shaddaa is more complicated than just the physical though.  The mental and emotional damage could very likely take significantly more to heal. 

 

Watching you for any signs of waking, Din carefully lifts his helmet up again. He presses his lips against the top of your head in a gentle kiss.

 

Into your hair, his lips silently form the words he doesn't dare speak aloud yet. Not while you're struggling with every emotion. 

 

I love you, Sweetling.

Chapter 32

Summary:

Hello dearest readers!

I am so sorry for another delayed chapter. Life has been crazy lately. Thank you for your patience with me! I do hope to be posting more regularly again soon.

Part of the reason for the delay: this chapter is a tough one.

I didn't want to gloss over the things that Reader and Din went through during their separation. So, after the (mostly) soft feel of the last chapter, I thought we needed to deal with some rough aftermath. Some bits have been tough to write. And it's not done yet! I was hoping to get us through it all in this chapter but the chapter was getting really long, so I had to find a good spot to cut it off early and turn it into two chapters. At least I have a head start for the next one!

So, this chapter is another angsty one. I'm sorry! The next one will pick up right where this one leaves off and should finally get us to some fluffy fluffy goodness for a while.

Thank you again for bearing with me!

CW: Angst, Drama, PTSD-like symptoms (I think?)

Chapter Text

Things are not going well.

 

In fact, after that night in the cockpit, nothing is going how Din had hoped it would once you were back with him.

 

The rest of the trip to Navarro was so quiet that he had kept checking on you, making sure you were actually there. It was almost as quiet as when you weren’t.

 

You had kept to yourself for the most part, only seeking out his company occasionally and rarely venturing into the cockpit again. He tried to give you the space you seemed to want, but the need to make sure you were there would gnaw at him until he couldn’t ignore it any longer and he had to go down into the hold again.

 

Usually he found you curled up on the bedroll, sometimes asleep and sometimes blankly staring at a corner of the hold. That haunted expression tore him up inside and he’d find himself struggling against hopeless emotions that had rarely touched him before you and the kid came into his life.

 

It was like every one of the emotions that couldn’t seem to touch you were reaching out for him instead.

 

Other times you were sitting on a crate, idly toying with your necklace or with the old book of Sardecian history that you had read to his foundling so often, when you first came onto the ship. He was surprised to see it at first, having forgotten you had it. He wasn’t even sure where you had it stashed all these months. You weren’t actually reading it now, though. Just holding it. Flipping through the pages absent-mindedly. Always with that distant look in your eyes.

 

Not only had you been keeping to yourself, but you were starting to flinch when he approached you, too. It wasn’t every time, but it was often enough that he felt like he was approaching a skittish grantaloupe. And it wasn’t just because he was startling you, like he suspected at first. It also happened when you were looking right at him.

 

And the only time you weren’t quiet for the rest of the trip was when the nightmares haunted you. 

 

The trip back to Navarro took longer than the one from it. The Crest was doing alright after the work done on Nar Shaddaa, but he didn’t want to push it too hard before he had Karga’s mechanics give it a good once over.  So, the previous four day trip was stretched out into seven.

 

And every day was a little more tortuous than the last as you seemed to withdraw into yourself more, only coming out to seek a modicum of physical comfort from him now and then. He was willing to give it, but kriff , you even stopped seeking his help with that by the end of the trip, and he didn’t know how to pull you back out of the dark places in your mind.

 

 

That darkness withdrew briefly when the Crest reached Navarro. You had leapt down from the boarding ramp before it finished opening, as soon as you saw Cara approaching with a smile on her face and the foundling squirming in her arms. 

 

You ran to them, pulling the little one from her arms and hugging him close to your chest.

 

Little, clawed fingers dug into your shirt and the kid snuggled into your arms, babbling happily.

 

It took him a moment to realize it but Din was grinning as he walked up beside you, relief nudging at the edge of his mind to see such a reaction from you.

 

It was also good to see his kid looking so happy again after so many weeks of missing you.  Cara even seemed to notice the change in the little one’s demeanor, grinning at Din over your heads.

 

When she mouthed the words ‘ How is she?’ to him, all he could do was give her a shrug. She nodded in return, seeming to understand.

 

You pressed your forehead against the kid’s green, wrinkled one as you held him close, murmuring softly to him. His claws released your shirt and he lifted his little hands to rest them on your cheeks, babbling back at you with incoherent words. 

 

Your soft smile in response had Din’s chest tightening.

 

You were still in there… somewhere.

 

Swallowing thickly, Din stepped closer. He chose to ignore the way you grimaced when he did. He wasn’t even sure if you realized you were doing it.

 

“Would you like to know his name?” he asked gently.

 

It seemed to take a moment for his words to register and you blinked rapidly, lifting your head to look up at him with confusion dancing across your features. “What?” you squeaked out. “His name? How did… when…?” 

 

He chuckled softly. “I can tell you the story now –which is a bit long– or I could tell you his name and explain later.”

 

You glanced down at the kid and then looked back up at Din. “What’s his name?”

 

He hesitated for a second. “I’ll whisper it to you.”

 

After a moment of your own hesitation, you nodded. Still, when Din leaned in close to you, your body tensed, and he had to bite back a frustrated sigh before he whispered into your ear.

 

As he stepped back again your eyebrows lifted upward. Your eyes turned down to the kid, who was looking up at you curiously. After an incredulous glance at Din, you canted your head at the little one and spoke softly.

 

“Grogu?”

 

Big wing-like ears perked up high and an excited “Eeh?” came out of the little one.

 

Your jaw dropped open a little at that and the halting huff of a laugh escaped you. A shaky smile came to you then. “Grogu,” you said his name again, a little louder, though strained.

 

Grogu perked up again and babbled up at you excitedly.

 

Giggling faintly, you hugged him to you again and rested your forehead against his once more, repeating his name several times with that smile pulling up the corners of your mouth. He gave a happy burble each time you said it. 

 

Din let a soft sigh slip out with a faint smile as he watched the two of you together. You hadn’t been this animated since the night you woke up from the haze of the E-bacta.  

 

It was good to see that hint of life in you again.

 

Even if it didn’t last.

 

 

A couple weeks after arriving on Navarro, things finally come to a head.

 

You are at Cara’s, even though the Marshall is gone for work. Din had left you here for a short, one-afternoon job that took him to a near-by planet for Karga. Grogu is playing on the floor of the common room and you are sitting on the couch, just watching him.

 

Watching his happy playing gives you fleeting moments of warmth within your chest, so you’ve found yourself doing nothing more than watching him for hours at a time over the last several days. You know this isn’t normal, but you can’t help grasping at the momentary feelings.

 

When Din walks in, returning from that short job, you give him a soft nod in greeting.

 

He stops next to Grogu and crouches down to say hello to the foundling. Grogu gleefully shows off the toys he’s playing with; an array that Cara and Karga had gotten for him when Din had dropped him off with them to go find you. The fact that Cara is now keeping toys for a toddler at her home did manage to amuse you.

 

After greeting the little one, Din pushes back up to his feet and steps over to the couch to greet you. 

 

And despite the fact that you had told yourself it was going to stop, you still flinch as he sits down beside you.

 

The reaction has been getting worse, even though you war with yourself over it.

 

A hard sigh passes the modulator of his helmet. He noticed the involuntary movement. You had hoped he wouldn’t, but you know better than to think that was likely.

 

There is a moment of strained silence before Din takes a deep breath and twists on the couch to face you. He lifts his arm to brace on the back of the couch behind you and you can feel his eyes searching your profile.

 

When he says your name, soft but firm, your jaw clenches and you swallow hard before looking over at him.

 

He takes another slow breath, a slight tilt to his head as he studies you. “Do you…” -he pauses for a moment when his voice breaks slightly, and he clears his throat- “Would you like me to transfer your contract to Cara?”

 

A coldness creeps across your skin and your mouth works open and closed a few times before you find your voice. “W-what?” you stutter out, your brows peaking as you stare back into the opaque visor. “No! Din, no…” 

 

With a huffing sigh, his helmet drops forward until it tinks against his chestplate. After a heartbeat, he shakes his head slightly.  “You can’t stand to have me near you anymore, Sweetling.” His head ticks up just enough to meet your eyes again. “You flinch every time I come close.” 

 

A stuttered breath escapes you and you bite your trembling lip hard enough for it to turn white. Your eyes drop to your hands in your lap. “I know,” you whisper. “I-I don’t mean to.”

 

Reaching up, Din tugs his cowl and cape loose so he can rub his hand against the side of his neck. They drop onto the couch behind him. “I never thought you did it on purpose; but that doesn’t change the fact that you do.” A heavy sigh comes out as he stretches his neck to one side. “I don’t want to force you to stay with me if you don’t…feel s-safe with me anymore,” he chokes out.

 

Your eyes snap up to him, and your breath stutters. “That’s…that’s not it, Din.”

 

His eyes level on you again and you fidget after a moment under the intensity of his gaze, despite the visor hiding it. “That’s hard to believe, Sweetling,” he says, and with the strain in his voice you can tell he’s trying to keep his tone gentle despite his frustration. “Especially when you’re okay if we're having a conversation across a room, but the moment I step close to you… you jerk like I’m a charging beast.”

 

A sting comes to your eyes and your lip trembles. You sigh, additional frustration coming to your mind for a moment. You know you’re not likely to cry despite the feeling pricking at your eyes, since you still haven’t cried; other than in your tortured sleep, apparently. Somehow, you feel like if you could just cry, it might help fix so many things. 

 

Pushing that frustration aside, you focus on the current harrowing issue.

 

You know he’s right. Most of the time you can talk to him, when he’s able to tug your attention out of your own head. You’ve had several conversations over the last couple weeks. Some were difficult: like when you explained how Starick was the one that took you from Naboo, or when Din told you about how he and Grogu met more Mandalorians, but they didn't follow the Creed he does. Some were easier: like getting to hear about the Jedi woman and how Din learned Grogu’s name. The fact that you still feel that physical draw to him, still want him when he’s standing across the room, hasn’t helped as things have gradually changed when it comes to any closeness. You can’t seem to prevent the way you tense or flinch when he comes near.  

 

It all just compounds the empty feeling in you every time you realize it happens.

 

You can see how it hurts him, from the set of his shoulders or the cant of his head. From the faint stutter of his breath, if he’s close enough for you to hear it. It’s doubtful that anyone else would notice it, past the stoic Beskar. 

 

But you see it.

 

And the hollowness swallows you up a little bit more each time.

 

With another stuttering sigh, you look up at him and try to find the words to ease his mind.

 

They fail to come once again.

 

Huffing a sigh, Din grabs his cape and cowl, shoves up from the couch, and stalks across the room.  Arms crossed over his chest with the cape gripped in one hand, he leans back against the wall. Then, he levels a look at you again, waiting.

 

You swallow against a tightness in your throat, hating how the muscles of your back are able to relax once he puts distance between you.

 

After several drawn out moments, he's the one to break the silence again, voice strained. “Sweetling, I need you to say something, because I don’t know how to make this better for you, other than…" -he stops again, his voice seeming to fail him for a moment– "other than giving you up.”

 

You've never heard his voice break so much, and it claws at that place in your chest that used to fill up with warmth so easily. 

 

Looking down at Grogu for a moment, who is looking back and forth between the two of you with curiosity and concern, Din clears his throat roughly. "We can't keep going like this. The ship is too small for us to avoid one another," he grinds out, "and the more I leave you behind here, without transferring the contract, the more it puts you in danger again."

 

Biting at your lip, your head moves in a miniscule nod and you take a few shallow and shaking breaths. A panic is starting to rise up in your chest. 

 

That is not a helpful emotion to suddenly show up.

 

“You’re right. W-we can’t keep this up,” you finally manage to stammer out. “And I don’t want things to stay like this.”

 

You pause as his head lifts and cocks sharply.

 

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you force yourself to take a deep breath through your nose. Then the air hisses when you exhale slowly through barely parted lips. Darting your tongue over your lips, you look at him again as steadily as you can.

 

“I hope you know…how much I appreciate how patient you’ve been with me,” you say, a slight tremor to your words. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

 

His physical reaction to your words is minimal, but you can see the way the muscles of his stomach tighten beneath his armor padding, and the way his throat bobs as he swallows harshly. When he pushes off the wall and tugs his cape around to put it and the cowl back on, giving a jerky nod, you would almost swear his hands are trembling.

 

It’s so surprising, that your next words are caught in your throat.

 

Oh, Maker… he thinks I want the transfer.

 

 

It feels as if the air is blasted out of his lungs at your agreement, like the broken seal of an airlock, and it burns within his chest. He clenches his jaw to keep it steady, though he can’t seem to do the same with his damn hands, as he refastens his cape and tries to ignore a roaring sound that’s filling his head.

 

Kriff… How the fuck can I…?

 

He draws in a breath, blinking rapidly as he finishes securing the cape. With another sharp nod to you, he steps away from the wall and turns towards the door. “I’ll…find Cara,” he chokes out, silently cursing the hitch in his words.

 

As he’s about to reach the door, your hand grips his bicep and he jolts in surprise. His helmet snaps down towards you, over his shoulder, and you flinch a little again, but you don’t pull back. He hadn't even heard you move, past that roaring sound in his ears, and for a moment all he can do is stare at your fingers, buried in the fabric of his armorweave sleeve.

 

It’s the first time you’ve sought out to touch him in at least a week.

 

When his gaze rises back up, the look of sadness in your eyes is one more gut punch. 

 

It takes another moment for him to get that roaring in his ears to quiet enough for him to make out your words. You're repeating them, somehow knowing that he didn't hear you the first time. 

 

“I don’t want you to transfer my contract, Din.”

 

A stuttered huff escapes him before he can catch it. “You don’t?”

 

You shake your head, your lip quivering.

 

“Then what do you want, Sweetling?” he asks, reaching across his chest to press his hand over yours on his biceps. 

 

Hurt flashes across your eyes as you try again to find an answer and struggle to.

 

At your hesitance he groans softly, his head dropping down towards his chest again. When he lifts it a moment later, he turns towards you very slowly, so he doesn’t startle you. This time you don’t flinch, even when he leans in to let his helmet rest against your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed after a moment.

 

“Cyar’ika,” he says softly, “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You know that, right?”  He pauses as you give a tiny nod. Then his voice dips into a strained whisper. “Say the word, Sweetling, and I’d… I'd yank this helmet off and never wear it again, if you think it would actually help…”

 

Your breath audibly hitches at that and your eyes snap open wide to look up at him. They seem to search through the dark transparisteel for his eyes with rapid movements, shock written across your face.

 

In a moment of desperation, pain from the last several weeks gripping at his chest, Din wonders if being able to look you in the eyes might really help. 

 

He doesn’t even realize he has started reaching up towards the helmet until your hands catch his and you pull them into your chest. Once he realizes it, his whole body goes still.

 

Dank Farrik…

 

A silent sob wracks your chest as you hug his hands to you and press your forehead against the top of his helmet’s faceplate, shaking your head fiercely.  When you look up at him again, tears are rimming your eyes and a single drop threatens to tumble over your lashes.

 

“N-no, Din… don’t…”

 

He turns his hands in yours to curl his fingers around your smaller hands. “ What then?”

 

Your lower lip catches between your teeth as you take another deep breath.  Then, swallowing hard again, you lift your chin and press a soft kiss against his visor.

 

“Can you give me… two days?” you whisper. “Please? Take Grogu with you back to the Crest and-and give me two days to find… to figure out something to try to fix this." 

 

Din hesitates. "You want me to leave you here for two days?" he asks, in a voice so low it's nearly another whisper. 

 

You barely nod in answer, your lips pressing into a line and your eyebrows knitting together.

 

The very idea of leaving, with things still so broken, makes him feel sick to his stomach.

 

Kriff, how could I have thought that I could just walk away from her?

 

Finally, after another hard swallow, he gives a stilted nod. “Okay, Sweetling. If you think it will help. Two days,” he says, sounding steadier than he expected to.

 

 

Several days later you are wandering through the vendor stalls in a town square on Myrkr, doing your best to enjoy the lovely, late afternoon.  

 

The small, temperate planet –less than a day away from Navarro– is pretty, you’ve decided. Warm, gentle breezes kiss your skin and remind you of early autumn back on Sardecia. The sun has started to dip towards the horizon and you can just barely see the tops of green trees illuminated in a nearby forest, over the stone wall that surrounds the town. The vendor festival around you is full of an array of colors, branching out from the square down a few different streets.

 

Thankfully it isn’t overly busy at this time. Most of the locals have gathered at a few of the food halls, or back at their homes, for an evening meal. Vendors are starting to close down as you wander, though they are eager to stop and discuss their wares with you.

 

It’s picturesque really, and you feel a pang of regret that the calm feeling will probably be gone by the time you rejoin Din at the Crest. 

 

Why he even decided to ask you along on this hunt is a mystery.

 

It wasn’t to keep an eye on Grogu. Din had left him back on Navarro and asked Karga and Cara’s help again, much to your frustration. You did your best not to show it, but you are fairly sure Din saw right through you.

 

He didn’t need your help with the hunt itself. As soon as he landed outside the gates, he took off into the town and told you he’d be back shortly. Once he did come back, he gathered more gear, left you a bag of credits, and said that you should go explore the city while he was on his hunt. He assured you that you could spend the credits without worry, as he’d stopped by the local magistrate’s office with questions about his quarry and had confirmed that you could make purchases within the town, despite your status.

 

“There’s some kind of event going on in town,” he’d murmured, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “A lot of vendors. Thought you might enjoy it.” Then, with a slight shrug he turned and headed out of the ship.

 

You had watched him go from the top of the ramp, your throat tight.

 

The distance and the awkward silences are gnawing at you both. He is obviously still feeling it, too. Hell, given how your mind and heart have been lately, he’s likely feeling it more.

 

But you’re still waiting on his answer to the suggestion you had made a few days ago.

 

So, you pass the time by wandering. 

 

The town is built outward from the central square, similar to a web. You explored it a little, enjoying the array of architecture. Most of the buildings, whether homes or businesses, are made of stone or concrete. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to what buildings ended up next to one another on the outer edges of the settlement, with three story businesses somehow being next to quaint one story homes. Eventually you ended up in the center of the town, where the layout makes more sense, and now you are meandering as you examine the goods of the eager vendors.

 

After about an hour at the square though, and still not having found anything you wanted to buy, you are seriously considering just heading back to the Crest to watch the sunset and curl up to sleep.

 

There’s a tug on your sleeve then and you spin to find a human boy, about ten years old, looking up at you with wide hazel eyes. You expel the startled breath that had caught in your throat and give him a little smile.

 

“Hello.”

 

The boy pushes a mop of messy brown hair out of his eyes with one hand as he holds up the other one to you. A long strip of black cloth hangs from his small fist.  “He asked me to give this to you,” the kid says with an earnest expression and a sweet, tenor voice.

 

You blink several times, looking at the cloth, as your lungs refuse to take in air yet again.  It is one of the sleeves you had been using before Nar Shaddaa, as a blindfold. Swallowing against a sudden dryness on your tongue, you tear your eyes up to the boy’s cherub face. “Who?” you squeak out.  You already know the answer but still…

 

“Him,” he says, pointing across the square.

 

You follow the direction of that small finger to find Din at an entrance into the square, and your heart suddenly feels like it is in your throat. 

 

He's standing with a shoulder propped against the corner of a building, one booted ankle crossed over the other. His hands are folded and resting on the front of his gun belt.

The opaque visor is trained directly on you. 

 

He looks as impeccable as ever. The only difference from the norm is the other black sleeve from your make-shift blindfold, tied around his right bicep under the pauldron with the mudhorn signet.

 

Your eyes widen at him a little, your mouth trembling just a touch.

 

The beskar helmet gives a slight tilt, questioning.

 

An unexpected wave of warmth dances across your chest, creeping up your neck and into your cheeks. It brings with it something that you haven’t felt in a while.  

 

A hint of excitement.

 

Swallowing hard, you look down at the boy and force the corners of your mouth to tug up into a soft smile. You lean down, bracing your hands on your thighs, to be eye level with him. “Did he say anything else?”

 

The boy nods sharply, looking proud to do his job well. “He said to tell you, ‘Yes’ and ‘Now’.” He pauses. “He also said you’d give me five credits.”

 

You pause and smirk softly, suspecting that Din had already paid the kid for his help from the way the boy’s eyes dart to the side as he says it. A slender eyebrow arches up your forehead. “Did he really?”

 

The boy’s face falls slightly and he sighs, shaking his head negatively.

 

With a faint laugh, you reach out to take the cloth from the boy’s hand. “You shouldn’t try to trick people like that, but I appreciate you admitting to it.” Glancing over at Din, you find him still watching you intently and you take a slow, steadying breath. Then you turn back to the kid, just as the boy’s starting to move away, looking a little defeated. “I’ll tell you what,” you say, and he turns back to look at you with hope in those big hazel eyes, “if you can tie this around my arm so it’s secure, but easy to tug free with my other hand, I will give you those five credits.”

 

He grins up at you and nods eagerly.

 

About a minute later you are straightening up as the young messenger happily darts away with his earned credits, the dark cloth tied around your upper arm.

 

You level your eyes at Din again. He’s straightened up from the wall now, shoulders back and tense as he watches you. You’re not sure, given the distance, but you think you can see the rise and fall of his chestplate as he takes slow, deep breaths.

 

Everything around you seems to fade into the distance as you meet his gaze, until you could almost swear it is only the two of you standing in that square.

 

This intense version of him, danger almost discernibly rolling off of his broad shoulders in waves, is probably the last thing a quarry sees before they find themselves running for their lives.

 

It’s probably terrifying to them.

 

It sends a welcome thrill coursing through your veins.

 

That emotionless, cold helmet moves just barely. An almost imperceptible nod.

 

The faintest of smiles manages to tug up at the corners of your mouth.

 

Then you spin on the toes of your boots and dash down the nearest street at a full run.

 

 

Din’s breath catches in his chest as you turn and sprint away from him, your hair flying wildly behind you.

 

It might have been his imagination –that spark of hope he was barely holding onto anymore– but he could swear he saw a flush of excitement on your face just before you spun away. Maybe even a smile.

 

Every muscle in his body tenses but he holds back.

 

You get an hour head start.

 

 

Din had seemed incredulous back on Navarro. “You have an idea?” he had asked, leaning back against the bulkhead opposite of you.

 

Nodding, you licked your lips nervously as you settled onto the crate nearest to the ladder in the Crest’s hold. Your crate.

 

You had decided to have this conversation on the Crest. Having it in Cara’s house felt awkward, in case she walked in, even though you had confided in her and even discussed possible options for ways to work through the problems you were having. You had gone over several ideas with her. She wasn’t aware of which ones you had decided on but she had agreed on which ones might work for you. Most were definitely not fixes she would try. Then again, you and she are quite different people.

 

“It’s… there’s two parts to it,” you had started, nervously toying with your necklace and the ring on it. “I think they will help us both with problems we’re having, though they're…a little unorthodox.” 

 

His head cocked. “I’m not sure I follow, Sweetling. The only problem I have is that I can barely come near you.”

 

For a moment you just stared at him, nipping at the corner of your lip. Then you took a deep breath and lifted your chin to meet his eyes levelly and tried to sound more confident than you felt. “No. It’s not.”

 

The angle of his helmet’s cant grew sharper.

“Din… you’ve been hovering.”

 

“What?”

 

A sigh blew past your lips. “You’re hovering. Lingering around far more than you ever did before, and it…sometimes it makes it hard to breathe, hard to think. It’s like you can’t leave me alone for more than a few hours. At least, not until I specifically asked for it these last couple of days.” Another sigh escaped you. “And I could see how hard it was for you when I did ask for it.”  Your head tilted a little at him, hair falling across your eyes. “Before Naboo, you would be gone on a hunt for several days at a time if needed, but now you’re taking the simplest jobs that Karga has –jobs meant for the newest hunters– so you don’t have to be gone long. That work is… honestly, it’s beneath you.”

 

You could feel his scowl at that and you quickly lifted a hand to stave off his response. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your work. That’s not what this is. But can you tell me that I’m wrong?”

 

As your hand lowered back into your lap, you watched as he took several breaths and then looked down at the decking, a hand rubbing at the side of his neck. “No,” he said. 

 

You nodded a little, waiting for a moment to see if he would say more.  When he didn’t, you took a deep breath and plunged ahead.  “I think I get it,” you said softly, and his helmet ticked up slightly so you knew he was looking at you again through the top edge of the visor. “I disappeared on Naboo, and you –the best bounty hunter in the galaxy according to Karga– couldn’t find me.”

 

There was a visible twitch in the corded muscles of his neck and you caught the sound of his huffing sigh through the helmet’s modulator. 

 

“No,” he said again, “I couldn’t.”  It sounded like his teeth were clenched painfully tight. “What karking good is a bounty hunter that can’t find and protect the woman h-” Din stopped his thought short there and huffed another sigh, his head dropping down as his arms crossed over his chest. 

 

And everything in you had gone still for several moments then, eyes a little wide. 

 

What had he been about to say?

 

It was a struggle, but you pushed the question away. That sentence could have ended in a number of ways, you convinced yourself, but none of them would matter if you couldn’t get your head straightened out anyway.

 

Licking your lips, you swallowed hard. “That’s why this is important for us both. We both lost… any semblance of control over what was happening when I disappeared. And I think we both need to feel like we have some control again.”

 

Din had shifted uncomfortably, kicking out a lazy foot and sighing as he stared down at the hold’s floor. “Okay. I’m listening. What’s the first part?”

 

Your chest rose as you took a deep breath.

 

“I want you to hunt me.”

 

The visor had snapped back up to your face faster than you could ever recall seeing before.

 

 

The gravel crunches beneath Din’s boots as he strides through the streets of the town –he’d never bothered to find out its name– following the yellow-orange glow of your footprints. The outline of your boots is still visible in his visor’s infrared setting, though it is starting to fade.

 

He can easily spot the places where you slowed to a walk in your escape from him. When you run, you tend to stay on your toes, rarely putting down your entire foot. On the stretches where you slowed the imprint of each boot is whole. However you must have still been going at a brisk pace because the heels of the boot prints are fading faster than the toes, suggesting you were still keeping your weight forward and pushing off quickly.

 

Your trail weaves through several streets and alleyways, doubling back occasionally. You even climbed up and over some debris once, and over a small shed another time. Probably attempting to throw off the signs of your passing.

 

It was a good idea, even if it didn’t work. 

 

Din can clearly see the residual warmth left by your hands on the shed’s roof as you hauled yourself up onto it. He even pauses for a moment to let his gloved hand rest over one of those glowing red outlines.

 

Walking around to the other side of the shed, he finds your side-by-side footprints from where you jumped back down off of the shed. With a soft smirk, he resumes following your trail and even picks up his pace.

 

 

Your heart is hammering in your ears as you run, ducking under tree branches and swatting away buzzing insects. About a hundred feet into the treeline, you pause and brace your hands on your knees to catch your breath. You’ve been running, for the most part, since leaving the city square. 

 

Looking back, through wisps of your now messy hair, you can barely make out the city wall through the trees. The forest started only about twenty feet from the wall.

 

You’re not sure how much space you have actually managed to put between you and Din, especially once you started doubling back and trying to find ways to throw off the sensors he was likely going to use.

 

Then, you remembered a conversation you had with one of the vendors only a little while before Din had sent you that strip of black cloth.

 

The vendor had been showing you carvings he made out of the wood from local trees. They were flecked with bits of metal. When you questioned him, he told you that the planet’s unique trees were known for their unique metal content.

 

Remembering that, you had headed straight for the nearest gate out of the city.  Then you followed the wall for a short way before sprinting into the treeline to where you are now. You are hoping that the high concentration of metal will disrupt the scanners in Din’s helmet.

 

Biting your lip as you straighten, you smile and start weaving through the trees again. This time you move parallel to the wall. You don’t want to lose sight of the town and end up lost, after all. Plus, the sun should be setting soon. Being in an unfamiliar forest in the dark isn't a great idea either, so after putting some more distance behind you, you will head back into town through a different gate. 

 

About thirty minutes pass, uneventfully, when you are startled by a beeping. It makes you jump. You had forgotten about the comlink in your ear.

 

Pausing, you look back the way you had come, eyes searching through the trees for any hint of shining beskar. At another beep in your ear, you lift your hand to press the answer button on the device.

 

Din’s voice sounds strained through the device as he says your name, and you’re not sure if that’s just due to the electronics or if something else is wrong. 

 

“I’m here,” you say softly.

 

“You’re in the trees?”

 

You hesitate, lips pressed together. Is he trying to get information out of you, to find you faster?

 

No, you decide. While discussing your idea,  you had both agreed that the comlink would only be used in case of a problem, or if either of you felt the need to call an end to the hunt. Din had given his word that he wouldn’t even use the new device’s tracking signal unless there was an emergency.

 

“Yes,” you answer finally, eyes scanning the trees and the bits of the wall that you can see. “I hoped they would throw off your helmet sensors,” you admit after another moment of consideration. 

 

"Oh… C-clever girl…" 

 

A smile dances across your lips at the compliment, but fades at the hitch in his voice. 

 

"Come on, Mandalorian," you say softly, your eyes still scanning the trees, "you don't need those to find me..." 

 

The point of this Geroya –the Mando'a word for "near hunt, or play hunt" that he taught you, after you'd presented the suggestion–  was not to successfully evade him. You never believed that was truly possible. It was about you having the chance to try on your own terms, even with the knowledge that he'd still find you anyway. And it was about him knowing that he can find you if he needs to. 

 

When you hear his breath hitch though, your chest tightens with an ache, like every ounce of his self-doubt comes through on that small sound. You hold tight to that concern in your chest for a moment, almost glad to have the emotion well up, even though it's not the most pleasant one. 

 

Nibbling your lip, you look back the way you came, the thought of turning back flitting through your mind, of making it easier. You shove the thought away though. He hasn't called for an end to the game. And you aren't about to question his abilities when he's already doing that enough for you both.

 

Swallowing with that lingering ache, you turn and start to push onward again, angling towards the wall now. The sun must have dipped below the horizon, because the forest is finally getting darker.

 

Your mind reels for a moment and then your brows arch with an idea. 

 

"Of course, I could be wrong," you murmur, as if talking to yourself, though you know he hasn't closed the channel. You duck under a branch and weave through a thick patch of trees as you continue in a contemplative tone. "Maybe the legend behind the bounty hunter isn't more than electronics and impressive gadgets, like I thought."

 

 

Din's jaw clenches as he stands just inside the treeline where the warmth of your footprints disappears.

 

Just like they disappeared on Naboo.

 

The heavy metals in the trees did make his scanners fritz and, after one more attempt to use them, he shuts them off with a sneer.

 

He pauses as your voice comes over the comms again and his lips purse behind the visor as he listens. 

 

Despite his frustration, and the way his heart is hammering with his uncertainty, he can't help a faint chuffing laugh. 

 

"I know what you're doing," he states.

 

"Oh?" you ask, feigning innocence. He thinks he might even hear a bit of mirth in your voice, but that might be wishful thinking. "I don't know what you mean. I'm just surprised. After all the stories I've been hearing for almost a year about your bounties. Here I was, thinking it was your cunning and intelligence that made you so good…"

 

A faint grumble escapes Din, his eyes narrowing as he crouches to search the forest floor.

 

You heard that grumble apparently, because now he's sure you're at least smiling a little on the other end of the line. "But I guess not." Din can picture your nonchalant shrug. "Maybe you're just a droid under all that armor, after all."

 

 

The snarl that comes across the commlink makes you jump a little and spin back the way you had come, eyes darting. 

 

"Now you're just playing with fire, Princess," he growls across the connection and you bite your lip, hard.

 

You're surprised by the quiver that lances down your body: equal parts anticipation and fear, with more than a touch of heat.

 

A soft smile tugs up at the corners of your mouth as your breaths turn shallow and you pivot on your toes to push onward.

 

His head is back in the game. He wouldn't have called you 'Princess' if it wasn't. 

 

And the moniker brings up a mix of emotions in you, just like you suspected it would when you asked him to use it instead of his normal endearments for you.

 

Your faint smile turns into a grin as you spot another archway into the town and pick up the pace.  

 

"Well then, what are you waiting for, Mando?" you practically croon into the comm, before cutting off the transmission and breaking into a run at the treeline.

 

 

You creep along the wall of another alleyway, sticking to shadows as you weave through town again.  

 

It's been about twenty minutes since you made it back into the town and you haven't seen or heard anything from Mando since. Still, something in you tells you that he's close. The hairs at the nape of your neck have been standing on end, heightening your anxious feeling. 

 

Nibbling on your lip, you pause, looking out from the alley across a small street. There's a taller building on the other side, four stories high.  Maybe if you can get up onto it, you can find a better vantage point and spot him in the streets below to decide your next move. 

 

You wait as a small group of teenagers meanders along the road and then you dart across to the opposite alleyway behind them. Searching down the length of the building, you find a safety ladder leading up to the roof like you hoped for, with landings beneath a window on each floor. You study the windows for a moment but all of them are dark. 

 

Hoping the building is just used for businesses, and therefore closed for the night, you begin to climb. 

 

As you clamber over the short wall that surrounds the roof, your breath catches in your throat when something metallic flashes in the moonlight down the road, at the edge of your field of view. You drop behind the wall, clamping your hand over your mouth to keep from making a sound as you go still.

 

You stay like that for a few minutes, willing your hammering heart to quiet so you can listen. Finally, you push up onto your knees to peek over the wall. 

 

A heavy breath huffs out of you when you spot a young man with a shiny new speeder bike stopped at the corner of the road. He is leaning against the bike, which glints in the moonlight any time he shifts his weight, and flirting with one of the girls from the group that had passed you. 

 

Sighing, and laughing faintly at yourself, you creep back from the half-wall and straighten up, to roll your shoulders and stretch your arms. Then, moving closer again in a crouch, you look over the town slowly from the higher vantage point. It turns out this is the tallest building on this side of town, so you can see most of the settlement, aside from a small section blocked by the roof access shed.

 

You make your way along the wall slowly, looking down over the streets and alleyways for any other signs of shining metal.

 

Stepping around the shed to the far side of the roof, a yelp catches in your throat as a leather clad hand clamps over your mouth. The world around you spins until your back thuds into the side of the shed, hard lines of armor press against your body, and the opaque black of the Mandalorian visor fills your vision.

 

“Isn't that lucky?" Mando's modulated voice rumbles. "I get up here for a better view…and you end up coming right to me." There's a pause and you can feel the intensity in his gaze. 

 

" Gar’ner ,” he growls softly as your eyes widen above the glove.

 

A surge of fright races down your spine, along with a wave of heat. You try to push the fear away, clenching your jaw. 

 

"You're mine," Mando husks, translating the Mando'a victory declaration. 

Chapter 33

Summary:

We pick up where we left off, with Reader caught by Mando.

Now, having worked on Mando's issues from the separation, they need to see what they can do about Reader's issues.

CW!!! - This chapter gets more intense with dom/sub themes and a long consensual non-consent scene (CNC). Included: forced touching, forced orgasm, fighting back, dirty talk. If scenes that play with the concept of non-consent or force bother you (though these two ARE consenting), please proceed with caution. This is probably going to be the most intense these two get.

***EDIT!!! I am adding bolded and underlined asterisks to note where the CNC portion begins and ends, for my lovely readers that do not want to read that. I'm putting them in after the build-up, but before the actual CNC smut starts, and then immediately after the smut ends. That way you should have most of the general context for what happens afterwards.***

There's also angst and a bit of fluff. If I've missed any warnings, I apologize. Please let me know.

After this chapter, we're getting back to fluffier stuff!

If you'd like to chat with me (about the story, the show, or whatever!) I'm on Tumblr as Keeshya6!

Thank you for reading!

Chapter Text

"You're mine," Din repeats in another low growl. 

 

His gaze is locked on yours through the visor's dark transparisteel, and the fear in your eyes almost makes him release you.

 

Almost.

 

He doesn't, reminding himself that this was what you wanted; the desperate situation that you said you needed.

 

Still…

 

His hand drops down from your mouth and he slips it around your waist, holding you close to him even as he leans you against the shed wall. The top of his helmet's faceplate rests against your forehead as your eyes dart across the visor and your nose flares with the rapid breaths you take in.   

 

He can feel the subtle vibrations of your trembling as it courses through your body. 

 

"Breathe. Breathe with me," he whispers. "In…" Din takes a deep breath, letting his chest expand so you can feel it. He holds it for a few moments before releasing it.  "...out."  

 

He repeats the slow breaths several times until he can feel you breathing with him and can see a bit of the fear fade from your eyes just before you let them close. 

 

Then, lifting his head away from yours, he cocks it to one side as he examines your features: how your eyelids flutter, the way your lips barely part as you focus on steadying your breath, the muscle that ticks in your jaw as you get the trembling under control. 

 

"Keep going?" he asks in a gentle tone.

 

 

"You’re serious?” Din had asked on the Crest, after you’d laid out the details for the second portion of your idea, and after several moments of stunned silence.

 

Lower lip finding its place between your teeth, you nodded, lifting your chin with a resolve you were not sure that you actually felt.

 

You could see his throat bob again as he swallowed. “Why do you think that would help, Sweetling?”

 

Taking a deep breath, you fought the urge to drop your eyes from his. 

 

You knew you were asking a lot of him and the least you could do was meet his gaze. You also knew he meant it when he had said he’d do anything to help. Nonetheless, asking him to do something he had previously said he would not do, is asking a lot, and you know it.  

 

But the fact that he didn’t outright refuse likely meant that he was at least willing to consider it.

 

Swallowing against a dryness in your throat, you inhaled slowly through your nose and tried to sort through all of the reasons that you had for coming up with this outrageous notion.

 

“Because I believe most of the problems I'm having –the moments of fear, frustration over little things, the otherwise constant numbness– all stem from two things back on Nar Shaddaa. The first was that I stopped trying to fight back.”

 

His helmet slanted.

 

You were shivering a little as you continued to search for the right words to explain. "I blocked every good thing from my mind, Din, and then eventually I pretty much gave up. Now it’s like there’s a wall there that won’t let the good out or in again. I need that wall to come down. I think the only way for that to happen is for me to reach a breaking point again, but I need the chance to fight back this time." Licking your lips, the words tumbled out of you. "I think I need it, even knowing that I can’t win, just to know that I can try . I couldn't even try back there… because I knew it would get me killed."

 

You watched as his hands clenched into fists by his sides at those words.  

 

"With you…even if I'm fighting back, I know it will never go too far. Because, no matter what fear comes up at that moment, I still know I can trust you.”  You take another steadying breath. “At least, I know it now…when I can think straight. I just need a way to remind that anxiousness inside me of it.”

 

Din stared at you for several moments, arms crossing over his chest.  Then he lifted a hand to rub at the side of his neck as his eyes dropped to the deck between you. "You said there were two things on Nar Shaddaa?"

 

Your lips pressed into a hard line before you heaved a sigh and nodded. "Every time a man with authority walked towards me… it was to hurt me," you said, your voice steadily growing quieter. 

 

His head snapped upward again and you lifted a hand to stop his response. "Logically, Din, I know you won't hurt me. But it's like logic runs away in those moments when I pull back. And it's not just you. I flinched when Karga walked by me yesterday, and he was just talking to Cara."

 

That seemed to placate Din, though not much. His shoulders relaxed a little at least and then he gave you a small nod of understanding. 

 

You started to fidget with your sleeve nervously, and more words fell out in rapid succession. “Please, don’t answer now. Think about it. I know that asking you to… force me past that breaking point is asking a lot. But…” You pause for a moment, your brows peaking as you hesitate. “...I'm asking because I want to fix this, Din, and I think this could help. Because I still want you…and I want this with you, because I know that I can trust you.”

 

You could see his chestplate rise as he took a deep breath and after several heartbeats passed he was nodding again, his head canting to the right. "Alright, Sweetling, I'll think about it. But first, we need to work out some details."

 

Nibbling at your abused lip, you had nodded too.

 

 

He can hear your breath hitch and feel another quiver under his hands when he asks if you want to continue. But, even though you don't meet his eyes when you open yours, he can see determination flash in them amidst the unease.

 

Then, you nod.

 

Mando lets the faceplate of his helmet barely touch your temple as his hands move to your hips and his voice dips into a whisper after a moment of hesitation. "You're sure?"

 

This time you do turn your head just a bit to look into his visor and you give another nod. "Yes," you breathe.

 

His chest tightens at the spark of fire in your eyes and a faint smile pulls at his lips. He returns your nod and gives a brief squeeze to your hips. 

 

Then he spins you, making you squeak in surprise, and shoves you forward against the wall.

 

Mando can hear the air rush from your lungs and the gasp that follows. Your hands rest on the wall as his body crowds yours, his own hands bracing on the wall to either side of yours as the hard lines of his helmet press into your hair.

 

"Fight me," he rumbles lowly into your ear.

 

 

Those two small words send a startling thrill coursing down your spine and heat licking across your skin. Mentally, you grasp at the emotion that comes with that thrill and use it to push at your fear. You hold to the emotion. You cling to it. 

 

Excitement.

 

The hunt has been more exhilarating for you than you expected. You had thought it would all be for his benefit. But here you are, a sheen of perspiration already clinging to your skin beneath your clothing, your breaths shallow even before he had startled you, and your heart pounding as he presses close.

 

And –unless your imagination is playing tricks on you with the bulge pressed against the top curve of your rear– the hunt has certainly been stimulating for him, too.

 

Swallowing roughly, you flatten your palms against the wall to brace them and shove back against him, hard.

 

Mando steps back as your hips drive into his thighs. It moves him more than he would have expected and he gives a faint grunt in surprise.

 

It surprises you too, but you’re quick to recover –a fact you’ll be proud of later– and your hands snap up to grasp his left arm above the vambrace. You tug that arm forward and down over your shoulder as you slide one foot back between his boots and you bend at the waist. There’s an ‘oof’ that escapes the helmet as Din’s weight is pulled forward over your lower center of gravity and his feet leave the ground. As you straighten your legs, you roll your hips.

 

You manage to catch him so off guard with the move that, if you weren’t still so close to the wall, he might have actually ended up flat on his back on the ground.

 

Instead, as your hands release his arm, his pauldron covered shoulder slams into the wall and his feet slide over the concrete roof. He catches himself and stands frozen for a split second, staring at you as you scramble to straighten up and dash away from him, back towards the ladder.

 

But it’s only a second before he's recovered from the shock, and then his hand catches your arm before you’re even half-way across the roof.

*****

Your back is up against that shed again, the air knocked out of you by the abrupt change in direction and the sudden impact with the solid structure.

 

Mando crowds you again, but this time one leather clad hand closes around your wrists to hold them pinned to the wall, above your head as his other hand grasps your hip. His knee shoves in between yours to press against the wall too, forcing you up onto your toes.

 

Your eyes widen again as he dips his head in close to yours. 

 

“Where did you learn that?” he rasps out.

 

A shard of terror pokes at your mind from the dark edge in his tone, but you manage to push it aside when you recognize a touch of pride laced into the words. Your breasts press against his cuirass as you pant for breath, and then a sneer curls your lip as you tug at his hold on your wrists. 

 

There is no give.

 

Pushing against you, Mando’s knee rises slightly and you gasp as the edges of his thigh guard press against your inner thighs.

 

With heat coiling low in your belly, and a confusing mixture of anxiety and excitement washing through you, you squirm between the press of his body and the wall, grunting in frustration.

 

That knee lifts a touch higher and air hisses past your teeth as you inhale sharply.

 

A rough chuckle escapes Mando.

 

“Now, where did you learn that, Princess?”

 

Your eyes narrow at the visor leveled on you, inches from your face. "Cara.”

 

"When?"

 

You swallow thickly. "Last week…when you were away on jobs."

 

There’s a pause before he nods slightly. “It was a good move.”

 

A warm flush of pride spreads across your chest.

 

“Did she teach you anything for this?” he husks as his fingers squeeze around your captured wrists and his knee hikes upward again, this time bringing the beskar up against the warmth of your core.

 

You gasp at the hard press of the cold metal, and your eyelids flutter as your fingers flex above your head. 

 

His dark chuckle brings you back to the moment and you glare at that unreadable helmet.

 

“No?” he asks and you can hear his smirk.  “Good. You’re all mine then.”

 

A shiver races down your spine and you start tugging at your wrists again and squirming. Of course, that just rubs your crotch over the hard metal covering Mando’s thigh and your breath stutters again.

 

He shifts his weight, leaning into you. The hand on your hip grips tighter, holding you in place as he hikes his thigh up again to firmly grind the smooth metal against your core.  

 

Despite your struggling, a mewl slips past your lips and your eyes close. Your back arches away from the wall as you gasp.

 

His voice is a rough whisper.  "Do you like that, Princess?" 

 

Your body certainly does. Heat is leaping across your skin like the licking flames of a fire. It dances all through you, out from your core and along your limbs, only to come back and pool between your thighs. 

 

And it's not just his thigh causing your body's reaction. The firm grip on your wrists above you, leather creasing the tender flesh, is sending delightful trembles through you too, even as you pull against his hold.

 

Your mind is still rebelling though, some corner of it telling you to be afraid. You try to quell that irrational fear, to silence it with the force of your will, but it's demanding as Mando's body pins yours to the wall. Shallow breaths brush past your lips as you twist and tug to no effect.

 

Still, you don't call for an end to it. 

 

Instead you try to focus on the way he makes your body hum. Your hips rock on instinct to rub your covered pussy against the thigh guard. The fiction of your simple, cotton panties –which are getting damp with your increasing arousal– sends sparks through your veins and into your brain.

 

And for a moment, it manages to chase away the fear.

 

Lashes fluttering, you finally look up at him again and lift your chin defiantly. "No," you rasp out. 

 

There's a breath of hesitation before he's pressing his knee upward again and he growls softly, "Liar."

 

You're lifted off your toes now, your body supported by that knee and your own weight presses you down onto it. The heat brings a flush up to your neck and into your cheeks as your breath hitches again.  

 

Somehow you manage to keep that obstinate look in your eyes though as you narrow them at him.  "No," you hiss out again.

 

You're not sure now how much of this is part of the game and how much is your need to be defiant. 

 

Mando's head tilts down until his mouth is near your ear, blocked by the visor but close enough that you can hear the purr of his words. "Should I prove it?"

 

Air catches in your throat and for a moment you freeze. Then, twisting and glaring into that visor, you inhale deeply and try again to yank your hands out of his grip but you still don't have any leverage. Even if you could ever possibly match his strength.

 

A chuckle slips through the modulator. "I think I'll take that as a 'yes'."

 

The hand on your hip loosens and shifts across your stomach. He pulls up the hem of your shirt just enough to expose the waistband of your pants and then he pushes his hand down under them and into your panties. 

 

You gasp as soft leather slides down over your clit and then shoves between your blazing sex and the upward press of his thigh. His fingertips stroke through your slick folds and your eyes flutter again. 

 

An appreciative rumble comes up from Mando's chest as he traces the heat of your entrance. "Mmm… you're awful wet, Princess, for not enjoying this," he teases. "Kriffing-stars, I don't even need my glove off to feel how soaked this sweet little pussy is for me."

 

Despite your attempt to cut it off, a mewling whimper escapes your throat at the filthy words. It tumbles past barely parted lips as you pant, and electricity jolts up your spine with each subsequent stroke of his deft fingers. Your traitorous hips roll forward a few times before you manage to get them under some control again and force yourself to freeze, your brows knitting together in concentration.

 

“You want this.” There’s a smirk in Mando’s voice. “You want me.”

 

You shiver and shake your head, trying to deny the obvious, as you open your eyes to glare up at the visor; and you manage it… for a moment. 

 

Then your head drops back and a moan rends from your throat as one thick, glove-clad digit pushes into you. The unfamiliar feeling of the supple leather massaging the walls of your core sends an uncontrollable tremor through you. You clench around his finger and arch against him, while your own fingers curl into fists above you, nails digging into your palms.

 

Mando watches you closely –you can sense his sharp focus– as he manipulates your body, drawing more whines and groans out of you no matter how much you keep trying to deny the pleasure. The press of his body against yours increases and you can feel the deep inhale he takes, like he’s trying to catch your scent through the helmet’s filters.

 

And when the hardness of his erection presses against your hip you can’t help arching again with another whimper; before you remember yourself and try to squirm away again.

 

“Good girls shouldn’t lie,” he chides you, as a second finger delves in to join the first within the wet heat of your sex.

 

You cut off a cry, the sound stuttering in your throat, and force it to become a frustrated grumble. “I…uhhhgg…I ne-never said I was a g-good girl,” you gasp out.

 

There’s a tug upward on your arms as Mando’s grip on your wrists tightens again and he presses his helmet to your temple. "Well, you’re definitely not acting like it tonight,” he says in a low growl.

 

That tone sends a shard of heat, and another spike of fear, lancing through your body.

 

Your teeth sink into your lip in an attempt to control any noise from escaping you, as his fingers keep thrusting. You can’t control how kriffing wet you are –the sound of those fingers stroking up into you is positively obscene on the quiet rooftop– but you can at least try to deny him the sounds that you know he loves to pull out of you.

 

“You know what I’m going to do, Princess?” Mando husks into your ear, increasing the tempo of his pumping fingers.

 

You barely manage to keep from mewling and it is taking every bit of your will to keep from rocking against the invasion. Your eyes crack open, unfocused as you try to pin a glare on him, though you’re not sure if you succeed or not.

 

A low chuckle meets your ears. “I’m going to make you feel fucking good…whether you think you want it or not,” he growls. “Going to make you cum hard. Right here. Soak my glove.” He pauses as a shiver runs through you. 

 

Then his head turns so he can look back over his shoulder, before the visor is dominating your field of view again and you can hear the smile in his voice. “After that…I think I’ll bend you over that wall. Fill your needy little cunt up with my stiff cock. Get you trying to not scream my name, so this entire karking town doesn't hear you.”

 

His voice dips deeper into his chest by that last sentence and it takes everything in you not to climax instantly at the image his words conjure.

 

You're panting for air, your head swimming as Mando keeps pushing you closer to that edge. Muscles all along your body tremble while you desperately cling to control, his long fingers shoving into your pussy again and again.

 

"Hmmm," Mando gives a deep, rumbling hum. "I think I want at least two out of you like this." The pad of his thumb finds your clit then, the leather gliding over the sensitive nub in quick circles. "Give. Me. One," he demands in a soft growl. 

 

A pathetic whine slips past your lips after you draw in a desperate breath. You shake your head defiantly.  "N-no," you gasp out. 

 

"Oh, yes," he practically purrs as the pressure of his thumb increases.

 

Undeniable pleasure arcs out from that incessant attention to your clit. Then, he curls his fingers inside your cunt to find that devastating spot inside you.

 

Your mouth drops open in a soundless gasp, brows peaked. Shaking your head again, you try to fight it, until the orgasm rips through you like a meteor. You snap your head to the side and bury your face against your pinned arm, biting down on the black cloth that's tied there to muffle your cry as your body jolts and arches against Mando’s. 

 

 

Mando’s jaw clenches as he watches you through the climax, enthralled by the pleasure written across your delicate features. He keeps stroking into you as it courses through you, holding you firmly against the wall with the weight of his body.

 

When your head snaps to the side, teeth catching on the piece of the blindfold tied to your arm, his ministrations falter. His body stills against yours and his breath hitches in his throat.

 

You continue to tremble in his hold on you, mewling, and his cock reacts. It throbs, pressed against your hip. His teeth grit and he fights to ignore the ache as the rest of his body remains still, his focus transfixed on your face as you begin to come down from the orgasm he forcefully pulled out of you.

 

He sighs softly in relief when your jaw relaxes and you release the cloth, without tugging it free.

 

You're not signaling for him to stop; he hasn’t pushed you too far yet. 

 

Your head turns slowly and your eyes flutter open, soft lips barely parting as you pant for breath.

 

Mando tilts his head a bit, hardly breathing as he watches your eyes. 

 

It takes several moments but you finally manage to focus on his visor again, your widely-dilated eyes somehow finding his through it. He can see your throat move as you swallow thickly and then dart your tongue out across your lips.

 

Then that fire dances in the depths of your eyes again and you lift your chin, narrowing your eyes up at him.

 

He can't help smiling at the sight. 

 

" Sabuir, " you hiss up at him. 

 

His head jerks slightly at the Mando'a insult and his jaw tenses. But then one corner of his lips pull up again into a smirk as he leans his head in close once more. 

 

"Oh, I'd love to know where you learned that word," he growls.

 

You continue to glare up at him. "I bet you would."

 

A dark chuckle escapes him and he crooks his fingers inside of you, as if to remind you of the disadvantage he still has you at.

 

The moan that rips past your lips sounds so sweet that Mando ends up groaning with you. His erection pulses at your hip and he grinds against your soft curve.

 

Lower lip trembling, you try to focus on him again and seem to be doing your best to hold on to your stubbornness.

 

"Uncomfortable?" you taunt, trying to jerk your hip away from him. You don't get far. 

 

"Not for long," he replies, and then adds with a low rumble, "But first… you owe me another one."

 

He grins as your eyes widen.

 

 

There's another shard of fear that dances through your veins at the dangerous edge in his voice. You mentally stamp down on it, biting hard on the inside of your cheek, and let yourself focus instead on the heat that flushes up your body. 

 

You're not sure when his knee lowered, but you're back on your own feet again. His knee is still between yours though, preventing you from closing your thighs or actually getting away as you twist and squirm again. 

 

And then you immediately freeze with a gasp, the movements jarring you, considering his fingers are still buried knuckle deep inside you. 

 

Oh yeah, that was a great idea. 

 

With a low laugh, he pulls those fingers from your dripping core and out of your pants. 

 

It takes you a moment to recover, your cunt throbbing and clenching at the sudden emptiness.  And then you try again to pull away from him. 

 

To your surprise, it works. Somehow your wrists are free and you manage to slip away from the knee that kept you in place, pulling away from him and to the side. 

 

If you were thinking clearly, you would have realized it didn't make any sense. 

 

But you aren't and you don't.

 

At least, not until his hands are on you again, bodily hauling you backwards against his chest. A squeak of surprise, tinged with that obstinate fear, escapes you.

 

One strong arm clamps around your waist, holding you so close that his thickened cock presses against the top of your ass. Instinct has you rocking back against it for a moment, dragging a moan out of the beskar helmet, before you realize what you're doing and start struggling to pull away again.

 

His other hand snaps up to catch under your jaw and the damp fingers of his glove smears remnants of your release over your skin. He holds your head back against the front of his shoulder with his fingertips pressed to your pulse points.

 

"Where do you think you're going?" he groans against your cheek, sending a tremor down your spine. "I'm not done with you yet."

 

A whimper slips out of you while your heart hammers in your ears. It's been a long time since he's held you like this and –despite the fear mixed in with it– a familiar thrill rushes through you and your body quakes within the circle of his arms. 

 

Still, you can't just give in. 

 

Can you?

 

Maker, the heat fluttering across your skin definitely wants you to. So does the fresh arousal settling low in your belly and further ruining your already-done-for panties.

 

How can you be so turned on, despite the fear that's still nudging at you?

 

Biting back another mewl, you tense in his arms as the hand at your waist slips downward. You press your thighs together, both in an attempt to alleviate some of your discomfort and to deny him access.

 

Because no, you can't give in yet. You won't. 

 

A low growl comes up in Mando’s chest and you can feel it rumble through his cuirass, against your shoulder blades. "You think that will stop me?" he husks.

 

The breath you inhale is a stuttered one, your eyelids fluttering as his other hand presses upward beneath your jaw.  He forces you up onto your toes again and pushes your head back onto his Mudhorn pauldron, until you're staring up at the night sky.

 

You're only managing to hold steady due to his sturdy frame behind you, and Mando shifts his weight, pushing a boot between the toes you're barely balancing on. Two quick slides of his foot to either side and he's pushed your feet apart again and once more positioned his knee to prevent you from closing them.

 

You gasp, trying to find better footing to fix your precarious position as the hand at your waist briefly slips away. 

 

For a breath, you pause, wondering what he's doing when you hear one of his belt pockets opening. Another thread of fear weaves its way down your spine, while all you can do is stare up at the blinking stars.

 

Then, in the next breath, it's almost infuriating when it dawns on you that he is maintaining control over you with just the one hand under your jaw. Up on your toes and held against his shoulder, you can't seem to find the leverage to do anything about it. 

 

Kriffing-hell, I need more lessons from Cara!

 

His other hand returns to your hip and Mando doesn't waste any time before pushing it down into your panties again. Your whole body jerks as he runs a single digit through the sopping folds of your pussy, tracing your slit and making you moan. His head tilts slightly next to yours so he can rumble into your ear.   

 

"I have a surprise for you…"

 

Your eyes widen and your head jerks in his hand as you try to look over at him, but he's giving you no leeway and you can't move your head at all.

 

Then his lithe fingers shift beneath the cloth of your pants and panties and move to your clit, using the slick of your arousal to begin his sensual onslaught anew. 

 

Except something is immediately off about his touch this time, making your breath hiss.

 

It's cold. 

 

Why is his glove cold? It's sending goosebumps prickling across your mound,  your hips, and up your stomach to your breasts.

 

The only hint you get is the soft sound of a click.

 

An instant later the toy in his grip buzzes to life against the tender bundled nerves of your clit.

 

Your keen splits the quiet night air, until you snap your hand up to press your palm over your mouth as your body lurches into an arch. 

 

With a deep, self-satisfied chuckle, he moves the small vibrator in rough, quick circles against your clit. Over and over, until you can't stop the stream of moans and curses tumbling out of you. Mando even chuffs at the more creative insults you come up with. 

 

Occasionally, he moves the toy down along your slit, just enough of a break to tease you, before bringing it back up to that sensitive nub, making you tremble and jolt with each pass. His palm keeps pressing to your mound too, pinning you back against him to grind his dick against your rear. 

 

You're a complete wreck in record time. 

 

His movements are precise and practiced as he plays with you, seeming to ignore your pleading whimpers. He strums you, like a musician playing their favorite song on a hapan lute; determined to make you sing for him. 

 

"Did you forget about this?" he croons teasingly against your hair.

 

You're not sure if he actually expects an answer but you can't give one anyway, other than the mewl that tears out of you as he increases the pressure to your clit with the buzzing vibrator. 

 

Unable to regain even the smallest bit of control over your body's reaction, you writhe in his arms. Your fingers curl around the edges of his vambraces, as if you might try to tug his arms away, but you can't seem to find the will to do even that. Instead, you cling to the hard metal, whimpers tumbling from your lips as he propels you towards another peak at a mind-blowing pace.

 

"That's it, pretty little thing," he rasps. "Don't fight. Give it to me. Cum for me again."

 

Maker, help you, it's as if his words invoke that peak in an instant and send you crashing over it, shattering into countless pieces. 

 

You bite down on your fist to muffle your scream as you buck within his arms. Your body seizes, shaking as ecstasy engulfs you again in merciless waves of fire. He strokes you through and beyond the climax with that torturous, buzzing toy, murmuring more soft words of encouragement that you can't begin to comprehend as you fall apart.

 

When you finally start to come back down, every muscle in your body ceases to work and you sag back against Mando. The hand at your throat drops down and his arm catches you, wrapping firmly around your ribs.

 

The buzz of the toy clicks off, but he keeps caressing you with two fingertips, until you're whimpering and quickly squirming again from the overstimulation. Then those cruel fingertips slowly come to a stop and finally pull out from your pants as you gasp for breath. 

 

For several quiet moments he stands there, just holding you up as you shiver, after tucking the toy away.

 

A few minutes pass before Mando’s head cants over your shoulder and you can feel the way his eyes move over your features, watching you. It sends a fresh flush into your cheeks, if that's possible. You don't even need to open your own eyes to sense his intense gaze.

 

Lifting his head, he presses the bottom of his visor against your temple in a 'kiss'. His arms tighten a little around you and his body is a long line of heat against yours. 

 

"Well… Princess?" he asks softly.

 

His voice sweeps over you in a deep purr; reminding you of rain carrying the crisp scent of spring down from the Sardecian mountains. It warms something deep in your chest and you feel like you could melt right there in his arms. 

 

Your eyes open slowly and your head tilts on his shoulder, to look at him through your lashes. Stuttered breaths pass your parted lips and your tongue darts out over them.  

 

"Y-yes, Mandalorian?" you ask in a breathy reply.

 

There's a pause, and then one of his hands moves from around you. He finds your hand and lifts it across your torso, guiding it to the end of the strip of cloth wrapped around your opposite, upper arm. Then his head tilts into a familiar, questioning cant.

 

You blink a couple times, some of the post-orgasm haze lifting from your mind as the cloth moves between your fingers.  A slow, shaky breath lifts your breasts as you consider his unspoken question.

 

Are you done?  

 

All it takes is one tug. Pull the cloth loose.

 

He'll take you home.

 

Your heart quickens to a staccato beat within your chest again and your mouth goes dry.  Licking your lips once more, you swallow thickly as you consider.

 

And you let go of the cloth.

 

Mando's helmet ticks downward to look at the black strip still firmly tied around your arm. For a moment, he doesn't move at all. Then, he's silently questioning you again with a harsher slant of his head. 

 

You swear you can hear his voice in your head. 

 

You're sure?

 

Your nostrils flare a bit when you take a deeper breath. Then, as you exhale, you lift your chin and shift in his embrace to stand solidly on your own two feet again.

 

You give him a firm nod. 

 

Stillness settles over your both. It's like the air around you begins dancing with electricity, ready to strike and light you ablaze. 

 

An instant later, you yelp as your feet leave the rooftop.

 

He's hoisted you up, as if you weigh no more than a pillow, keeping you against him with one arm. As you try to twist and wiggle, to loosen his hold on you, Mando turns. In just a couple of strides he closes the distance to the nearest portion of the half-wall surrounding the rooftop.

 

Your breath lodges in your chest and you go still for a moment, a scorching heat licking through you at the memory of his earlier, wicked-sounding promise: 'After that…I think I’ll bend you over that wall.'

 

Your cunt tightens around nothing and your teeth sink into your lower lip. A soft moan chokes out past your constricted throat and you can't stop the quiver of anticipation that crawls up your spine. The fear that has been hounding you only nudges your mind alongside the excitement this time, its arguments drowned out by the louder desire that is building. 

 

Maker, how am I turned on again so soon?

 

A surprised squeak escapes you as Mando pushes your hips up against the wall.

 

"Bend over," he husks into your ear.

 

Inhaling sharply, you clench your jaw and give a quick shake of your head. You press your hips forward against the wall for leverage, as you straighten your spine and push back against him with your shoulders.

 

Not that it moves the beskar statue in the slightest. 

 

A huff passes through his helmet's filters. 

 

"Still fighting?"

 

One of his arms unwraps from around you and his hand is suddenly pressed to your back, between your shoulder blades. His other arm hooks into your body at the waist, hauling your hips back from the wall. He shoves your torso down as you gasp, your hands dropping and pushing against the wall-top, which doesn't even slow your forced descent.

 

Your breasts, your cheek and your palms are pressed down to that cool cement as he leans over you. It happened so fast that your mind barely catches up in time to make out his rumbled words.

 

" Gar'ner , Princess… and I'm taking what's mine."

 

A wanton mewl tumbles out of you before you can stop it and your hips rock your ass back against his obvious hard-on with a mind of their own. 

 

Chuckling, Mando shifts the arm that caught you around the waist and his fingers begin tugging the fastenings of your pants loose. They move with deft familiarity, easily opening your pants without needing to see what he's doing. 

 

You're still at first as he does but then you hiss softly and struggle against the press of his other hand and his body. But once again you don't have the leverage to push him away.

 

His chuckle deepens above you a touch.

 

You can only guess that he noticed you pause before you remembered you were supposed to be fighting back. 

 

The pants and your panties are shucked down over your hips, ass and thighs. Your breath hisses as the cooling night air meets the damp heat between your thighs. Then the soft leather of Mando's glove smooths down one shapely, exposed asscheek before he pauses to palm and squeeze it roughly, drawing another hiss out of you. 

 

Panting softly, you squirm under the other hand that still presses to your back. But now you're no longer so sure if you're trying to get away from him, or to push your hips back invitingly again. 

 

He releases your ass after another hard squeeze, giving the cheek a teasing pat. A laugh chuffs out of him when you snarl over your shoulder at him.

 

You go still for a moment then, forgetting yourself again at the rustle of armorweave behind you. When the smooth tip of his cock traces along your slit a moment later, your breath hitches and you moan sharply.

 

Mando’s deeper groan blends with yours as he pushes his hips forward, spreading your pussy lips open around the turgid head of his dick. His weight shifts behind you and his free hand grips onto the meat of your hip as he begins to sink into you. 

 

Small furrows form in the thin layer of dirt on the wall-top as your fingers claw for purchase at the cement. They end up curled over the far edge. Mewls tumble out of you as you're penetrated, and your pussy is so wet from the orgasms he's pulled from you that there isn't any burn as he stretches you. Just delicious, overwhelming pressure and heat.

 

"M-maker, dank farrik!" you cry out a moment later, arching beneath his hand when his hold on your hip tightens and he slams forward, pistoning his cock into you to the hilt.

 

He pauses, a Mando’a curse slipping past his lips; buried inside you with a low growl of satisfaction. 

 

Then he leans over you, his hand slipping up from your back to fist into your hair. He pulls your head back, making you arch beneath him and drawing out a sharp moan from your throat. You shudder around him, your core clenching, and he groans before husking into your ear, "I’m going to fuck you sensless, you needy little th-thing.”

 

You barely have a chance to whimper in response when Mando moves, releasing your hair to brace his hands on either side of you.

 

Starlight bursts inside your head as he sets a brutal pace.

 

Thrusting hard, it’s as if he’s using all of his pent up arousal from the last few hours. Hell, maybe even the last few weeks. He grunts with each sharp snap of his hips against your ass. The edges of his armor digs into tender flesh each time he spears into you.

 

You’re near delirious almost immediately, teetering close to the edge of pleasure meeting pain from the almost feral pounding. Tremors wrack through you and the walls of your cunt clench down on him with every impaling thrust as he fills you over, and over, and over again.

 

Air comes in shuddered gasps and moans, and you try to quiet your own sounds against your fist with the little bit of coherent thought you can manage. The last thing you need is an audience to gather in the street below. 

 

Mando leans down as he strokes into you again and again, his helmet pressing between your shoulder blades. “Kaaark! Kriffing-hell, Swe-” the word catches in his throat and he gasps in a stuttered breath before his voice dips back down into his chest, “-Princess…feel so fucking good!” He punctuates those words with a demanding thrust for each one. 

 

It's like something cracks inside you. 

 

Your eyes snap open when he stumbles over that title, staring out across the dark –thankfully empty– street below as your body jerks beneath his. Something deep in your belly tightens painfully and a soft whine slips from you. Panting, your mouth works open and closed a few times without a sound. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as a tendril of fear burrows its way into your head again.

 

A stuttered breath. Your brows pinch together. 

 

You can feel your body drawing towards another climax. And as his pace gradually gains speed, you can guess Mando is feeling it too. 

 

But still that fear lingers.

 

No. No-no-no. 

 

You can't let it win. 

 

"M-mustafar," you choke out.

 

 

Heart pounding, blood roaring in his ears, Din almost doesn't hear you. 

 

Almost. 

 

And then he's frozen above you, his cock pulsing and buried deep within your warm, pliant flesh.

 

Panting, he finally lifts his head up from between your shoulder blades and he tries to take a deeper, steadying breath as he looks down at you. He can't see your face. You're looking away from him, out over the edge of the wall he's pressing you down onto. 

*****

"W-what?" he stammers.

 

Your head turns, your face remaining partially hidden by the disarray of your hair. He can see the way you bite your lip though and he watches as you shakily pull your hand back from the walls edge. Your fingers find his wrist and then slide up his arm.

 

With one tug the black cloth pulls free from his bicep, and you breathe out the word again. 

 

"Mustafar."

 

A strangled breath lodges in Din’s chest and he immediately draws his hips back from yours, pulling out from the choke hold your trembling core has on him as gently as he can. Then he straightens and grits his teeth. He holds back a groan as he stuffs his stiff dick, glistening with your slick, back into his pants…somehow. 

 

Leaning over you once more, he's careful not to touch you this time as he protectively brackets you in again.

 

"What do you need?" he whispers.

 

And then it feels as if something jams into his chest, ripping it open as he stares down at you. 

 

Stares at the tears streaming down your cheek. At the tremor in your shoulders. 

 

Fuuuck, he silently mouths behind the visor, his brows pulling into a scowl and his jaw tensing painfully. Oh, fuck…

 

He's frozen for a moment, swallowing back an acrid taste on his tongue.  

 

With air burning his lungs on every breath, he steps back from you then, just enough for him to lean down and carefully pull your clothes back into place. He touches you as little as possible to do so and you don't withdraw from his help. Then he's leaning over you once more, struggling to keep his voice from sounding too strained.

 

"Sweetling?"

 

 

Your entire body shakes as you cry, closing your eyes as relief washes through you with the sudden release. You barely move as Din helps to right your clothing, only shifting your arm to bring the black cloth still clutched in your hand up to press against your face.

 

The feeling of it is familiar, grounding, and you let it catch your tears as they flow.

 

Finally.

 

When Din leans over you again you take a slow shaking breath, inhaling the scent of spice and leather as it surrounds you.  Another soft sob shakes you as a warmth fills your chest at the familiar scent.

 

You can feel the way Din tenses above you though, even before he lets out another low Mando’a curse and pushes back to give you space.

 

A faint, strangled sound tumbles out of you and you reach out to catch his wrist before he pulls away. He stills at your touch and you curl your hand around him, fingertips seeking the edge of his armorweave sleeve to find a sliver of bare wrist. There’s a faint shudder under your touch as your fingertip traces his warm skin.

 

Blinking rapidly, you try to slow the flow of your tears but you can't yet and only manage to soften the sobs that tumble out.  After a few moments you shakily push up from the half-wall and settle back onto your feet. Din tries to move to give you room, but you don't release his wrist and, once on your own feet, you turn towards him and bury your face into the curve of his chestplate.

 

He’s ridgid for a moment, like he's unsure how to react to your unexpected need for closeness. Then his arms wrap around you and you whimper softly, sinking into him and trembling as the well of emotions in you continues to bubble up and pour out.

 

 

About twenty minutes later, Din carries you back up the ramp of the Crest.

 

Getting you down from that rooftop had taken time because you were a wreck, not only still crying but also physically drained from, well… everything before .  Even struggling with the tears, that thought did make you giggle a little though, when you paused on one of the landings. Once he finally had you back on the ground, Din just scooped you up and strode through the town, straight for the ship.

 

He had stopped, just once, looking down at you as you quivered in his arms. You could feel the way his breath stuttered in his chest as he pressed another helmeted 'kiss' against your hair and murmured something softly.

 

You weren't certain, but you thought it sounded like an apology.

 

You tried to ask him what he'd said; wanted to tell him it was okay. 

 

But just the idea that he felt the need to apologize sent you into another ocean of emotional mayhem. You ended up burying your face against his cowl, shaking your head in a less-than-masterful attempt to convey that he didn't need to apologize; if that even was what he'd said.

 

Back on the Crest, he closes the ramp behind him with a hard jab of his elbow to the control panel. Then he carries you over to your bedroll. Kneeling, he carefully lowers you down onto the foam and slips his arms out from around you with some hesitation.

 

You cling to his chestplate for a moment longer and then slowly lay back on the bed with shuddering breaths. Swallowing thickly, you try to find your voice again as you look up at his helmet, blurred by tears. 

 

Your voice cracks when you try to say his name, your throat raw. Before you can try again he shakes his head at you, hesitantly reaching down to brush a lock of wet hair away from your cheek. You're not even sure if it's wet from your tears or sweat from the evening's earlier…activities. You bite your trembling lip as you wipe tears away even though they still fall down your temples and into your hair.

 

His chest rises before he lets out a heavy sigh. "Take your time, Cyar’ika. I'm here if you need me. Or I can…give you space if you need it."

 

You let out a shuddering sigh of your own as you stare up at him, holding back the sobs that are still threatening to come up in your chest, making you hiccup as you cry. Your mind reels. The idea of asking for space right now both horrifies and appeals to you.  

 

On the one hand, you hate the idea of letting him out of your sight, so soon after the intensity on that rooftop. On the other hand, a few minutes to yourself could allow you to just get the worst of the emotional rollercoaster out of the way so you can sort out your thoughts and finally be able to talk.

 

Despite your uncertainty, you find yourself nodding slightly and biting the corner of your lip. "J-just a few minutes," you whisper, another silent sob making your breath stutter as you inhale, "…to calm down."

 

Din hesitates for a moment and then nods in return, letting his fingertips brush over a few loose strands of your hair before he's pushing to his feet. 

 

"Okay, Sweetling. I'm going to take a shower then…"  His voice trails off at the end and he pauses, like he wants to say more, but then he turns towards the fresher. 

 

You curl up on your side, eyes closed as you clutch to the piece of blindfold still in your hands and listen to the metallic clang of dropped pieces of armor and the rustle of discarded clothing. Then the door to the refresher slides open and closed again. The hum of the shower fills the quiet of the hold.

 

All the while, those tears fall.

 

You hate them and love them all at once, because you need them. 

 

They fall for all the days you lost, for all the pain you felt and ignored –both physical and mental–, for the intimate and sweet moments stolen from you, and for everything in between. 

 

And with each one, it feels like the weight on your chest lightens and the walls around you begin to crumble. 

 

 

Din grits his teeth, watching the water that swirls at his feet as it constantly drains away to the ship's reclamation unit. The hot water falls over his head and shoulders, sluicing down his body to gather on the floor as he stands motionless beneath the spray. His hands are braced on the wall under the shower nozzle and his head is dropped between his arms. 

 

Kriffing idiot.

 

If he lets his jaw relax, it trembles slightly. So he keeps clenching his teeth and going back and forth between watching the water swirl and closing his eyes. 

 

And every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is your tear-stained face. 

 

Watching the water dance around the drain is easier. 

 

Be lucky if she ever wants me near her again…

 

He nearly lost you to Nar Shaddaa and now he's let you slip right through his fingers.

 

His chest aches with each slow breath he forces himself to take and his fingers curl and uncurl into fists against the metal, condensation-covered wall. A knot gnaws at his stomach and he swallows hard against a lump in his throat. 

 

Fucking-kriffing idiot…

 

He's not sure how long he's been in there, steamed air filling his lungs and his skin reddening under the scorching water, when there's a soft knock on the door and it opens just a crack.

 

He tenses, glancing over from under his arm.

 

"Din?"

 

A breath shudders in his chest. "Yes?" he says, after giving a rough clear of his throat. 

 

"Can I come in?" you ask softly, "I promise I won't look."

 

Din's brows pinch together and he drops his eyes back down to the churning shower water.

 

"S-sure."

 

The door slides open slowly and he can hear you step inside. Then, once it closes again, your feet shuffle carefully along the floor. They come into his peripheral view a moment later, as does the hand you're sliding along the wall to guide you. When your other hand slowly sweeps out in front of you to find his side, he starts slightly and finally lifts his head to look at you. 

 

The blindfold is tied over your eyes.

 

The crease between his brows deepens as he watches you.

 

Your fingertips trace up his side and to his shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps despite the hot water. Then you follow the line of his arm to his elbow, muscle twitching under your soft touch. Nibbling at your lip, you let your hand rest across his bicep and step forward, ducking under his arm to stand between him and the wall. Your head lifts between his arms, face tipped up towards his. The blindfold quickly soaks in the shower spray, along with the small bit of clothing you're wearing: bralette and panties.

 

A sharp hiss escapes you and then a laugh as you tilt your head back out of the direct spray and reach behind you to turn the cool water up. 

 

"Dank farrik, Din, how do you still have skin on your bones?"

 

Din doesn't realize he'd been holding his breath as you came so close, until his lungs start to burn and he inhales sharply. Then he just stares down at you –still frozen to the same spot he's been in since he stepped into the shower– blinking in confusion against the spray of the water. 

 

Did you just…laugh?

 

With the water temperature brought down to a survivable level, you turn back, your hands reaching out to find his chest. Your face tilts up to his again with a lift of your chin. After a few moments pass in silence, your head tilts to the side a little. 

 

He swallows hard, taking a deep breath and clenching his fists against the wall. "Sweetling…"

 

Your hands skate up his chest and to his cheeks, and his breath stutters at the touch. Pushing up onto your toes, you press your forehead to his and Din's eyes close as his throat constricts.

 

You both speak at the same time, over one another. 

 

"I'm sorry," he chokes out. 

 

"Thank you," you whisper.

 

 

You can feel him flinch under your hands and his head gives a sharp slant to one side. 

 

"W-what?" he stammers.

 

Inhaling deeply, you bite your lip as your hands slip down from his cheeks to the sides of his neck, your thumbs rubbing over the stubble at the hinges of his jaw.

 

"Thank you," you say, firmer. "For… giving me what I needed."

 

There's a pause and then you can feel him shake his head. "'What you needed'? I hurt you, Cyar’ika…or-or scared you…" His chin drops down towards his chest as his voice catches and your heart lurches for him. 

 

Your heart lurches for him!

 

Really, you know you shouldn't be happy to feel that, given how distraught he sounds, but you can't help feeling a little happy about it because it feels so good just to feel your heart tug towards him again.

 

You shake your own head then, emphatically.  "N-no, Din, you didn't," you say, taking a shaky breath to steady your nerves. "You didn't do anything wrong."

 

His head jerks up then with a frustrated huff of disbelief. "I made you cry," he grinds out. 

 

Again, you shake your head, darting your tongue across your lips. "No…"

 

"Yes," he hisses, cutting off your response. "And that's not a sight I'm likely to forget. Ever."

 

Your brows pull together under the blindfold and you go still for a moment. Then, your lips tilt down in a frown. Nostrils flaring as you take in a deep breath, you push your hands up from his neck and into his hair. Your fingers fist into the wet curls and you tug his head down closer to yours. 

 

He hisses and his body tenses…but you've got his attention.

 

"No!" you snap up at him. "You didn't make me cry, Din…" –your lips purse together as you take a few shallow breaths– "You…you made me feel safe enough to finally let myself cry."

 

His breath dances across your skin, unsteady, and you can feel him tremble where your forearms rest on his shoulders and where your fingers are against his scalp.

 

"What?" he asks again and this time it feels like something cracks in your chest at how vulnerable that one word sounds. 

 

"I haven't been able to cry, Din. Which…made it impossible to feel almost anything, because I needed to get all of that out first." You pause, your death-grip on his locks loosening, though your fingers remain buried in his hair. "You… you helped me do exactly what I needed to do," you continue in earnest. "I needed to show that fear in me –fear that's been s-strangling me since I was on Starick's kriffing ship– that I had nothing to fear from you. And you did that tonight."

 

"By-by forcing myself on you?" he softly growls.

 

Swallowing hard, you shake your head negatively again.

 

"By stopping, immediately… when I needed you to." 

 

Din is still for several excruciating moments, his stuttered breaths the only sound you can hear from him. But you can feel a bit of the tension come off his shoulders, even as he starts shaking his head again.

 

"I don't understand, Sweetling. I tried to offer to stop a few times…"

 

You swallow hard and quickly nod. "I know. I know. And I'm sorry I couldn't just let it stop then. But it wouldn't have worked the same."

 

His head cants under your hands. "Why not?"

 

Your lips press into a line for a moment as you consider how to answer.  "Because stopping when you're offering to stop isn't as hard a choice to make as stopping when you really don't want to." The corner of your lip catches between your teeth. "Anyone can stop when they're offering to. At the point when things are…intense though…" –you can feel a faint warmth come into your cheeks, as you remember those moments leading up to your first time actually using your safeword– "...that point when I asked you to stop, even though neither of us wanted to stop? Not everyone would have.”

 

You are both quiet for a few heartbeats before you shuffle closer to him, close enough for his chest to touch yours as it expands with each inhale. You let your fingers caress through his dripping hair, drawing a shudder out of him. 

 

“I knew you would stop,” you whisper. “I just needed to prove to that fear in me that I was right. If I hadn’t asked you to stop, I would have been letting that fear win." 

 

His head cocks to the side again, questioningly. 

 

You swallow thickly. "It would have meant I wasn’t sure if you would listen.”

 

He nods slightly at that, and then pauses before taking a deep breath. "I didn't make things worse then?"

 

The sting of tears comes to your eyes again, though you're not sure if they actually escape this time, since your blindfold is already soaked. You shake your head.  

 

"No, you didn't," you insist gently. "I'm not saying things will be perfect now… but I do think it will be better."

 

Several moments of silence pass between you then. More of the tension seems to bleed out of him, bit by bit, as he mulls over your words. His head tilts down and his forehead comes to rest against yours, making a soft smile tug at your lips.

 

“What do you mean by ‘neither of us wanted to stop’?” he asks.

 

You blink a few times behind your blindfold. You’re not sure what part of this you expected him to question but it wasn’t that. Pursing your lips together for a moment, you can feel a warmth in your cheeks deepen into a blush.

 

“Well, I’d be lying if I claimed I wasn’t… enjoying everything.” A nervous giggle catches in your throat. Then your petite shoulders raise into a shrug. “I didn’t want you to stop, Din,” you admit with a nibble to your lip, “but I needed you to, no matter how much I wanted to keep going.”

 

He falls quiet again and you swear you can feel his eyes moving over your face. There's a edge of longing hovering in the air around you both, almost tangible. 

 

The refresher controls turn off with a loud thunk, making you both start in surprise and then laugh softly. 

 

Licking your lips nervously, you fidget a little with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck. "Did you…?" You stop short, blushing again as your lips press into a line and you duck your head slightly. 

 

His head slants and he shifts his weight off one of his arms on the wall. The backs of his fingers gently brush against your cheek. A shaky sigh passes your lips as you tilt your head to lean into that touch.

 

"'Did I' what, Sweetling?"

 

You take a slow breath, feeling the warmth heighten in your cheeks. "Did you…enjoy it too? You know, up until the… too abrupt ending?" Another soft laugh slips past your lips. 

 

He hesitates a moment. "There's really a question of whether I did or not?"

 

You give a shy shrug. "A little," you answer, before you start babbling with nervousness. "Just…because of the importance you've always put on my consent. I know I was asking a lot of you to even act like that didn't matter and, well, I was enjoying it from the very start. Not to say I want things to be that intense all the time, especially if it wasn't as enjoyable fo-"

 

You stop short, eyes wide behind the blindfold, when his fingertip rests on your lips for a second.

 

"I… Yes, Cyar’ika. Probably more than I should have."

 

Your brows arch at that. "What do you mean?"

 

He gives a soft sigh. "There's a reason consent is important to me, Sweetling. I know how rough I could get…"

 

It's your turn to pause then and you slowly lick your lips. Then, a tiny, coy smile pulls at your mouth as you lean into him a bit more. "Well, I don't think I'd mind that… from time to time."

 

He chuffs faintly. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

 

Your nose crinkles under the edge of the blindfold as you smile.

 

Quiet falls over the two of you again, though it feels less charged than before. Still, when his fingers graze across your skin, tracing your jaw, there's a hesitation in his touch with how soft it is. 

 

Then, his hand stills near the corner of your jaw and he gives a thoughtful hum.

 

“So, what you were saying is…” he begins slowly, and you’re glad to hear a bit of amusement in his voice, “...you’re saying you edged me tonight to prove a point?”

 

Everything in you goes still and your eyes widen behind the opaque cloth. After a few moments, you can’t help the giggle that bubbles up and out of you.

 

“I guess… that’s one way of looking at it,” you admit, your face feeling like it’s on fire now.

 

Relief washes through you at the sound of his chuckle as his fingers catch your chin and the pad of his thumb traces the line of your lower lip.

 

“Maker, Sweetling,” his voice rumbles softly, “I’ve missed that smile. That laugh.”

 

The warmth of your blush spreads down through your body and you bite your lip again before smiling brighter as his other arm pushes off the wall behind you and slips around your waist, drawing you up against him.

 

“So have I,” you whisper.

 

Then you tangle your fingers back into his hair and pull him down into a fierce, desperate kiss.

Chapter 34

Summary:

This one is mostly fun and fluff. Some smut. It's a bit long.

I've had a couple of readers give me requests recently, which I love! I've tried to get a few of them into this chapter. I have a couple more I'm working on.

If anyone else has any requests for these two, please feel free to let me know! Requests can be of any type: fluff, angst, smut, specific scene ideas, kinks, etc. Anything at all will be considered and fit in if possible! I can be reached through comments on here or on Tmblr at Keeshya6.

I hope you all enjoy some softness after the recent intensity!

Chapter Text

Things gradually begin to return to some semblance of normal after that night on Myrkr.

 

You find you are able to feel comfortable on the Crest again, settling back into routines that helped you recover from Nar Shaddaa the first time Din found you there; while Din begins to take on more substantial work from Greef Karga once more.

 

Neither of you rushes the other though, and you are both grateful for it. 

 

Your daily exercises help. Spending time in the cockpit with Din and Grogu, just watching the lights of hyperspace zip by, helps too. It’s comfortable, familiar. 

 

Letting yourself get lost in Din's arms –whether he's simply holding you for hours, or you both get swept away by heated caresses and urgent need– certainly seems to also have some kind of healing effect.

 

Smiles start to come easier.  Laughter too. 

 

Occasionally, a river of emotions does overwhelm you again though. Sometimes it’s dark emotions, like the feelings of loss you’d avoided for so long. Sometimes it’s lighter emotions, like the joy of watching Din encourage Grogu as the little one practices with his Force ability, moving objects around the cockpit. When emotions overwhelm you, good or bad, you often retreat to the hold. You curl up on the new bedroll that Din purchased before leaving Navarro again, and snuggle into the equally new blanket that's actually big enough for all three of you to fit under. 

 

It never takes long before you're joined by Grogu, burrowing into the blanket with you for cuddles. Din isn't usually far behind either, and gathers you both close; unless you express a need for space, which happens only on rare occasions. He silently holds you, caressing your hair, your back, or your stomach, and never demands more knowledge of whatever brought on the tears this time. Sometimes you tell him anyway. Sometimes you don't. 

 

Thankfully, those moments of feeling overwhelmed are coming less and less often though.

 

 

A couple of weeks later, Din startles the hell out of you one evening.

 

You’re sitting in the hold with the foundling, watching with a warm smile as Grogu scrunches up his little face in concentration. The little one is making his wooden dewback toy trot back and forth along a section of the deck in front of him, using only the Force.  The toy goes about a foot each time, with stuttered movements, before beginning to move back the opposite direction again. 

 

He’s been at it for nearly an hour, taking rests and huffing and puffing in between each attempt. With each rest he looks up at you excitedly, tiny teeth showing in his cherub grin, and you smile brightly back at him and offer encouragement.

 

"You're doing so good, Little Man! I'm so proud of you!"

 

The happy look he gives you with those big, brown eyes makes your chest swell with warmth. You may not be able to teach him anything about his abilities, but you can at least encourage him in the meantime. 

 

It’s during one of those pauses, with Grogu resting his head on your knee and murmuring excited gibberish to himself as you caress one big, bat-wing ear, that Din drops down from the cockpit to land at the base of the ladder with a loud clang.

 

You weren’t expecting him and it makes you jump with a yelp of surprise. Grogu gives a little jump too, startled by your surprise.

 

With a hand resting against your chest, you gasp in a breath and look up at Din with your brows pinched together.

 

“Kriff, Din,” you half-scoff and half-laugh up at him. "Some warning, please."

 

Grogu babbles something up at Din that sounds very similar to the tone of your words and makes you laugh softly.

 

The laughter fades as you realize that Din is frozen in place, his helmet fixed on your face. It draws out for so long that you bite your lip and nervousness starts to dig into the edges of your mind.

 

“Din,” you say softly, "What's wrong?"

 

The foundling coos in curiosity too, his head tilting and ears twitching.

 

Din seems to snap out of his daze then, shaking his head a little as he takes a hesitant step towards you. That T-shaped visor remains trained on you. Another step and then he’s crouching down in front of you, reaching out a gloved hand and giving a fleeting touch to your jaw.

 

He whispers something, but you can't quite make out the words. 

 

Your head cants as you worry at your lower lip.  “W-what?”

 

Din clears his throat with a brief tick downward of his helmet. Then he’s looking up at you again. 

 

“You were humming…”

 

Blinking a few times, your brows furrow again. “Oh. I was? I didn’t even realize it… I’m sorry if I distur-”

 

He shakes his head quickly and cuts off your train of thought as his fingers slip into your hair and he leans close to rest his faceplate against your forehead. 

 

“No, Sweetling," he murmurs, his voice sounding thick. "Don’t apologize. It's…it's good to hear it again. Ship’s been too damn quiet.”

 

You can see your eyes widen a bit in the reflection off his helmet. Then, you feel the warmth of a blush coloring your cheeks.

 

“Oh…” you squeak out and a brief, nervous giggle bubbles up from your chest. "Do I… do I really do it that often?"

 

Din swallows hard and you can see his throat bob. He must have left his cape and cowl in the cockpit. The helmet moves in a slight nod. 

 

"You used to," he says.

 

The familiar sting of tears comes to your eyes and you blink rapidly to fend them off, swallowing against a lump in your own throat. 

 

Din's thumb caresses your cheek, wiping away one tear that manages to escape. 

 

"I've missed hearing you sing," he whispers.

 

You're quiet for a few heartbeats, nibbling at your lower lip and trying to find the right words to respond.

 

And then Grogu nuzzles in-between the two of you with a happy trill, a "Patoo!", and a firm, little nod. 

 

You blink in surprise at the kid and the tilt of Din's head suggests that he's surprised too. Then, his armored shoulders lift in a shrug and you can hear the smile in his voice as his visor lifts back up to you.  

 

"Guess I'm not the only one."

 

For a moment you bite down on your lip a little harder, but then you let it slip free of your teeth and a smile pulls at your mouth.  Tears still sting your eyes but you don't try to brush them away this time, letting the tender warmth of the moment wrap around you. 

 

You decide to make a point of humming and singing more from now on. 

 

 

You toss down your latest hand of Sabaac cards and grumble as you peel off your shirt.   Your voice is muffled under the cloth for a moment. "You know… I used to be good at this game. Kriffing helmet…screwing me up… can't read your tells…" 

 

Why had you thought this was a good idea?

 

Din can only guess it was boredom. 

 

He had caught his last bounty for this batch of quarries a couple days ago on Bothawui. It hadn't taken long. Apparently the former drug smuggler was tired of running and had just given up in a cantina. It had been fairly anticlimactic and didn't even give Din a good story to tell you when he returned to the ship, less than two hours after leaving it. 

 

Now, the trip back to Navaro from that corner of space is taking several days. With only a quick supply stop at Charros IV planned, and still a couple days away, Din is letting the auto pilot do most of the work for the time being.

 

So, when out of that troublesome boredom, you had started poking around the items he "liberated" from the bounty, you were thrilled to find a deck of Sabaac cards and challenged him to a game.

 

A game you are now soundly losing.

 

He had considered going easy on you; until you suggested additional incentive options to winning each hand. That brought out his competitive nature.

 

Din grins, leaning back against the bulkhead as he gathers up the cards from the crate between you two. Shuffling them idly, he takes a moment to enjoy the chaotic little show of you stripping off your shirt before you chuck it down onto the heap with your boots and socks.

 

For Din's part, you had declared early on that his armor doesn't count towards clothing to be lost. That's too much clothing compared to yours and he agreed, taking off the beskar before the first hand. Not that it's been an issue yet anyway. So far, the only things he's lost are both gloves and one boot.

 

You pull your knees in under your chin as you settle back on your crate, effectively blocking his view of your delightful bits hugged in lace.  With your back leaning against the closed ramp, you level a playful glare on his visor.

 

"Your deal, Mandalorian."

 

Chuckling, he cants his head to the side.  "You sure about that? You've lost four hands in a row."

 

When you give a curt nod, he chuckles and deals out the cards.

 

A couple minutes later Din groans as he drops a losing hand onto the pile and you laugh softly. He toes off his second boot and it thunks down onto the deck beside the first one. Then, he gestures for you to shuffle and deal.

 

Your amusement is short-lived when you're dropping another losing hand onto the pile next.

 

That deep chuffing laugh escapes his helmet again but he holds up his hand to stop you from stripping off another piece of clothing.

 

You tilt your head at him, an inquisitive eyebrow arching. 

 

"I'll give you the choice, Sweetling. You can lose the pants… or answer a question this time."

 

Both of your brows arch now and you drop your chin down onto your knees with a smirk. Neither of you had gone for the question option yet, both enjoying the idea of the gradual strip-teasing. "You'd rather ask a question than watch me undress further? Now I'm wondering if I should feel concerned or insulted."

 

Din chuffs and shrugs, leaning against the bulkhead wall and lets his eyes drag over you slowly. "Neither. I'm just taking advantage of your looming loss," he admits with a wide, hidden smile. "Besides, I plan to have you out of those clothes tonight either way. This just might take a little longer."

 

Your lips press together tightly for a moment before you giggle with a faint blush and shake of your head, briefly rolling your eyes.  "Alright. Go ahead and ask."

 

Din cants his helmet to one side at you as he considers for a moment. "What's something I don't know about you?"

 

Elegant eyebrows reach up your forehead again. "That's rather broad.”

 

He just shrugs.

 

Snorting a soft laugh, you look down and toy with a single Sabaac card as you seem to consider his question. Then a soft smile pulls at your lips and you give a little sigh, looking up at him. "Hmm… have I told you about Larek?" 

 

Licking his lips, Din's brows pinch together in thought for a moment before he shakes his head. "No, I don't think so."

 

A tender smile pulls at your lips. "He’s my best friend. Has been for most of my life."

 

Din flinches slightly, and has to push away a tinge of jealousy at the whimsical look on your face and the way you say that. 

 

Apparently, his flinch was more obvious than he thought because you snicker softly, your nose crinkling again. "He's also my brother."

 

Relief washes over him and he chuffs in embarrassment, rubbing at the side of his neck. "Oh. Well, no, you haven't mentioned a brother."

 

With a soft laugh, you shrug. "I haven't seen him in…hmmm…" –you hum in thought– "...about four years. He headed off planet, just after our father's election."

 

“Why?”

 

Your face scrunches up in a brief, distasteful expression. “He didn’t like the politics.  Now I think he might have been right,” you say, ending with shrug and cynical smirk.

 

Din gives another soft chuff as he begins shuffling cards again. "What's he like?"

 

Your mouth screws up to one side and Din suspects you're about to point out that he's asking multiple questions on his turn. You surprise him though by answering anyway. 

 

"A lot like our father, actually, but less… crazy?" you say with a cringe and a shrug. Then you give a light laugh and wave a hand like you're waving that unpleasant thought away.  "He's a few years older than me but we were pretty close when we were kids. Smart. Clever. Stubborn. Sometimes annoying."

 

A smirk pulls up one side of Din's mouth. "Ah, no family resemblance at all there, hm?"

 

You gape at him for a moment and then huff, before quickly leaning to the side to scoop up your shirt and chuck it at his helmet. 

 

He easily deflects the flying cloth, batting it aside and laughing as you sneer at him. The grin remains plastered on his face as he watches you struggle with your own laughter and try to keep looking upset at him. 

 

Maker, he loves you like this. So full of life again. 

 

That thought makes him go still, air lodging in his chest. 

 

The mirth fades from your eyes, replaced by curiosity. Your head tilts to the side and your brows peak. "Everything alright?"

 

He's not sure what gave him away. 

 

Din nods slightly, swallowing against a sudden dryness in his mouth. 

 

The words are caught on the tip of his tongue, like the breath in his lungs. 

 

Three little words.

 

He's wanted to say them to you for so long now. In fact, he has, a few times. Of course, he knows it doesn't count when you're not awake to hear them. 

 

And yet he can't seem to push them out when he knows you will hear.   

 

Considering how few things scare Din, and he’s never dealt with anything comparable to this, he’s not sure how the hell to deal with it.

 

It takes another few moments, and the curiosity on your face beginning to shift into concern, for Din to blink out of his frozen state and shake his head a little to clear it.

 

“Ye-yeah, I’m good,” he says, starting to deal the cards again.

 

He’s grateful when you don’t push the issue.

 

Distracted, Din loses the next couple of hands.

 

With the first one, you cant your head to the side, your tongue darting across your lips.  You give an appreciative little hum as he peels his shirt over his helmet and tosses it to the deck.

 

He chuckles, enjoying your brazen admiration as your pretty gaze moves at a leisurely pace over his torso. His laugh deepens when your eyes finally track back up to his visor and you give him an unapologetic, beaming smile.

 

On his next loss, you nibble your lip and hold up a finger to stop him. “Question…”

 

Din pauses for a moment and then nods, dropping his hands away from the fastenings of his pants. The increasing tightness of those pants has him a little disappointed in your decision, but he keeps that to himself with a self-deprecating smirk.

 

You hesitate for a moment in thought and then arch an eyebrow at him. "You told me once that you didn't grow up on Mandalore. So…where did you grow up?"

 

He leans back against the bulkhead, his tongue absently tracing his teeth for a quiet moment. 

 

"I was born on Aq Vetina. When the Mandalorians saved me, took me in, they brought me to Concordia." At the curious expression crossing your features he adds, "It's a moon of Mandalore. That's why my tribe survived the Purge."

 

Your head moves in a slight nod and then, after a moment's hesitation, you give him another questioning look. "Do you remember much about Aq Vetina?"

 

His shoulders rise briefly. "Some. I remember a couple of my school teachers. Not their names, just faces. The little girl that lived across the street, too." He pauses. "My parents."

 

An image of his parents dancing in their kitchen flits through his mind and Din smiles softly. He hesitates, keeping that memory for himself for a moment before realizing how much he wants to share those little moments with you. 

 

"I remember them dancing around the kitchen… and the way my father made my mother laugh."

 

Din goes quiet again, and then blinks in surprise, looking down to see your hand resting over his. Lifting his head, he finds you smiling up at him and his heart swells at the familiar, tender expression on your face.  

 

"That's a good memory," you say gently with that sweet smile pulling at your lips. Giving his hand a squeeze, you release him and begin gathering up the cards.

 

In the midst of shuffling, you glance up at him and a playful spark comes to your eyes. "I don't suppose you learned to dance from watching them?"

 

Din stares at you for a moment and then barks out a laugh, shaking his head. "You will never find out, one way or the other, Cyar’ika."

 

You heave a dramatic sigh and roll your eyes as he chuckles. "Fine." Setting the shuffled deck on the crate between you both, you point down at the cards. "Deal," you say firmly. 

 

Din pauses as he reaches for the pile, quirking a brow behind the visor.  "Oh... I know you're not trying to give me an order, Sweetling..."

 

You go still for a moment, eyes a little wide.   But then you tilt your chin up just a bit, defiant, and smirk with your eyes narrowing.

 

"Deal," you repeat. 

 

"So that's how things are gonna go now?" he asks as his voice drops deeper into his chest in a rumble. 

 

You are barely holding back a giggle and Din can see the shiver of anticipation that runs through you. 

 

"Yes," you answer simply with a coy smile. 

 

Din grins.

 

 

Leaning on the back of Din's seat, you watch over his head as the clouds part and then finally dissipate around the Crest's descent. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. 

 

"This view is starting to get awfully familiar," you comment.

 

Din's helmet tips back to glance at you over his shoulder before he focuses again on the ship's console and the view of the approaching ground.

 

"Suppose it is," he agrees, slowing the Crest as the arch of Navarro's capital city comes into view and he starts flipping more switches for the landing sequence.

 

You fall silent, letting him focus on getting the ship down safely. 

 

As the Crest starts to power down a few minutes later, Din pushes to his feet and turns to step around his chair.  His broad shoulders lift in a shrug. 

 

"This might be the last visit for a while though. I'm going to grab some of the higher paying fobs that Greef's been trying to foist on me this time."

 

A soft smile crosses your lips and you nod, glad to see the return of his confidence. 

 

A short while later your small group is heading into a familiar café on the city's main road, where Greef often likes to conduct business if he's feeling the need to get away from his office.  According to Din, they used to meet in a rather seedy cantina, but it was destroyed in a firefight and has since been rebuilt as a school.

 

That had made you give him a disbelieving look, which he just responded to with a shrug. 

 

Greef is waiting for your group and waves with a broad grin and boisterous greeting. Din slides into the booth opposite of him as you hand the foundling to the big man, much to the apparent delight of them both. 

 

As the pair discuss the return of Din's bounties and the new ones he'll take, you wander up to the bar of the cafe, leaning on it and examining the array of available drinks.  

 

"Hey."

 

You jump as Cara bumps her hip against yours and leans back against the bar next to you. 

 

Heaving a sigh, you turn to face her with a scowl. "Really? I swear I'm going to have a heart attack, and one of you damn silent-warrior types is going to be to blame!" You point a finger up at her grinning face. "Would it kill you all to make some noise?"

 

Shoulders shaking with a laugh, she shrugs. "You never know."

 

Your finger retracts into your fist as your hand lowers to your side, a scathing comment on the tip of your tongue. That is until you hear a modulated chuckle from the booth and turn to find the trio there watching you too. 

 

You level a glare on Din's visor. 

 

With the way he cants his head at you in response, you're certain he is grinning behind that transparisteel barrier. You throw your hands up in annoyance and turn back to perusing the drink selections with a grumble. 

 

As the bounty conversation in the booth resumes, Cara reaches over the bar for a bottle of grog and two glasses, nodding to the bartender. "Put it on my tab."  Then she's pouring you both a glass.

 

Picking yours up, you swish the dark liquid a little before taking a drink and savoring the sweet, spiced flavor. "We better be careful with this stuff," you say with a smirk.

 

"Eh, we'll avoid the kitchen," she quips with a grin as she takes a gulp.

 

Laughing softly, you move to settle onto a stool, facing her again. 

 

Cara does the same, glancing over towards Din, Grogu, and Greef for a moment. Then she focuses her dark eyes on you again. "So, you two doing better?" she asks.

 

You take sip of your drink and then nod with a soft smile. "Yeah, we are. That… trip a few weeks ago really helped." There’s a brief pause as you take another sip.  “Still having nightmares. They’re getting easier to deal with though.”

 

Her head cants curiously at you.

 

A single shoulder lifts in a shrug and you cast her a soft smile. “It’s easier to chase the fear away once I’m awake, now that I’m not trying to do it alone.”

 

She lets a slow smile pull at her mouth and gives a satisfactory nod. "Good."

 

You both fall into silence for a couple minutes then, drinking and listening to Greef and Din as they go over bounty details.

 

You're glad that she didn’t ask for further details of the ‘fix’ you used, but you can't help smirking after a bit.  "The throw worked," you say leaning a little closer to her with a hushed tone.

 

Cara's brows leap upward and she coughs on her latest swallow of grog.  Then, she's grinning at you. "Really?"

 

You can't help your bright smile in return and a light laugh. "Mhmm… totally unprepared. Over my shoulder. Right into a wall."

 

Cara almost doubles over against the bar as she laughs, barely managing to set her glass down before spilling it. "Oh, I would have paid good credits to see that!"

 

You snort a little into your glass. "No offense, but I'm glad that wasn't an option."

 

Her laughter pauses long enough for Cara to quirk an eyebrow at you.  Then she's grinning again when you blush and she shakes her head, picking her glass up for another drink. "Never mind. I take it back. I'm good," she laughs.

 

Chuckling, you chance a glance back at Din then, and find his helmet tilted at you curiously.  With a smirk, you just shrug at him. 

 

"Oh! That reminds me," Cara says, putting her glass down on the bartop again. "Mando!"

 

Din's visor shifts from your face over to Cara's. "Yeah?"

 

She strides across the short space to the booth, gesturing for Greef to scoot over. "You still owe me a re-match."

 

The helmet slants to the side again, watching Cara as she slides into the booth across from him. "A re-match?"

 

The marshal gives him a wicked grin and nods, placing her elbow on the table and holding her hand up. "Yep. You only won the last one because of your goblin," she says, head jerking towards Grogu, who is still in Greef's lap and watching her with big, curious eyes.

 

You step over towards the booth, your brow creasing in curiosity of your own.  

 

Din chuckles, shifting in his seat and bringing his own arm up onto the table to grasp her hand. "Alright, Dune, you're on."  He pauses then, lifting his other hand to point at Grogu. "No powers, Kid. It's just a game."

 

The little one babbles something in return, little forehead gaining a few wrinkles as he looks back at Din seriously. 

 

Lips pressed into a line, you move to the empty booth behind Cara, resting a knee on the cushioned seat as you watch the two settle into place.

 

"Arm wrestling?" you ask incredulously. 

 

Cara laughs and nods, sparing a glance back at you. "Yeah. Last time his kid used that Force stuff. Nearly choked me to death until Mando convinced him we weren't actually fighting. I've been meaning to get in a re-match ever since."

 

Your jaw drops slightly and you look over at Grogu, whose ears dip a little. That just adds to a growing suspicion you've had that he understands more than he lets on. Your lips purse and you tsk at him over Cara's shoulder.

 

"Grogu…it's not good to help your dad cheat, especially not like that."

 

There's a round of chuckles from the other adults, then Cara's expression turns stern at Din. "Ready?"

 

"Ready," he responds, a grin in his voice. 

 

You laugh softly as they both brace, leaning into the test of strength. 

 

It doesn't take long for you to realize they're pretty evenly matched, and soon several minutes have passed without either one giving any ground and both muttering light-hearted insults at one another. 

 

Grogu meanwhile trills excitedly, leaning forward in Greef's arms to watch closely. Any time the little one lifts a hand Greef pushes it back down with a tutting sound, just in case.

 

After those several long minutes pass, with neither combatant giving in at all, an idea strikes you. You have to bite your cheek and press your lips together when it does, to keep yourself from giggling. 

 

Oh, this could be a terrible idea or a fantastic one… or maybe a little of both?

 

Barely able to suppress your giggle, you're happy that Din is so focused on the match with Cara. Otherwise he'd probably see the mischievous glint in your eye and have warning.

 

Turning, you lift a foot onto the booth seat behind Cara and lean down as if to tie your boot laces. It puts you out of sight behind the back of the booth for a moment and you let a silent giggle escape before swallowing it down again. Then, your slender fingers deftly pop open the top two buttons of your simple work-style shirt.

 

Straightening, you move to kneel on the booth's bench. Your forearms brace on top of the joined backs of the booth seats, hands draped down lazily to Cara's left. And then you lean forward, as if very interested in watching the on-going test of strength. 

 

It doesn't take long for Din to notice, and the moment he does is obvious. 

 

That shiny beskar helmet barely ticks in your direction, and then immediately snaps back over with a double-take.

 

You're rather proud of yourself in that instant, because you manage to keep a nonchalant expression on your face. Especially considering you know that he has a perfect view down your shirt, breasts hugged in a recently-acquired pale blue lace bra, and the position perfectly accents your cleavage. 

 

And the distraction is enough for Cara to finally shove his arm over and force his knuckles to the tabletop before he can recover. 

 

Cara gives a loud "Whoop!" in victory, punching her fist into the air and then pointing at Din's visor. "Gotcha, Mando!"

 

Din's fist clenches on top of the table, leather glove creaking, and his visor remains fixed on you. "Mhmm."

 

You bite the tip of your tongue to hold back a smirk and quirk your brows at him with an innocent tilt of your head. 

 

Cara, noticing his odd reaction, turns to look over her shoulder, only to be met with an eyeful of your cleavage. She pauses for a long moment – longer than necessary– and then grins, glancing at Din before looking up at you. "Well, that's quite the view," she quips. 

 

You glance at her with a brief smile and you give her a soft "Thank you" before returning your eyes to Din's visor.

 

There's silence for a breath before Cara chuckles. "You know," she whispers, though everyone at the table can still hear her, "if you wanted that innocent look to be convincing, you should have at least pretended to not know what view I was talking about."

 

You go still for a moment and your eyes widen a touch as Din cocks his head at you and leans back in his seat. Then, swallowing hard, you look down at Cara. Her smirk proves to be too much. The corners of your mouth twitch and a laugh starts in your belly. Before you know it, you're dropping your head down by your hands and giggling uncontrollably.  

 

You can't even look up when you hear Cara turn back to Din. "Guess that makes us even."

 

"Mhmm."

 

A snort escapes you and Cara laughs. 

 

After a few moments you finally manage to take a steadying breath and lift your chin just enough to peek out of the curtain of your hair. 

 

Cara, Greef and Grogu are all twisted on their side of the booth, watching you. The humans look amused and Grogu babbles at you happily.

 

Din hasn't moved at all.

 

You bite your lip, unable to keep from continuing to smile as you lift your head and push your hair out of your face to meet his gaze.  

 

Next to you, Cara turns to face Din too. Her arms cross over her chest as she rests back in her seat and leans to her left, towards you. Once again she drops her voice into a faux whisper. "I think you're in trouble."

 

Another snicker threatens to escape you. "I don't know. You think so? Hard to tell sometimes...face like his."

 

A faint snarl passes through the helmet's filters.

 

Cara and Greef both chuckle as you press your lips together to stifle your amusement. 

 

With a sigh and rueful shake of his head, Din leans over to grab the bounty fobs off the table in front of Greef. Tucking them into a pouch of his belt, he takes Grogu from the other man's hands and slides out of the booth.  

 

You try –you really do– to put on a serious expression, as Din crooks a finger at you. A smirk still manages to tug at your mouth though and you're pretty sure you hear a soft growl before he turns on his heel and strides towards the exit.

 

Glancing down at Cara, you give an exaggerated cringe before sliding off of the bench with a giggle. You move to follow Din but Cara catches your wrist and you look back at her with surprise.

 

There's concern in her eyes, despite her smile. "You'll be okay?"

 

You glance at Din's departing back and then flash a reassuring smile at Cara. "Yes," you say firmly. "I know…you don't get it, and it is complicated, but I'll be fine. I trust him." Tossing her a playful wink, you pull your wrist free. 

 

As you hurry to follow, you barely catch Cara's huff of a laugh behind you and her comment, "She's right, I don't get them," as Greef laughs.

 

You smirk, ducking out the door and jogging to catch up to Din's determined strides, anticipation thrumming through your veins.

 

Oh, I hope that was worth it. Kriff, but it was funny…

 

 

He'll never admit it, but Din is grinning the entire way back to the Crest. 

 

So, she's feeling well enough to play now? Good.

 

He pushes a button on his vambrace to lower the Crest's ramp as he approaches it, but he pauses before going aboard and turns to hand the kid to you. Then he watches as you fidget for a moment with Grogu's robe, and he's glad to see you're still smiling, despite obviously feeling nervous. 

 

Without a word, he turns to stride up the ramp and to the ladder for the cockpit.

 

He's still grinning.

 

But that doesn't mean he's not going to let you squirm for a while.

 

 

And squirm you do.

 

As Din disappears up the ladder, you bounce Grogu on your hip and nibble at your lip.

 

His silence is a bit on the edge of unnerving.  

 

Reaching out, you close the boarding ramp door behind you.  It groans and creaks loudly and for a moment you are distracted with the thought that you ought to pull out the data pad to give that maintenance book from Peli another try.

 

Looking down at the child in your embrace, you find he’s looking up at the creaking hydraulics too. A smirk tugs at your lips. “Think you could translate the maintenance gibberish for me yet?” 

 

Grogu’s big, saucer eyes turn to you and after a moment he begins gesturing and babbling. 

 

Your smirk pulls into a full smile and you let him go on for a minute as you move through the hold, glancing over at the cockpit ladder nervously.  Then, when the kid finishes with a flourish of his little, three-fingered hands, you turn your full attention to him again and grin.

 

“Sorry, Little Man,” you say, tapping his nose with a fingertip. “Still not catching a single word.  It sounds very intriguing though.”

 

Grogu sighs at you and you laugh again, caressing one of his big ears as you head towards the fresher.

 

“I know it’s frustrating, sweetie.  I wish I could understand. Come on. Time for a bath and then bed.”

 

The nightly routine of getting Grogu down takes a bit longer than normal. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s extra restless, or if it’s you that is prolonging it as you regularly glance at the ladder to the cockpit, nerves fraying a bit with the continued quiet from the ship’s third occupant.

 

Once Grogu is finally asleep, you take a few moments to splash some cool water on your face and run a comb through your hair.

 

That’s when you realize that it is definitely you that has been delaying.

 

Rolling your eyes at your own reflection, and huffing a sigh, you pause at the base of the ladder long enough to kick off your boots and socks.

 

Then, you climb.

 

 

Din is in his seat, leaning back with his booted feet stretched out under the console and crossed at the ankles.  His leather clad fingers are intertwined and resting against the armor padding on his stomach. 

 

He looks surprisingly comfortable despite still wearing all of his armor, and for a moment you think he might be asleep.  But then that baritone, modulated voice fills the air of the cockpit and chases away the comfortable silence, replacing it with anxious anticipation.

 

“That took a while.”

 

Nibbling at your lip, you stand just inside the cockpit door and absently rake your fingers through your hair. You hum a soft acknowledgement. “Mhmm… guess my nerves got the best of me,” you say, surprising yourself with the admission.

 

Din shifts in his seat and turns the chair to face you, giving his head a sharp tilt to the right. 

 

For a moment you are distracted by the strong line of his neck, the exposed, golden-tan skin making your mouth go dry. It’s the only part of him not currently covered by armorweave and armor, with his cape and cowl removed and dropped onto the foundling’s jumpseat.

 

“What could possibly have you nervous, Sweetling?” he asks, voice dipping a little lower into his chest.

 

You’re still for a moment, lips pressed into a line. Then you huff a sardonic laugh and just arch a brow at him in reply.

 

A faint chuckle escapes the helmet then and you feel a little of the tension drain out of your shoulders. Your blood still feels like it's flowing with adrenaline though as you wait.

 

He's still and silent for several moments again before he finally moves, though barely. His head shifts just enough to make his perusal of you obvious, from head to toes and back up again. It's like the growing heat in your veins is moved by that look, a flush coloring your skin at your belly, up to your breasts, your neck, and finally into your cheeks, chased by the slow trek of his gaze.

 

“You were so eager for me to see that bra, Cyar'ika?" he asks in a soft rumble that you'd swear goes straight between your thighs. "Strip.”

 

Your brows arch and your tongue slips out to trace your lower lip.  It’s been a long time since he’s given you an order in a tone like that and it immediately makes your heart hammer. After a moment to catch your breath, you give a small nod and grasp the bottom hem of your shirt to pull it over your head.

 

“Yes, Sir,” you murmur, peeling the shirt off and then shimmying out of your pants.

 

Din's helmet tilts again as he seems to study the soft blue, intricate lace that hugs your breasts, hips and mound. “Got those on Charros IV?” he asks, referring to the last stop the ship had made before coming back to Navarro.

 

Catching your lip with your teeth and smiling coyly, you nod. 

 

That was a couple of days ago. The same little shop-keeper had remembered you when you visited her store again. And since Din had dropped off credits for you this time, and gone off to do some purchasing of his own, you had a chance to be more selective than last time. This isn’t the only fun set of pretty things you’d found to surprise him with, but it is the first of them that you’ve worn.

 

Din tilts his head again, the level of the visor sliding down the length of you and back up so there’s no mistaking his slow perusal. He lets you squirm again for several breaths under that intense scrutiny, before he turns his chair back towards the console. 

 

Your brows shoot upwards.

 

The surprise you feel is short lived, though, when he crooks a finger at you over his shoulder.

 

Licking your lips, you step up beside him and cant your head to look down at his visor.

 

He barely glances up at you before reaching out a gloved hand to wrap around one side of your waist. The next thing you know you’ve been maneuvered into the space in front of him, caught between the console and the front of his chair, standing between his spread knees with both of his hands on your waist. 

 

The heels of your hands brace on the console behind you as you look down at him, your lower lip slipping out from between your teeth. 

 

Din’s hands glide up from your waist to your rib cage and his leather clad thumbs trace the lines of your bralette. He follows the edges of the lace over the tops of your breasts, leather barely kissing along your skin and making your breath hitch, before sweeping over the peaks of your tits through the dainty material.

 

A soft hiss escapes you, back arching a bit as your palms press into the edge of the console and your eyes flutter. Desire arcs through your veins, dancing across your skin out from those teasing touches to pool between your thighs.

 

You can’t help the whine that passes your lips when his hands drop back down from your breasts to grasp your waist. Then you squeak in surprise as he tugs you forward towards him. Your hands snap out to catch on the back of the seat just behind his broad shoulders, making you lean over him so either your face or your breasts are just inches from his helmet’s faceplate, depending on which way his head is tilted.

 

Currently his head is tilted up, so you are staring directly into that dark, unreadable visor.

 

Your lips part and your tongue darts across them again; and you would swear you hear the slightest of groans come through the helmet’s modulator.

 

A coy smile begins to tug at the corners of your lips, until the sharp sting of his open palm on your ass steals your smugness away and you gasp, body jolting and eyes widening.

 

His head cants at you slightly, fingertips tracing along the edge of your panties over the curve of your ass. "Color?" he whispers. 

 

It takes you a moment to catch your breath from the shock of that smack, and the heat that spears straight into your core with it. Swallowing thickly, you blink a few times and stare down into his visor, your heart hammering in your chest. After that moment passes though, you let a brief smile curve your lips. 

 

He's not about to let you get away with your little prank –no matter how you answer– and you know it, but you also know he'll change his approach if you need him to. 

 

You're happy to realize that you don't need him to. 

 

"Green," you softly purr. 

 

His hand gives an affectionate squeeze to your hip, before the other one lifts away and then comes back down hard on the other side of your lace hugged ass, making you jerk again above him. 

 

“Care to explain what happened back in town?” he rumbles out.

 

“Um… uhh… It seemed like a good idea at the time?” you stutter, your mouth trembling and a nonchalant shrug lifting your shoulder.

 

Your mouth drops open then in another gasp as his hand connects with your ass again in a stinging slap. Biting down hard onto your lip, your fingers dig into the back of his chair as you whimper and shiver, eyes closing.

 

Din’s large hand cups and squeezes one ass cheek, giving it a shake, and your eyes pop back open widely to look at him. A chuff comes out of the helmet and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “Focus, Sweetling.”

 

Swallowing hard, you lick your lips and shrug again. “I-I saw an opportunity for some fun,” you admit, a flush sweeping up from your breasts to your cheeks.

 

“Hmmm…” he hums in thought, giving another squeeze to your butt; then another pair of sharp smacks that tug a squeal out of you, which melts into a soft moan. He gives a low chuckle as his fingers gently smooth over the aching spots then. “And you didn't think there would be consequences?" 

 

You haul in a shaking breath, barely able to keep your eyes from closing as arousal rushes through you with the stinging pain. "I…I knew," you whisper. 

 

Din pauses, his hands curled over the mounds of your rear as you continue to lean over him, a slight shudder in your bracing arms. Then another thoughtful hum escapes him as he slaps one cheek again, and your body instinctively arches towards him as you mewl.

 

“Have I been too careful with you since Myrkr?” he rumbles, curiosity in his voice. "Is that it, Sweetling?” His head tilts to look down the line of your body, lingering for a moment at your breasts swaying so close to his helmet. Then he looks back up at your flushed face. “You just needed some attention?” he asks with amusement as he stresses the question with another rough squeeze.

 

Your lips press into a line as you whimper softly, your pussy clenching with each throb from your smarting ass cheeks. Gritting your teeth, you force yourself to take a steadying breath and focus on his visor again. You can feel the fresh heat of a blush come up into your cheeks. 

 

“I suppose th-that could be part of it,” you murmur, a shy little smile pulling up one corner of your mouth. Then you slowly trace your tongue across your lips again, your eyes darting down in thought and then back up again. “B-but really…I didn’t give it that much thought…in the moment.”

 

“Hmm. In that case, I suggest a bit more thought next time, my little brat,” he says in a low rumble, with couple more swift spanks, making you yelp, and then moan.

 

Your breath stutters from the mixed sensations brought on by the strikes of his palms, trembles racing through you and dampness quickly gathering in your panties. With a slow, shaking breath, you give a few quick nods, looking down at him with hooded eyes. “Ye-yes, Sir,” you whimper, though you’re unable to help a faint smile on your lips at the affectionate way he referred to you. 

 

Din makes a soft sound of approval, rubbing his hands over the curves of your ass soothingly. 

 

Your eyes drift closed again and you arch, pressing your rear back into his hands. 

 

Lifting his head a little further, Din nuzzles the faceplate of his helmet against your cheek as he continues the soft massage to your smarting rear, fingers dipping under the lace of your panties for a few moments. 

 

Then, his baritone voice washes over you again. "You took that so well, Sweetling. That’s the good girl I want,” he says, and chuckles softly at the thrilled tremble that courses through you from the praise. “But we’re not finished yet," he adds, voice dipping into a growl.

 

Eyes fluttering open, a bit hazy, you barely lift a brow at him. 

 

“On your knees, Sweetling.”

 

 

Din watches you closely as he gives the command; and he can’t help grinning when your lips curl into a wicked smirk and your pupils dilate further, leaving only a sliver of color around them. 

 

He hadn’t been sure about your punishment with that first swat, but he had been glad to see the eagerness that came to your eyes, making them shine despite the surprise you’d obviously felt. Eagerness to feel alive. Eagerness to please.

 

You weren’t going to let the shadows of Nar Shaddaa hold you back.

 

Din couldn’t be prouder.

 

Leaning back in his seat, he watches as you sink to your knees between his feet, leaning into the V created by his thighs. His breath comes in a soft hiss at the sight, reveling in the way you look up at him with wanton anticipation.

 

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he swallows thickly, biting back a groan. Then he barely moves his head in a nod.

 

“Open my pants, Sweetling. Take my cock out.”

 

A smirk pulls up on his mouth as he watches you bite at your lip and quickly slide your hands up over his thigh guards to the front of his pants. Slim fingers move with deft excitement to release the fastenings and reach inside. He does let out a low groan then as your fingers curl around his semi-hard dick and you pull him out of the confines of his pants.

 

You lean closer, the tip of your tongue peeking out of your barely parted lips to wet them, before you catch yourself and pause. Wide-blown eyes lift back up to him through your lashes and he can see your throat move as you swallow hard. Your lithe fingers remain wrapped around him and you stroke him almost languidly as you wait for direction.

 

Din reaches down to stroke your lower lip, and a deep, resonating hum escapes him as he watches your tongue dart out to sweep over the pad of his thumb, wetting the soft leather. Then his thumb caresses over your cheek as his head slants to one side.

 

“Such a beautiful, little brat,” he rumbles fondly with a smile.

 

Your responding smile is bright as you turn to nuzzle your mouth against the palm of his glove, your eyes never leaving the visor of his helmet.

 

“Can you be good for me?”

 

You whimper softly and nod against his hand with a barely audible “Yes, Sir.”

 

Grinning, Din continues to caress your cheek for a few moments before he curls his fingers under your chin. Your brows lift towards your hairline again as he pulls you forward, farther into that V of his legs. Then he releases you near the apex of his thighs to rest back in his seat again and drops his hand onto the arm of the chair.

 

“Take me in your mouth, Cyar'ika,” he commands in a low growl. “Suck.”

 

 

Your entire body is thrumming with anticipation by the time Din finally gives you the order you’ve been waiting for. 

 

It’s such a simple command.

 

Suck.

 

Yet it has such a fierce effect on you, like lightening bounding across every nerve ending in your body. It draws a desperate whimper out of you even as you lean in to do as you’re told.

 

Eyes remaining fixed on his dark visor, you wet your lips with a swipe of your tongue and then part them to take in the head of his cock. The moan that escapes the beskar helmet is matched by your own at the first earthy, salty taste of him that you’ve had in months.

 

Why it has taken you so long to get your mouth on him again is suddenly a mystery that you have no fathomable answer to.

 

You take him further in with a needy sound slipping out of you, caressing the underside of his shaft with your tongue as you begin to suck. That sound turns into a delighted purr as you feel him hardening further, filling your mouth, thick and heavy.

 

The carnal sounding groan that comes out of him sends a fresh spike of arousal straight into your aching pussy and your hips rock instinctively.

 

As you set an eager pace, bobbing your head into his lap and hollowing your cheeks around him, you can feel the intensity of his gaze as he watches you. His fingers slip into your hair, palm pressing at the back of your head in a gentle urge to take him just a little deeper after the first few strokes.

 

You do, eagerly, your eyes fluttering.

 

And then you gasp around him as his fingers fist harshly in the locks of your hair, stinging your scalp and suddenly holding you still. Eyes snapping open wide again, you look up at him, whimpering softly around the length of him that fills your mouth.

 

The cuirass over his broad chest is rising and falling with his shallow, panting breaths as he holds you there, his cock twitching on your tongue.  His helmet drops back against his seat as he groans lowly and you can see his throat bob as he swallows hard.

 

He holds you there for what feels like an eternity, saliva pooling in your mouth until you have to swallow around him. It draws a grunt out of him and hiss, then he finally looks down at you again.

 

“Don’t… don’t do that again until I tell you to,” he chokes out.

 

You take in a stuttered breath and then barely nod.

 

A few more moments pass and then he relaxes his tight grip on your hair, but he doesn’t release you yet.

 

“Now, Sweetling,” he rumbles, “I need you to be a good girl for me.” 

 

There’s a hitch in his voice and he pauses when a thrill courses through you in a shiver just at hearing that phrase that you love so much, even if he's not calling you it yet. 

 

A deep chuckle comes through the helmet then. “To be good for me, I need you to just hold me like this,” he says.

 

Your eyes widen a little and your brows pinch together in confusion.

 

Din slowly releases your hair and his hand slips down to caress a thumb over your cheek again. “That’s right. Just hold me. You can rest your head on my leg if you need to,” he instructs, and if not for the thickness in his voice you would almost think he was explaining something as simple as opening a bottle of spotchka. “But otherwise you just hold me in your mouth like this, and don't swallow unless I give permission. Understood?”

 

You blink a few times, drawing in steading breaths through your nose, as you take a few  moments to process the command.  Then you hum a soft acknowledgement and barely nod again. 

 

 

A faint moan comes up from Din's throat at the vibration of your hum and he takes a moment to catch his breath. Then he nods down at you with another affectionate caress to your cheek.  “Good.” 

 

He lifts his head to focus on the console, reaching out for the comms switch with the hand that isn't at your cheek. The smirk that pulls at his mouth quickly becomes a wicked smile and he's glad it's hidden. When he looks back down at you, he knows there's amusement tinging his voice. 

 

“Now, I need to make a call. So, you’d better behave. Unless you want Greef or Cara to guess what you’re up to.”

 

It is obvious that it takes every bit of your self control to not pull back at hearing that, but your eyes do widen and you whimper up at him. 

 

Din chuckles deeply as he begins to punch in the call to Greef's office. He pauses before hitting the final couple of buttons, ticking his head downward again to look at you.

 

“Maker, you look good like this,” he says, his voice thick and a grin still on his face. Your wide-blown eyes blink a few times rapidly, as you appear to process what is happening. He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone once more. “If you’re good, Sweetling, and do as you're told for a while longer, I will have you cumming so hard by the end of the night that you won't be able to breathe," he promises in a soft growl.

 

A blush colors your cheeks and your breath flutters over his cock, making his own breath stutter. He watches as you squirm a little, whimpering, thighs pressing together. 

 

After another moment, you hum a soft acknowledgement around him. Then you carefully tilt your head to rest your cheek against his thigh guard, without letting any of his length slip from your mouth, your eyes never leaving his helmet. 

 

Another soft groan slips out of him and then Din gives a single nod, thumb tracing over the side of your mouth where his cock disappears past your lips. 

 

"Attagirl," he murmurs.

 

 

You take in a slow breath through your nose, whining softly around him, as arousal pools in your belly, making you ache. Pressing your thighs together isn't helping, and you're so damn wet that you can feel the slick soaking your panties.

 

And this man is about to make a holovid call?!

 

He even lifts his hand from your cheek, pressing a finger against his visor where his lips are hidden, and makes a soft shushing sound at you. Then he finishes entering the call.

 

It takes more than a little bit of your willpower to keep from pulling back and scoffing at him. Barely managing to reign in your brat, you give a heavy sigh around him and shift your weight carefully, keeping your cheek anchored on his leg. You press your aching pussy against your heel, rocking your hips just a bit in an attempt to find a little relief.

 

It doesn't help much. 

 

"Mando!" Greef Karga's voice is boisterous as always but a little on the tinny side through the comms. There's a reflection of blue on Din's helmet and you know he's looking at a holo of the other man. 

 

Din gives a sharp nod to the holo. "Greef."

He looks as unperturbed as usual. 

 

Damn helmet. 

 

"Forget something? Wasn't expecting to hear from you again for at least a month!"

 

You relax your jaw a little, and then inhale and exhale slowly around Din's cock. He pulses on your tongue.

 

Hardly moving his upper body at all, Din slips his hand around the back of your neck and squeezes in warning. A shiver races down your spine but you go still otherwise. 

 

"Yeah," Din continues as if everything were normal, though there's a slight catch in his voice that makes you feel a little proud. "I forgot to ask if you'd found anything new on that contract."

 

You go still, other than your eyebrows lifting.

 

"I'm afraid not, my friend," Greef's voice sounds disappointed. "I sent a copy to an expert in Glactic laws, but I haven't heard back. I'll let you know once I do."

 

Din's chest moves in a slight sigh and he nods. "Understood. Thanks."

 

You nearly jump then, when you hear Cara's voice come through, saying your name like a question. There's a pause and you realize she is waiting, probably expecting you to appear over Din's shoulder in the holo on their side, like you usually do. 

 

After a few heartbeats pass, hammering between your ears, you hear her ask, " She's not there? "

 

Din's voice comes out of the modulator in a deadpan. "She's busy down below."

 

You nearly choke on a laugh around him, a soft snort escaping you despite your best efforts. 

 

Din's shoulders barely shake then – probably not noticeable over the holo vid– and you know he's holding back a laugh of his own. 

 

" Oh, alright. I’ll catch her next time. Fly safe, Mando!"

 

Greef gives him a similar farewell and a moment later the blue reflection disappears off of Din's helmet as the call ends. 

 

His helmet tips down towards you and you meet his gaze. You're still barely holding back a giggle and you know it must be obvious on your face. Then, when his head cocks slowly to one side, your entire body goes still as you realize your hips are still rocking slightly, subconsciously seeking friction.

 

Din lets a faint chuckle pass through the modulator as his hand slips out from behind your neck, brushing a few strands of hair away from your eyes and then caressing your cheek.  “Needy little thing,” he teases, and then laughs when you give an indignant huff.  His thumb follows the line of your jaw and then down the side of your neck as his voice dips a little deeper into his chest once again. “You did good, Sweetling, but I’m getting soft now… better fix that.”

 

Your brow arches slightly but you give an appreciative sound as your lips tighten around him and you swallow. Really he had barely begun to soften, but you’re able to recognize the permission he’s giving you to move on him again.

 

When you swallow there’s a low groan that comes out of him and you purr in response, watching his head tilt back against the seat as you begin to move your mouth over him. Your head bobs, taking him in again and again, massaging with your tongue and hollowing your cheeks again. 

 

And then he’s stopping you again with a word and fingers fisted into your hair. You whine but also immediately obey.

 

“Good girl,” he half-groans and half-chuckles.

 

You shiver with a thrill at the praise and your next whine dies in your throat.

 

The cuirass on his chest rises as he takes a deep but stuttered breath, staring down at you, fingers loosening again in your hair and gently caressing it.  “You’re doing so good, Sweetling. Just a little more. I need to get us off planet and into hyperspace,” he pauses, canting his head at you. “Can you be good for me a bit longer?”

 

A faint whimper escapes you before you give a small but eager nod, tilting your head to rest your cheek on his thigh again.

 

There’s a rougher edge to his voice then, even though you can hear the grin in it. “That’s my girl.”

 

You purr softly and then fall quiet, and mostly still, as his hands leave you and begin to fly across the console controls to start up the ship. The engines roar to life beneath you and you can feel them through the floor, unable to hold back a soft moan at the vibrations. It’s drowned out by the loud startup though and you’re not sure if Din even heard it, though he might have felt it with the way his cock throbs on your tongue.

 

It feels like it takes forever for the ship to finally lift off the ground and up through Navarro’s atmosphere.

 

All the while you do your best to keep your mouth still on him, saliva gathering and even slipping down your chin until he glances down at you. With an appreciative hum, he gives you permission to swallow “Once ” and you do so with an eagerness that makes him groan.

 

Fresh excitement thrums through you when he warns you to brace yourself for the jump to hyperspace, one of his hands slipping down to curl around the back of your neck. Your own hands brace, one on his thigh and the other on the edge of his chair.

 

The jump pushes you farther down on him and you both groan, his shaft pulsing on your tongue as his tip bumps the back of your throat. He holds you there for a moment, sending a shard of heat straight down into your core as his helmet tilts back down to your face.

 

There’s a moment of stillness, anticipation building in the air around you both, as you meet the intensity of his gaze through the visor, your eyes blown wide again with wanton desire.

 

His hand slips free from the back of your neck and his words come out in a growl. 

 

“Get the fuck up here, Sweetling."

Chapter 35

Summary:

I have not slept tonight and it's 5am! I hope this is as good a chapter as my sleepy brain is telling me it is, because it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote this and I have to go to work on like an hour!

If tomorrow-me determines something is wrong with it, I might do some minor editing later. Lol

I hope you enjoy!

CW: Severe amounts of fluff. Seriously, it's sickening. Hehe. Also quite a bit of smut, with oral (male and female receiving), and PiV sex. It's "unsafe" sex, though it's established that she has an implant. Still... wrap up in real life, folks!

Chapter Text

One morning, you wake later than usual to find the Crest quiet and empty. 

 

Your sleep had been fitful, plagued by nightmares of isolation boxes and sweltering furnaces. Memories and emotions that you weren't sure were even your own wove into the dreams. Din helped you calm down after a couple of them, but there were a few times that he didn't wake up when you did, and you didn't want to bother him every time.

 

After all, one of you had to be at least somewhat rested when Grogu made his reentry into the galaxy of the conscious. 

 

It's frustrating that the nightmares aren't fading as quickly as the episodes of overwhelming emotion. Still, you know it could be worse, so you try not to complain. 

 

Stretching as you climb off the bedroll, a soft smile comes to you as you note the open ramp with bright daylight pouring a short ways inside. After finding a quick change of clothes, you make your way out into the warming rays of three distant suns. 

 

You blink in surprise at the sight of the suns and your brows scrunch up as you try to remember the name of the planet Din had mentioned. 

 

Kea? Keeos? Wait... was? No, that's on the other side of the galaxy... I think. Ceea? Ceria? Oh, whatever. It's something like that. 

 

With a shrug, you begin walking around the Crest in search of your travel companions. Near the nose of the ship, you stop short and cant your head with a soft scowl of confusion. 

 

The ship is sitting near a small lake, about twenty feet from the shore. Grogu is perched atop a large, flat rock further out into the lake. Other, smaller rocks dot the water's surface between him and the shore.

 

But there's only Grogu.

 

He seems to be staring intently down into the water that's lapping gently around his rock. It's difficult to be certain though, with his little back to you. 

 

It takes a moment for you to notice the armorweave, base layer clothes, plates of beskar, and weapons that are in a pile beside the lake. The only thing missing is the helmet. 

 

An eyebrow inches up your forehead as you look back out at the foundling sitting quietly on his rock. Then you scan the water and the shoreline again. 

 

"Did my Mandalorian melt?" you murmur to yourself with a faint laugh and begin picking your way down on bare feet towards that shoreline. 

 

As you reach the edge of the quiet lake you blink in surprise to see a hand come up out of the water behind Grogu's rock, with movement so slow that it doesn't appear to disturb the surface of the lake. Fingers curl over the edge of the rock and then the crest of Din's helmet barely breaks the surface, facing the child's back. So slowly that it takes you a moment to notice the movement, Din's other hand comes out of the water, droplets falling from his fingertips as he reaches out towards the back of Grogu's gigantic ear.

 

You have to hold back a laugh by pressing your mouth into a line and biting the back of your lips together. 

 

The little green gremlin must hear something though –or perhaps sense it– because he spins around with a hop, pointing a little clawed finger at Din.

 

Or rather, at where Din was.

 

The water is rippling around the rock now, from Din's rapid descent back under the surface as soon as his foundling moved. 

 

Grogu hops over to that edge of the rock, leaning down to stare into the water with a scowl pulling at his green features, and he babbles at the ripples indignantly. 

 

Your laughter comes out then, though you muffle it behind a hand over your mouth. 

 

The kid begins slowly tottering around the edge of the rock, watching the water with suspicion.

 

The scene repeats itself several more times, with Din coming up from the water just enough to reach for Grogu, only to drop back down when the little one senses his father and turns around. By the fourth time, you are sitting on the edge of the water with your arms wrapped around your knees, your mouth pressed to your knees and your shoulders shaking as you try to keep your mirth from disturbing their game.

 

You're not sure how long you sit there watching them, grinning and occasionally giggling. Watching Din play with Grogu may be your new favorite pastime, making you feel like your chest could burst from the loving warmth that spreads through you. 

 

It feels so good to, well, feel that love again. For both of them. 

 

And watching Din as that thought crosses your mind has you biting at your lip and makes your breath hitch a bit. 

 

You had been so scared that the feeling wouldn't return. 

 

Grogu finally notices you and trills something at you excitedly with a big grin, three-fingered hands wiggling in your direction. 

 

Your jaw drops and you gasp at the little one, pointing, "Look out!"

 

Too late!

 

Din takes advantage of the distraction and pops up out of the water to lightly flick at the back of the kid's ear.  

 

Grogu gives a little shriek and spins on him, jabbering incessantly, and you burst into laughter. 

 

When you lift your head again after catching your breath Grogu still appears to be berating Din, who has not retreated this time. His bare arms and shoulders are out of the water, arms folded atop the rock. He appears to be intently listening to the kid's complaints.

 

Snickering, you unfold yourself from the shore and begin to pick your way out to Grogu's rock, across the smaller stepping stones. As you draw closer, you can see a faint tremor in Din's shoulders as he holds in his amusement, sunlight glinting off the droplets that linger on his golden skin.

 

That –plus the way his biceps are accented with the folded position– proves to be a bit of a distraction and you nearly slip off a stone into the water. Righting yourself, you find both of them looking at you now and you can feel a blush in your cheeks and ears, even as you try to shrug your misstep away.

 

When you reach Grogu's rock and step onto it, your brows cease and your head gives a curious tilt at Din as you crouch down beside the little one. 

 

Meanwhile, Grogu hugs your knee excitedly and you rub a palm over his back. 

 

Din tilts his chin up to meet your curious expression with that unreadable visor. "Yes?"

 

You're distracted for a moment again, though this time is by a brief hissing sound coming from the helmet. 

 

"Why can I hear every breath you're taking?" you ask, a crease forming between your eyebrows. 

 

His responding chuckle sounds even more electronic than usual. "My helmet's pressurized right now. Makes the seal airtight but it kicks up the use of the filters for breathing. So, it's loud unless I'm submerged."

 

Eyebrows arching, you blink a couple times. "Oh! I didn't know it could do that."

 

Din chuffs lightly. "I don't think I've needed to use it around you before. And it takes a few minutes to pressurize, so if something happens without warning.." He lets that implication hang in the air for a moment before just shrugging. 

 

Still caressing the foundling's back, who is draping himself happily across your thigh now, you lean to the side slightly to look over the edge of the rock into the water below. You can't see the bottom here. Your curious expression turns back to Din. 

 

"How much air does it give you?"

 

He shrugs again. "A couple of hours, if the filters are new."

 

"Huh…" you murmur, looking at the water again and then down at Grogu, who gives you a bright smile. "Who knew, little guy? That thing has so many more uses than just hiding a handsome face away."

 

Din's head cants sharply at that and then he goes very still.

 

It takes you a moment to notice. 

 

You're focused on the kid's inarticulate, but thankfully brief, response. Then, when you laugh at Grogu and move your eyes back to Din, you freeze too, at the intense scrutiny he seems to be giving you. Another few heartbeats pass, your mind reeling, before you sigh softly and give him a gentle smile, hoping it's reassuring.

 

"I would never steal a peek, Din," you answer his unspoken question. Then you shrug. "Call it an educated guess."

 

His shoulders relax a little and his sigh comes through the filters louder than usual. After a breath, his head tilts the opposite way, showing his curiosity. "'Educated guess'? How so?"

 

A smirk curves at your lips and you nibble at the lower one. "Well, it's not difficult to guess some basic details."  

 

When that doesn't seem to dissuade his curiosity you let a thin laugh out and settle down to sit on the rock next to Grogu, who is now lightly splashing at the water next to Din's elbow. You begin to roll up your pant legs, giving yourself something to focus on other than the dark visor, as you shrug sheepishly.

 

"Your complexion is easy enough to guess, given the rest of you," you say, already feeling your ears reddening. "And… well, I've known the color of your hair for a while."

 

There's a pause before he chuffs softly. "Might not match what's on the rest of me," he replies, amusement in his voice. "Maybe I dye my hair."

 

You pause in rolling up your second pant leg and quirk a brow at him. Then you snort and shake your head. "No, you don't."

 

"And how would you know?" he challenges.

 

A fresh warmth comes to your cheeks as you let your legs dangle down into the water beside him. "The same way I have known the color of your hair since long before I ever saw you naked…" you say. 

 

You can feel him still beside you again and can practically feel his uncertainty. 

 

Your eyes lift from the water to his visor. "You cut your hair in the fresher… and all of it doesn't always make it down the drain to the filters. It's never a lot, but it's been enough for me to realize your hair is dark since… about a month after you first found me." Your shoulders raise again in a shrug. 

 

Din remains still for another moment before a huffed laugh comes through the helmet's filters and his shoulders drop the last of their tension.  His helmet turns and he lifts a hand to poke the kid in the belly with a single finger.

 

Grogu bats his little hands at the offending finger and jabbers at Din for a moment, before getting distracted again with splashing water.  

 

You're snickering at them by the time Din looks up at you again. 

 

"Anything else?" he asks with another slant of his head. 

 

You nibble at your lip some more in thought. "Umm… a mustache, of course," you say with a smile, which brightens at his chuckle. "And, if I had to guess, I'd guess brown eyes."

 

"Oh?"

 

You shrug again, smirking as you swing your legs in the water beside him. "Just seems to fit."

 

There's a tiny nod of the helmet as Din turns back to the kid, and you're not sure if that means he's confirming your guess or just acknowledging your words. 

 

For a few minutes you are both quiet then. Grogu's playing and the soft lapping of the lake's small waves against the rocks and the shore are the only sounds to break the silence.

 

It's calm. Peaceful.

 

As you sit and watch Grogu you let your mind wander through the conversation. You find yourself lingering over the little details you know about Din and it doesn't take long for you to mentally give yourself a firm nod. 

 

You're pretty confident in your guess. 

 

When Din finally speaks again, it's soft. You wouldn't even be sure he meant for you to hear it, except that his head turns slightly and you know he's looking at you from the edge of the visor.

 

"Do you like brown eyes?"

 

Your head tilts slightly as you consider him for a moment, a bit surprised by the hint of anxiety you hear in his voice. Vulnerability even. It’s not something you’re used to hearing from him and you press your lips together in consideration.

 

A shrug lifts your shoulders. “I’ve never really thought about it,” you muse, looking out across the water. “I think I notice the spirit within a person’s eyes before I really notice their color, and that's what usually draws me in.” Then a soft nod causes a few strands of your hair to fall across your face and you brush them away absently as you look back down at him. “But yes, I do.” You cross your legs then, propping your elbow on your knee and letting your chin rest in your palm, a soft, coy smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. “I could even love them, under the right circumstances…”

 

You can see Din’s throat bob then as he swallows hard, and you realize this might be the first time you've used that word in conversation with him. Sure, it's not exactly the emotional confession that's been poking at the edges of your mind and heart for weeks, but the moment still makes the air feel charged around you and steals the breath from your lungs. Also, you could swear there’s a faint redness that creeps up his neck to disappear under that inscrutable helmet. 

 

Before you can be sure though, there's a sudden squeak from the other side of the rock, followed by a splash.

 

Din's moving before you even realize it. He disappears under the water. 

 

Meanwhile, you spin and lunge across the rock, reaching past the spot the kid had just occupied and into the water. You're moving on instinct, hoping to catch the little one's robe before he sinks too far.

 

Your fingers curl around nothing.

 

Scrambling up to your feet, your eyes desperately search the water. 

 

A few feet to your right, water erupts out in a burst as Din surfaces, with a sputtering Grogu in his hands.

 

Grogu is clutching a squirming frog in his little claws. 

 

You stare at the little green face for a moment in disbelief before crouching and taking him from Din. 

 

"Really, Honey? Was it that important?" you ask with exasperation.

 

The foundling gives a couple of coughs that wrack his little, soaked body, but then he grins at you and holds up his catch like an offering. 

 

You can't help snickering, and even Din chuffs a laugh from the edge of the rock.

 

"You're incorrigible," you sigh, tapping the kid's little nose. 

 

 

You do your best to keep the kid occupied.  It's not difficult. If anything, it's hard to keep the little one from disappearing to explore something new every five minutes. 

 

Din had moved the Crest after the morning spent at the lake. His quarry was quite a bit further north. He set down in a grassy field with plenty to explore: mountains to the north and east, a forest to the south, and a river to your west, flowing down from the mountains to disappear into the trees. 

 

Lots to see.  Lots to lose a curious child in. 

 

The kid keeps you very busy just keeping up with him while Din is gone on his hunt into the northern mountains. 

 

You're glad for it though. The more tired you are, the less likely you are to be woken by nightmares, especially when Din isn't there to wrap you up in the security of his strong arms.

 

The third evening there, you trudge back up to the Razor Crest from the river bank just after sunset, your lower half stripped down to only your underwear and squishing boots.  Your soaked pants are draped over your shoulder and your wet shirt clings to you. Grogu is happily murmuring in your arms, trying to fight the urge to fall asleep, his muslin robe also soaked through. 

 

Despite the fact that you had needed to run into the water to catch the kid, –who went in after another creature of some sort, of course– you're still chuckling at him. 

 

You had laid with him on the river bank for a while, hoping your clothes would dry.  But once you saw that he was falling asleep, you decided to head back to the ship and just change into dry clothes.

 

As you near the ship, you stop short, dropping down into a crouch around the side of the Crest and softly hushing Grogu. 

 

You know you didn't leave the Crest's ramp down. And what is that clinking sound?

 

Grogu, easily picking up on your anxiety, quiets and turns to look the same direction you are. 

 

With slow and careful steps, you inch your way closer to the open ramp, biting the inside of your cheek nervously. 

 

When you reach a place where you can peek around the open entryway, you heave a sigh, releasing a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. 

 

Inside, you see Din.

 

Well, half of him. 

 

He's laying on his back, most of his upper body buried inside an open panel near the ladder at the front of the hold. One booted foot is extended out and the other is planted flat on the deck, knee bent towards the ceiling. His equipment belt is laying next to the wall, within arms reach, and a pile of tools is laid out beside it on his right. The clinking sound is coming from inside the wall.

 

You straighten up and walk around to where the ramp meets the ground to walk up it, softly laughing at yourself. After all, the nearest settlement is hundreds of miles away. Who else could it have been, really?

 

As you step into the hold, boots still squishing, you note that the carbonite frames have a brand new occupant.  

 

Hunt successful. 

 

Din's movements still for a moment. 

 

"How was the swim?" His voice sounds odd, echoey and muffled all at once from inside the ship's wall. 

 

You smirk, heading over to a drawer to pull out a towel. 

 

Of course he saw you. You shouldn't be surprised. There's no way he wouldn't have come looking for you when he found the Crest empty.

 

"Chilly," you say and give a soft kick to his extended foot on your way by him, as you carry the kid to the sleeping rack.

 

He sweeps that foot at you blindly but misses, his chuckle coming out of the open panel.

 

"Everything okay in there?" you ask as you strip the little one of his wet clothes and wrap him up in the towel. He trills up at you happily as you tuck him into his hammock.

 

"Yeah," Din says, his voice accompanied by a ratcheting sound. "Just checking on a few things."  

 

You smile at Grogu, who blinks at you blearily and gives you a toothy smile in return. Then he yawns and closes his big eyes, snuggling into the towel and his blanket as you close the rack door.

 

With a few quick steps, you toss the tiny robe and your sodden pants into the cabinet for dirty laundry. Then you walk past Din's feet again to retrieve another towel.  

 

You work the towel over your hips as you walk back towards the ramp controls and hit the button to close it up. As the sounds of the breeze and the near-by river are cut off by the closing ramp, you move back towards the front of the ship and Din's half visible body. 

 

Leaning down, you work to dry off your lower legs as you watch his.  

 

"Anything I can do to help?" you ask.

 

Din's movements pause –you can hear it– and there's that odd echo to his voice again. "Do you know the difference between a box wrench and a torque wrench? Or how to tell the sizes?"

 

For a moment you nibble at your lip, looking at the tools laid out. You think you know which ones are wrenches, but you're not sure.

 

"Well…no."

 

He chuckles again. "Then, no, you can't."

 

You give a faint laugh and shrug, resuming your drying off. After a moment's consideration, you peel off your damp shirt and drop it at your feet. Then you start drying your torso and arms.

 

The sounds of Din's movements in the wall pause again. "What are you doing out there?"

 

You glance at… well, his hips, really. "Getting out of my wet clothes from swimming and drying off."

 

There's a brief clatter inside the panel and then a grunt before the ratcheting sound starts up again.

 

You arch a slender brow at the wall. Then, a smirk tugs at your lips as you hear him mumbling to himself: something about staying focused and finishing the work.

 

A silent giggle shakes your shoulders and you bite your lip. Then you grin, a playful glint in your eyes that would have probably concerned Din...if he could see it. 

 

He's in an awfully convenient and vulnerable position. It would be such a shame if someone took advantage of that…

 

Licking your lips, you finish drying off your body and start rubbing the towel over your hair. Your eyes stay trained on him as you do, and you lean against the wall for support as you toe off your wet boots, leaving you in only river-water soaked panties and bralette. 

 

"Think you'll be long?" you ask, trying your best to sound nonchalant. 

 

There's another pause to the sounds inside the wall.  "Hmm…about twenty, maybe thirty, minutes." Then you hear him mumble again, though you don't catch every word, "If I…-ly focus."

 

Your teeth catch the tip of your tongue to stop you from audibly giggling. 

 

Oh… I'm going to get into trouble again, you muse to yourself, not feeling the least bit sorry about it though. 

 

After all, you're pretty sure he doesn't really mind. 

 

After a moment of hesitation you smirk and shrug to yourself. 

 

Some trouble is worth it.

 

Dropping the towel onto your boots, you walk over to him with soft steps, avoiding a spot on the decking that you know is loose and rattles a little. You step up beside him, on the opposite side of the tools and his belt, and let your eyes move over his boots, armor clad legs, and narrow hips. 

 

Nibbling at your lip as you smile, you quietly sink down to your knees beside him. Leaning over him, you brace a hand on the decking on the other side of his thighs, careful to not touch or let your body brush against him. It's a little awkward, but you manage for now. 

 

Propped on your hip next to his, you duck your head down just a bit to try and look into the open panel.  You can't see much other than a small light shining upward into the darkness in the wall.  You can't tell if it's a light on his helmet or one he's holding. Above the edge of the open panel you can hear he's still working at something. 

 

For a moment, you hesitate again, licking your lips, but then you smirk. You can't bring yourself to waste this opportunity. 

 

Watching into that darkness within the hold's wall, you lift the hand you are not braced on and graze your fingertips over the front of his pants. 

 

A sharp, startled sound comes out of that panel. There's a loud clang and thunk as Din moves to sit up out of instinct, only for his helmet to apparently meet with something solid inside the wall. He drops back, muttering.

 

You freeze, your hand hovering just above his groin, eyes wide and lips formed into an "o" of surprise.

 

After a moment, your shoulders start to shake as you hold in your laughter, pressing your lips together. You might have felt bad, if he wasn't wearing a helmet. 

 

The light inside the wall turns down to you and your blink against the bright shine of it, still silently giggling. Then the light tips upward again and you can see it reflecting off one side of his helmet as he looks out at you. 

 

Okay, so it's a flashlight he's holding. Not part of the helmet. 

 

The helmet ticks to one side a bit. 

 

"What are you doing?"

 

The tip of your tongue slips out to wet your lips. "Challenging your focus," you say, a playful smirk tugging at your mouth as you let your hand rest on his hip. You give a light tap of your fingertips, teasingly close to his groin.

 

Din is very still for several heartbeats, other than the rise and fall of his cuirass with each breath. There's a slight strain just starting to show at the front of his trousers.

 

"You sure you want to play that game, Sweetling?" he finally asks, voice a touch thicker than it was a few moments ago.

 

You let another smirk pull at the corner of your lips. "I do like games," you purr, your fingers curling to scratch your nails softly over the rough armor weave covering his hip.

 

His breath gives an audible hitch through the helmet's modulator and you give him a saucy smile.

 

Clearing his throat, he cants his head the other way at you. "Games have rules."

 

A soft snicker shakes your shoulders as your tongue darts out, resting between your lips for just a moment as you consider.  "Okay… rules. First one to meet their… objective wins."

 

"'Objective'?" he repeats.

 

"Mhmm," you hum with a coy grin. "Your objective is to finish…" -you pause, leaning forward a little to look up into the wiring and mechanisms hidden above him- "...whatever it is you're doing," you state, waving a hand in the vague direction of the wall. 

 

You shift back again, once more drumming on his trousers, smirking at the growing strain an inch from your fingertips. "My objective is to finish you," you say, and then purse your lips to blow a kiss at his visor.

 

A soft growl comes out of the dark, but you just flash him another sassy smile.

 

After a couple of slow breaths, Din shifts his hips under you a little. If it is an attempt to alleviate any discomfort, you can't imagine it works. His obvious, semi-hard erection is stretching the cloth already. You can't help noticing it gets a little tighter with each light tap you give him, so tantalizingly close to that tenting material.

 

"And what… what does the winner get?" he husks from inside that dark panel.

 

You nibble your lip in thought, lifting your hand to tap a fingertip against your lips. "Hmm… if I win, you teach me to help with this…stuff." You gesture again vaguely at the wiring above him. His head cocks in surprise at that. You breeze past it though and give him a sweet smile. "What do you want if you win?" you ask, resuming your teasing drumming on his pants.

 

A strangled sound escapes him and then he growls out, "To fuck you against every surface in this kriffing ship."

 

Your brows arch up and you can't help the tiny whine that escapes you as your pussy throbs. 

 

Now it's Din's turn to chuckle at your expense. "And I get to teach you to shoot properly."

 

You still for a moment at that, biting your lip again. He mentioned wanting to teach you to shoot after Rodia. You just haven't gotten around to giving him an answer yet. But after what happened on Naboo, it's not surprising that he's bringing it up again. 

 

Licking your lips after a moment of thought, you nod. "Deal."

 

You can hear the grin in his voice. "Good." The light in his hand turns upward again and you can't see the lines of his helmet anymore. "Best get to work, Sweetling," he rumbles from inside that darkness, still smiling. "I've got a head start."

 

A giggle bubbles up out of you as you shift above him, balancing yourself on your hip against his thigh so both if your hands are free. You can hear the sounds of a tool moving again inside the wall as your hands glide over the stretched fly of his pants.

 

His hips jerk slightly at the touch and you hear him hiss in a breath.

 

With a smile and another nibble on your lip, you work his pants open with nimble fingers. Then those fingers curl over the waistband of the armor weave, base layer pants, and boxers all at once. You pull them down his narrow hips just enough to release him, his stiff cock falling heavy against his stomach.

 

Another hissing breath escapes from the wall panel. It changes into a low groan when your fingers curl around the thick base of his shaft and his hips jolt just barely again.

 

Leaning down, you flatten your tongue and lick a slow stripe up the length of his shaft. Once. Twice. Again and again, until he's rock hard in your hand and his skin is slicked with your saliva. Every lick draws at least a hitched breath out from the wall panel, and even a couple of strangled groans.

 

Then, about to take him in your mouth, you pause and instead dip your head down further. The tip of your nose ghosts lightly down his shaft until your lips find the soft flesh of his sac. You lick over his balls, giving wet, open-mouthed kisses to each one. 

 

Something clatters inside the wall again and there's a sharp grunt as his body jolts beneath you, hips arching.

 

You look up through your lashes and wisps of hair to find his light trained on you again. With another coy smile at him, you press a kiss to the tender skin at the base of his sac and then drag your tongue from that spot, up and over his balls, to the root of his cock.

 

" Makerkriffingstars," he growls out, a tremor racing up his spine. The light shifts away again and you can hear him fumbling to pick up whatever he had dropped as his body shudders in response. "Gonna be the fucking death of me, Woman," he grumbles in a rasp, as you kiss your way back up his length. 

 

"Oh, but what a way to go," you tease, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock before sweeping your tongue through his weeping slit. Warm breath caresses his smooth tip as you add with a purr, "Besides, you're the one that decided to stuff yourself into the wall of the ship as soon as you got back…instead of into me."

 

His growling reply, whatever it is, cuts off in a low moan as your lips finally wrap around him, and you begin to suck.

 

You work your mouth over him with typical eagerness, lips chasing after your fist each time it strokes down to the base of his cock, again and again. Your other hand cups and massages his balls as you push his pleasure higher in greedy search of his peak.

 

 

Despite the stimulation, Din somehow manages to grit his teeth and force himself to remain on task. 

 

More than once –usually when you take his cock a bit deeper into that exquisite wet heat– he has to yank back on the suddenly fragile strands of his control. It takes every ounce of his willpower and competitiveness to keep working and not just let you win; to keep from throwing a kriffing tool aside, burying his fingers into your hair, and fucking himself into your mouth.

 

But he'll be damned if he's just going to give up. 

 

Just a little more. One more wire swap.

 

No, two. 

 

Kark .

 

The muscles of his thighs and stomach quiver as he fights to stave off the looming climax. His balls tighten, his breaths coming in stuttered pants, as you push him closer and closer to the edge. 

 

Just…gotta tighten…this down….

 

"Kriffing fuck! I'm done! Stop!"

 

Your mouth instantly stills and then pulls off of him as your devilish fingers release his balls. Well, almost instantly. You apparently can't resist the urge to swipe your tongue over the blunt tip of his cockhead one more time as you draw away to sit back on your heels.

 

With a deep snarl, he throws his flashlight and tools off to his right outside the wall. Then he curls his fingers around the edge of the top of the open panel and hauls himself out.

 

Pushing to sit up, his cock throbbing painfully against the armor padding on his stomach, he leans in close to you. His eyes sweep over your flushed face, wet hair framing it; lips glistening and swollen, barely parted as you take shallow breaths. Anticipation sparkles in your eyes as you stare back through his visor, pupils wide.

 

You don’t seem too devastated to have lost your game.

 

Din’s teeth grit as he yanks off his gloves and throws them aside. “Eyes closed,” he snarls as he lifts up one hand to shove his fingers into your hair and his other reaches for his helmet.

 

A smile pulls at your mouth and your eyes snap closed.

 

His lips claim yours in a bruising kiss a moment later, severe and demanding. You whimper into it and he drives past your lips to find the lingering taste of himself on your tongue. Din groans at that proof of how enthusiastically you went down on him, and he's half tempted to urge you back down to finish what you started.

 

Instead, his lips rip away from yours.

 

You lean forward, squeaking and almost toppling into him at his sudden departure. He chuckles, a little darkly, as he rights you again with firm hands on your shoulders. Then he leans in to press another brief kiss, biting at your lower lip before he pulls away again with a husky command of “Stay there… and get those damn things off.”

 

Din grins as he watches you hesitate for only a moment, trying to catch your breath, before you’re smiling and blindly peeling off your bralette and panties with vigorous effort. Meanwhile his armor clangs into the corner by the cockpit ladder as he tugs each piece off, followed by the padded armor, his boots and his clothing.

 

He considers gathering you up and dragging you over to the bedroll then, but he disregards the idea almost as soon as it enters his head. 

 

Here was good enough for you to start this. It’s good enough for him too.

 

Reaching for you, Din’s hands wrap around the sides of your waist and he tugs you closer, spinning you at the last moment. That draws another surprised sound out of you and, as he maneuvers you to straddle his lap with your back pressed against his chest, he chuffs against the curve of your neck. Your back arches and you whimper as he bites and then sucks at the tender flesh, pressing the cleft of your ass against his raging erection.

 

His arms wrap around you, hands sliding up to palm and knead the mounds of your tits. He teases the peaks into hard nubs as he grinds up against you.

 

 

You gasp for air, mewling as your head drops back against his shoulder and your smaller hands cover his over your breasts. Hips rocking, you press against his cock in wanton abandon.

 

Din’s teeth drag along your neck, nipping and biting his way up to your ear. He licks into the curve of  your ear and that draws a new, delighted little sound past your lips as a shiver wracks your body. His chuckle fills your ear, followed by a thoughtful hum before he does it again and your pussy simply floods as it clenches around nothing.

 

His voice is a rumbling whisper in your ear then. “We’re going to try something new, Sweetling.”

 

You whimper again, biting your lip and taking a few shallow breaths as you nod in acknowledgement.  

 

Then he’s moving behind you, his chest leaving your back and letting cool air dance across your heated skin as his hands slip down from your tits to grasp your hips. You hold yourself mostly still, swaying a little at the waist as your breasts heave with your labored breaths. Your brows knit together as you dart your tongue across your lips, waiting with mounting curiosity.

 

The hands at your hips rasp down over your thighs and then he slides his hands down between the sides of his thighs and your inner thighs, pushing your knees a little further apart.

 

“Move backwards, Cyar’ika,” he instructs and it takes you a moment to figure out why his voice sounds oddly farther away.

 

He’s laying back on the deck.

 

Your eyebrows snap upward and you swallow thickly as your brain works to catch up. Taking a stuttered breath, you reach out to the side to find a rung of the ladder for balance. Then you shift backwards on your knees, aided by his hands as soon as he’s able to hook his arms under your thighs to grasp the front of your hips. By the time Din maneuvers his broad shoulders past your knees, and you find yourself straddling his head, your entire body is quivering with anticipation.

 

There’s a deep, appreciative hum from between your thighs as his warm breath teases the lips of your sex before he tilts his chin upward. “Look at you… so fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, and sweeps his tongue through your folds.

 

Knuckles whitening as you grip the ladder rung, your hips buck in the hold of his hands. “Ohhh! Kriffing-hell… yes!” you cry out, head dropping back and thighs trembling.

 

Din’s fingers dig into the pillowy flesh of your hips, tugging you down onto the attentions of his tongue, the rasp of three-day old scruff rubbing against the tender flesh of your inner thighs. He licks at you with long broad strokes, slow and sensual, enough to quickly ramp up your arousal and coat his tongue with your slick, but not nearly enough to push you towards your peak.

 

He laps at you like that for several excruciating, yet exquisite, minutes. That clever tongue traces every bit of your pussy like he’s painting a masterpiece into your supple flesh. He teases your aching clit with lips and tongue, just enough to remind you of the delightful orgasm he could bring you to but refuses to yet.

 

Then, when you’re well past the point of being able to think at all, your body wracked by pleasure filled tremors and tortured by that distant threshold, Din’s hands begin to move on you again.

 

He reaches up to pry your fingers from the rung of the ladder with one hand. His other hand glides around from the front of your hip to the back of it and then up along your spine. Long fingers spread out across the middle of your back and he pushes.

 

You gasp, your hands dropping down to the deck on either side of him as he makes you bend forward. 

 

Din pulls his mouth back from your blazing cunt, after placing a teasing, chaste kiss against your clit. He kisses the inside of your thigh, nipping the skin there that is already reddened from the abrasion of his beard.  

 

“Open your eyes, Sweetling,” he croons, voice muffled from beneath you, “just don’t look up this way.”

 

Nibbling at your lip and panting for breath, it takes you a moment to let your eyes flutter open. 

 

He’s positioned you perfectly, giving you the perfect view of his dick laying thick and heavy against his stomach.  Your tongue darts out over your lips and a shameless moan escapes you. 

 

“Attagirl,” he rumbles, before his mouth envelopes your tender clit.

 

You keen sharply, jolting as pleasure spears through your core. But then you’re eagerly leaning down, balancing on one hand and wrapping the other around the base of his cock to take him into your mouth once again.

 

Groans and moans from you both fill the back corner of the Crest’s hold, as you each work to pleasure the other. They mingle with lewd wet sounds: his cock sliding past your lips as your hand fists the base of his shaft; his tongue and lips working over your clit as he adds two thick fingers to the mix, pushing them into your eager tunnel. 

 

Occasionally, Din has to flex his hips, pressing his dick up into your mouth when the bliss of his tongue makes you forget to suck at him for a moment.

 

Other times you have to push down with your hips, when Din’s mind short-circuits on the pleasure of your mouth. 

 

Finally, you have to pull your mouth off of him, gasping out a mewling cry. "Pl-pleease, Din…"

 

His tongue is shoved into you as you start to beg, puffy lips spread open by his fingers to give him easy access. He pauses and then a pleased hum vibrates against your aching flesh as he realizes you're asking permission, something he hasn't made you do in a long while. 

 

Placing a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your center, he licks into you once more. You moan loudly, your head dropping down as your legs and arms tremble to hold you up, your cheek nuzzling against the side of his shaft. 

 

He considers for another moment, groaning as his cock throbs.  

 

Then he growls out, "Cum for me, Sweetling," as he shoves his fingers into you again before sucking your clit into his mouth. 

 

You shatter and explode around his fingers, back arching and pelvis grinding down against his hand and mouth. Air burns in your lungs as you gasp it in desperately, keening into the quiet of the hold. 

 

Din moves then, grasping your hips and lifting you away enough to slide out from under you, even as your body continues to quake with your orgasm. He's behind you before you can even register the change, and then he's filling you with one strong thrust, growling as your cunt flutters around his cock. 

 

Your arms give out as he strokes into you with ragged grunts, fingers digging into your hips to keep them up. With barely a semblance of thought you fold your arms under your forehead, moans and whimpers slipping past your lips as your back curves. You try to push your hips to meet his, but you feel boneless.

 

Din holds you up, one big hand firmly on your hip and the other slipping under you, to spread across your belly as he impales you on his cock. He ruts against your ass with growling groans as he chases his own finish, leaning over you to bury his face into the valley between your shoulder blades. When it finally hits him he moans out a mixture of curses along with your name, grinding into you as he pulses. 

 

Fire ignites along his spine and he snarls against your sweat-dampened skin. Ropes of his spend spill deep into you, until it seeps out around him, trailing down your inner thighs. 

 

Several drawn out moments pass then, the both of you panting for breath as you come down from the orgasm high. 

 

Din slowly pulls you back against his chest, until you're in his lap again with his softening dick still stuffed inside you. You can feel his arms tremble around you as his face nuzzles into your hair and he mumbles something that your addled brain can't comprehend. 

 

With quivering fingers, you reach back to touch his hair and then his cheek, only able to give a soft, blissed-out hum. 

 

Din's chest shakes against your back with a faint chuckle. 

 

A short while later he has managed to move you both to the bedroll finally, after retrieving his helmet. Cleaning you both up with a warm, damp cloth, he chucks it over against the wall, and then gathers you up against his side.

 

You sigh contentedly, snuggling in with eyelids growing heavy as he draws the blanket up around your shoulders.

 

 

Din watches the rise and fall of your shoulders as you drift, cheek resting on his chest so your breath lightly teases across his skin. 

 

He had asked you, a couple weeks ago, why you always ended up in this position. It's not that he minded. He was just curious. 

 

"I like… listening to your heartbeat," you had admitted, with a fetching blush in your cheeks.  

 

The memory makes him smile as he looks down at the top of your head, his fingers absently caressing your hair that drapes across your shoulders. When he notices what he's doing he gives another smile, this one rueful.

 

Earlier, in a post-climactic haze, his mouth had run away with him, murmuring an emotional confession against your hair. He isn't even sure if the words would have been coherent had you been able to hear him, which you couldn't, being too thoroughly fucked to think straight.

 

Now, it makes him silently chuff a laugh at himself. 

 

He finally managed to say it, even if he didn't really mean to right then. Yet, he's got no one to blame but himself for the fact that you couldn't comprehend Galactic Basic at that moment.

 

That thought makes him grin. 

 

With a faint, sardonic shake of his head, he lifts his helmet to press a kiss to the top of your head. His lips linger there and he inhales the citrus scent of your shampoo before sighing lighty with another gentle smile curving his lips. 

 

"I love you, Sweetling," he says against your hair again.

 

As his helmet settles back into place he pauses and then his head moves in a slight tilt. 

 

Something is wrong.

 

It takes a few moments for him to figure it out, looking around the quiet hold and trying to narrow down what is setting off alarm bells in his head. 

 

It's you. 

 

You've gone completely still.

 

Your shoulders aren't moving with your breaths any more, and those breaths aren't dancing across his chest. 

 

And where your chest is pressed up against his side, he can feel your heartbeat…and it's hammering.

 

Din swallows thickly, his mouth suddenly feeling dry and his stomach lurching up into his throat as he looks down at the top of your head again. 

 

"Sweetling?" he chokes out. 

 

Unless his mind is playing tricks on him, your muscles tense just slightly.

 

He gulps down another hard swallow.

 

"You're…not asleep, are you?"

 

 

The way your heart is beating, you would swear it is trying to escape your chest. 

 

Beneath your head, you can hear Din's heart making the same attempt. 

 

You had been nearly asleep. Nearly.

 

Now? With three little words, sleep is a very distant memory.

 

You hold your breath for another long moment, your tongue feeling thick in your mouth. Then, you finally let the air escape with a shudder. 

 

When you find your voice, it comes out in a breathy whisper, "If I pretend I am asleep… will you please say it again?"

Series this work belongs to: