#which yes still makes his actual name probably djarin. or makes him go by title and family name instead of name and family name. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hansoulo · 3 years

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how will I know; walk slow

Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader (gender neutral, no Y/N)

Word Count: a humble 1.4k

Warnings: cursing, light angst, a kiss (sorta), spoilers for chapter 15 of the mandalorian

Gif Credit: (x) by @/bestintheparsec

A/N: hello bros and hoes it is me and i am back with another oneshot this time set right after chapter 15 with a title from this song by james blake

You bounded down the hangar ladder and stood toe-to-toe, heart stuck in your mouth and lodging up in your tonsils until the word came out thick and without eloquence. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” the Mandalorian offered. He didn’t really have anything to be sorry for. Sometimes the guy was just polite to a fault.

“It’s alright.” The words left your chest hushed, conscious of the footsteps up and around you that echoed tinny on the walls of Slave 1. Soft assurances. Gentle platitudes. “You’re here now, yeah?”

Mayfeld was “dead” doing Maker knows what. Fennec and Cara were both off in the ship somewhere, probably polishing blasters and trading war secrets with each other as intimidating Outer Rim women tended to do. That or in the communications monitor room below deck, doing far more risque things. Boba was piloting and making sure none of you died. And the Mandalorian was here. Standing in the cold metal cargo hold. In front of you.

His chest, in beskar now, not that shoddy Imperial shit, shook with a sigh. “Yeah,” the helmet rasped. It sounded like he was speaking more to himself. “Yeah.”

Why do you do that?

Do what?

You’re very… monosyllabic. It’s unsettling.

Unsettling.

You know you’re just continuing to prove my point, right?

Mhm.

Maker, you’re infuriating.

Yes, I am.

Hey that was three words! Progress.

Your throat tightened with a swallow when you realized you still stood only inches apart from him. Feet shuffled backwards in the small hangar until he was left at a larger, more friend-appropriate distance. “That’s good. I’m… I’m glad.”

The air in the ship was thick, with relief and with another heavy thing. Regret, maybe? But what did he have to regret?

“Mando,” you called out as he turned to step up the ladder. Names were sacred things. You didn’t want to use his here. To dirty it by sharing. “Hey,” your hand met the cold metal of his pauldron, urging him to face you again. He was still. Always so still. “Did something happen?”

I’m fine.

You’re hurt.

It’s nothing serious.

Let me help.

I’ll take care of it.

Or let the kid help. Somebody.

I said I’ll take care of it.

Let me take care of you. Please.

His words came almost too quick. He was like that when he tried to convince you of things. “No. No, we… we got the coordinates. Everything went-”

“According to plan,” you finished for him, though your brows were still furrowed.

What’s the plan?

We get the kid back.

So… what you’re saying is that there is no plan.

There is a plan.

What’re you gonna do?

Whatever it takes.

You’re so dramatic.

“Mayfeld wouldn’t tell me anything about what happened before he fucked off, though, which is weird because usually he never shuts up and I just...” you sighed, wiping a hand across your face and letting it drop unceremoniously beside your hip. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look,” and here your voice paused, waiting for the words to fill themselves in. “Rattled.”

You look like shit.

Thanks.

Welcome. You good?

You just said I look like shit.

Well yeah, but I’m trying to redeem myself. Throw me a bone.

Then yeah, I’m good.

You’re a horrible liar.

Hey, you asked.

Yeah, I guess so. Take it easy for a bit? Can’t have you falling asleep piloting.

Glad to know your only concern is for your transportation.

Don’t forget the paycheck.

That too.

Seriously, though. Go get some sleep. I’ll be here.

There was a pregnant pause, only filled in by your quiet expectance and the sounds of beskar shifting on fabric. He moved his weight from one foot to the other. Looked down, then up.

And then, before you could go to actually leave, not wanting to pry a thing open that the man wanted to keep shut and done with having to reach the words out of his mouth, you were picked up and turned around. Like a sack of ration flour.

In literally any other circumstance this would’ve made you seethe but Din’s hands, although surprising, weren’t unwelcome. The furthest thing from it, actually.

There were two warm palms on your sides and your feet stumbled on top of each other until they both left the floor again, suspended above the metal sheeting as you were lifted up and crushingly close to a man that smelled like blood and sweat and someone else’s clothes but who still held you until your ribs cried out for breathing.

You were set down after a moment, but not let go. Silent words seemed to fracture in the way his fingers dug into the skin of your hip, almost bruising in their insistence. He couldn’t tell you what happened, but something obviously did. Something ugly and beating loud in the two-inch gap between your chests and really, really bad.

There were only about two things in the galaxy that he was afraid of. Losing the kid was one of them. Breaking his Creed was the other.

So what’s with the helmet?

What about it?

You can never take it off?

No.

Like, never? In front of anyone?

Not unless it’s family.

And what happens if you do? Take it off in front of someone else, I mean.

You can’t ever put it back on.

Oh, right. Sorry.

It’s okay.

No, it’s not. I- I shouldn’t have asked. I dunno. It just seems…

Bad.

No, not bad! Not if it’s something you believe. Just… different.

And suddenly you knew why he was holding you the way he was.

The words were hitched, almost keening as your arms wound around his neck, over the thick fabric of his cape until his hands reached around the lower slope of your back to steady your ground. You could feel the indentations of his metal vambraces against your skin. You couldn’t have cared less about it. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. He only let out a breath, the sound so rattled and tremulous you could almost taste the salt dew gathering in his eyes. Eyes that someone else saw.

The muscles of his arms grew firmer around you still and your body sagged, heavy in its aching realizations. “I’m so sorry,” you repeated.

To someone else more ambitious this would probably be a good time to do… a gesture. Of the sentimental variety. Neither of you lacked courage in the traditional definition, but this kind of stuff was messy. Uncharted.

“Din,” you whispered. His helmet shot up at the monosyllable, nearly knocking you in the chin and you stumbled backwards, shaking off his apologies. So the charting of said uncharted stuff was going swell. “I,” you began, your eyes shifting around the walls and floor instead of meeting his visor. “I care about you. A lot. I hope you know that.”

There was a loud whirring overhead when the ship lurched forward, righting itself with an awkward turn and giving you a good excuse as to why you suddenly felt nauseous. Maybe you overstepped or he didn’t hear you because he hit his head? Holy shit, did he get a concussion? Was that why he was-

“I know.”

Oh.

So no concussion.

You only realized you’d been biting the bottom edge of your lip when a gloved thumb came up towards it, pressing against the soft flesh and pulling it gently out from between your teeth. A breath choked in the bottom of both your lungs. And you waited.

You couldn’t kiss him.

At least, not now. Not here. Not yet.

You were both thinking about it.

So you did something decidedly ambitious. You leaned forward and pressed your mouth to the crest of his helmet.

It wasn’t a kiss, not really. But he still tilted his helmet up to meet it with two broad hands and you still left a smudge of mouthmark where your lips were damp and tender and so somehow this imitation kiss, this substitute in between a moment that was over and a moment that was coming, was real.

Your bounty hunter echoed his reciprocation after you’d turned away, the rungs of the ship ladder icy in your palms. You always did like to one-up each other.

“I love you.”

#i spent like a half hour googling slave 1 diagram maps and the ship layout is still incomprehensible to me so pls dont hate i am Trying #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian oneshot #din djarin oneshot #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian spoilers #?

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manndo · 3 years

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i see you [din djarin x reader]

gif credit

pairing[s]: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader (no descriptors, no y/n)

warning[s]: slight angst, fluff, kissing, mentions of arousal (barley there & nothing really descriptive) and ridiculously canon divergent (see notes).

word count: 4.0k

prompt[s]: from this list, based off the prompt ‘overhearing they have feelings for you’

summary: you just wanted to tell the child a bedtime story, and apparently, you had something you needed to get off your chest. but you weren’t aware you had an audience besides the child.

author’s notes: alright, for the last day of 2020 (i’m still in 2020 over here, unfortunately), i’ve decided to take a leap of faith and post my first mandalorian fic! i started writing this before episode 13 of season 2, before we learned the child’s name and way before the separation (i am still recovering from the emotional strain of this ending). and obviously, i didn’t finish it until now -- almost two weeks after the last episode. so, as i mentioned in my warnings, this is canon divergent -- basically anything from episode 13 to 16 did not happen in this fic. so, this means that grogu is referred to as the child/the little one/the kid in this fic. in the future, i am hoping to write more canon friendly fics, but who knows?? the season finale was bittersweet and honestly?? i just want my dad/son duo back together. 😢but anyway! any and all mistakes are my own. please feel free to comment/like/reblog, whatever you see fit. enjoy! ❤️and goodbye 2020, hello 2021! 🍻

You were tinkering with a malfunctioning blaster down in the hull when you heard him. At first, the cry was soft, barely there — perhaps Mando had said or done something to irritated him while they sat in the cockpit together. However, after another few moments, the cries grew louder and longer. Carefully, you set the blaster aside, and wiped your hands on the cloth next to you before pushing yourself off from your seated position on Mando’s bunk. Within seconds, you were climbing the ladder and entering the cockpit to find Mando standing from his seat, holding the child away from him as the child wailed. Immediately, Mando lifted his head toward you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching him?” he asked, a hint of irritation in his modulated voice. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could imagine the glare he was giving you.

You sighed heavily, shaking your head, and took two steps forward to grab the child from Mando’s outstretched arms. Unfortunately, the child did not stop his crying. You tucked him against you. “Technically, yes. That’s what you hired me for, but you know this little one has his ways of sneaking around,” you muttered, reaching out to grab the little one’s tiny hand. Even through his wailing, the little one’s finger immediately wrapped around your thumb. You hummed soothingly and began to gently bounce him, keeping your eyes trained on him. “And, it wasn’t like you were complaining ten minutes ago when he was being a perfect little angel,” you mumbled, rubbing your thumb gently over the little one’s finger and looked up to Mando. Mando snorted, but said nothing as he sat himself back down in the pilot’s chair, and turned himself away from you. You knew he didn’t need to be there — the Crest was in hyperdrive and most likely on autopilot — but, you found he preferred it to other parts of the ship. Then again, when you’re always on guard like him, well, it made sense to be in the cockpit.

“He’s probably just tired, Mando,” you said, glancing away from him and back to the child, who was, thank the Maker, not wailing anymore. However, he was still crying, still taking in big breaths and looking at you with wide, glassy eyes. “Just needs a little nap. Ain’t that right, little one?” The child gave you a sniffle, and hung his head. “Come on,” you said quietly, giving the child’s finger a little squeeze, “let’s get you tucked in.”

You turned on your heel, and carefully made your way down to the hull once more, all the while whispering comforting words to the child in hopes to quell his cries. It seemed to work — for the most part. He still seemed upset, even if he wasn’t really crying anymore. More like, sniffles and whines. But, he was still restless against you. Even if he was overtired, it was clear he wasn’t too keen on actually being put down because the moment you had set him into the makeshift, hanging bed that Mando had crafted for him, he tried to pull himself out. “Ah, ah, little one, don’t you even think about it,” you reprimanded him softly, pushing him gently back down into the swinging bed. He let a small whine in disagreement, but didn’t try moving again.

“Maybe I should tell you a story,” you said, your voice low, calm. He blinked at you, his eyes still looking a little watery, and gave you another small whine. You began to rock the bed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve really told you any stories since I came on this ship,” you said, reaching up and running a finger over his ear, from base to tip. He made a small coo of happiness, and you smiled. “Granted, it hasn’t been that long since your dad hired me, has it?” You’d only been traveling with them for six months, give or take. You still sometimes had to, metaphorically, pinch yourself that this was your life now — galavanting around the galaxy with a Mandalorian and his charge.

You felt a small push against your finger, which had been resting on the tip of the child’s ear, followed by a small whine. You let out a short chuckle, and moved your finger, running it over his ear again. He leaned into the touch. “You know, the first time I saw you and your dad, I didn’t know what to think. I’d never met a Mandalorian before, but I knew of them, knew the stories of them. Who hadn’t?” You moved your hand from running to over his ear, to the top of his head. He cooed softy, eyes fluttering closed. “But, what surprised me the most was you, little one. Not because I had never seen creature like you. No, that wasn’t it. It was because you were with him. A Mandalorian and a child,” you whispered, noticing that the little one’s eyes were only half open now. You gave the top of his head a small scratch, and his eyes closed completely. “Even if you are older than both of us,” you added, a small chuckle escaping your lips as his eyes opened again, a bit slower than last time.

“It’s funny,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes trained on him. You watched as he snuggled himself a little deeper into his bed. “I never would have thought that one minute, I’d be fixing a blaster your dad needed repaired, then the next being on his ship, taking care of you.” A brief pause. “You know, he saved me, little one?” You felt a lump form in your throat, and you swallowed it. “Life hadn’t been easy when you two came around. Sure, I had a roof over my head and enough credits to keep me fed. But, it had been a lonely life.”

You took a deep breath. “My parents had been gone for a few years, and I had no siblings to seek comfort in. I worked for a nasty man, who liked to belittle me every chance he got, even if I was a better technician than he was. I had a few acquaintances, a few people I’d chat with every once in a while, maybe grab a drink with them at a cantina, but I didn’t have any real friends,” you paused. “Well, I did. At one point. But, things happen.” A heavy, dejected sigh escaped your lips. “People change. Life changes.” Absentmindedly, you ran your finger down the child’s cheek. His eyes were now half-open, the child hell bent on staying awake. Stubborn, like his father for sure. “But, now I’m here. And, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” You pursed your lips in thought. “Well, it would be nice to have a larger, more comfortable bed. But, then I wouldn’t have you, and I wouldn’t have your dad.” The little one cooed quietly, and you chuckled pulling your finger from his cheek.

You became silent then, let yourself just watch the little one. He was settling nicely into his bed, looking more relaxed, his eyes staying closed. It should have only been a few more moments, and he’d be asleep. Just a few more moments and he’d be resting peacefully, and you could go back to working on that blaster. Just a few more minutes.

“I love him, you know,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. It was only when you heard the little one coo that you realized that you’d said that out loud. Your eyes widened as you took in the little one, his own eyes now open once more. He was looking at you, head titled slightly, big brown eyes focused on you. He blinked once, twice as if he was waiting for you to elaborate.

Fuck, you hadn’t planned to say that out loud. But you had — to the little one, no less. Sure, he couldn’t tell Mando what you’d said, so that was an advantage. But, Maker, what were you thinking?

You had only just admitted to yourself you were in love with the Mandalorian. You had spent weeks denying your feelings. After all, you hadn’t known each other long, there was no way you were actually in love with him. It had to be, you figured, because of your living situation — you two were in constant contact with each other, barely any room for privacy or time alone. He was the only person you could hold a full conversation with (not that you didn’t have conversations with the child, but it was very one-sided). So, maybe, it was just the situation. It had to be. But, as the days passed by, you realized that wasn’t the case. You had fallen for the Mandalorian. You were in love with him. You were in love with Mando.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, and let your head fall into your hands. “You weren’t supposed to hear that, little one,” you said, the words slightly mumbled against your palms. “Nobody was supposed to hear that. And, especially not your dad — not that I don’t want him to know, I do. But, we haven’t been together long — in the sense of me being on the ship, you know — and I fear it will make him distant again. He was so distant when I first came aboard, but now.” You let out another heavy sigh, and move your hands away from your face to glance up at the little one. He has pulled himself up to look over the edge of his makeshift bed, his tired eyes looking down at you. There is a sad look up on his face, his large eyes searching yours. “I don’t know exactly how he feels, little one. But, I’ve seen his heart. You’ve seen his heart.” You paused and took a breath. “It’s in the little things. The way he sits with you when he flies. How he tries to teach you things — even if they backfire in his face,” you said, and a smile crossed your lips. The child gave a small tired little giggle. “Making this bed for you,” you said softly, reaching up and running your fingers over the material. “Making your little pouch. All those things, and more, show me his heart, show us his heart.” You leaned forward and pressed your forehead gently against the child’s. “He would do anything to keep you safe, little one. Anything. And that, makes him a good man.” The child let out a soft sound, and you pulled away from him, a soft smile on your lips.

There was a brief silence that settled between you. You let it hang in the air for a brief moment before speaking again. “Alright, come on, you need to go to sleep now. Apparently, trying to tell you a bedtime story is not the way I should go,” you said with a small chuckle. The child gave a small whine. “Don’t try and fight with me. We both know you’re tired. So come on, close those big, beautiful eyes,” you said, your voice dropping in volume. His eyes fluttered closed, and you reached out your fingers, letting it brush against his tiny hand. “There you go,” you muttered, continuing to brush his little hand with your finger in a soothing gesture. His eyes stayed closed, and his body seemed to relax into his bed. Another few moments, and his breathing had evened out, and you knew he was finally asleep. You let out a small sigh of relief. “Sleep well, little one,” you whispered, and with on final brush to his hand, you stood up from the bunk. You pressed the switch, shutting the bunks door with a small clink. You had barely turned away from the door when you heard a loud thunk, and found yourself coming face to face with Mando.

“Maker!” you yelped, practically jumping out of your skin, hand slapping against your chest. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribcage as you looked at Mando with wide eyes. “Mando,” you said, voice slightly out breath as you pressed your hand a little harder to your chest, physically and mentally willing your heart to slow down. “You can’t — fuck, you scared me. You’re lucky I closed the damn door before you did that. What if he’d woken up? I had a devil of a time getting him to sleep, you know,” you muttered, hand falling from your chest and back to your side.

“Did you now?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his tinny voice. You furrowed your brow, as he took another step closer to you, his beskar helmet only a few inches away from your face. He titled his helmet, and you could swear, if he didn’t have it on, there would be a smirk on his face. You felt a twinge of panic fill your face — had he, had he heard you? You mentally shook your head of that thought. You were being paranoid.

“I did,” you huffed as you turned away from him, taking a step toward where you had left the malfunctioning blaster.

“Maybe if you hadn’t talked so much,” he muttered, and you felt your entire body freeze, “he might have fallen asleep faster.”

It felt like you couldn’t breathe. Blood was rushing in your ears. Maker, he heard you. He heard you blabbing your feelings, you feelings for him, to the little one. The quick landing, the sarcasm you had heard— it all made sense. He had been there, above the two of you, listening, hearing every word you said. Your confession. You felt yourself begin to get warm with embarrassment, and you willed your body to move. You wanted to run, but where could you run? You were on a ship, in the middle of space — there was no where to go. Nowhere to hide.

You closed your eyes, and took a deep breathe before you slowly turned back to face Mando. You didn’t have to see his eyes to know he was staring at you, but Maker, did you wish you could see them. Wish you could see his face. Maybe then you could tell what he was thinking. Did he feel something too? Or, was he disgusted at the thought of you having feelings? Was he about to dismiss your feelings, maybe even drop you off at the next inhabited planet, leaving you there. Leaving you alone, again. No Mando, no kid. You swallowed that fear, those thoughts. “Listen, Mando, I—”

“Close your eyes.”

You blinked in confusion. “W—what?

“Do you trust me?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then, close your eyes. And, promise me, you won’t open them.” You blinked, too stunned at his request to answer immediately. His gloved hand wrapped around your wrist, a barely there touched. “Promise me.” It should have been a demand, but it came out more as a desperate plea.

You looked down at the hand gently holding your wrist, then back at the beskar helmet in front of you. “Yea,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper, “I promise. I promise,” you repeated. There was a moment of stillness where neither of you moved before you took a slow, deep breath and let your eyes fall closed.

You felt Mando let go of your wrist before you heard a clicking sound, followed by a soft hiss. It was followed by a loud clink of metal against the floor of the ship, near your feet, you thought. Then, there was a gloved hand on your cheek, the fabric rough against your skin. You felt the brush of his thumb over your cheek, and your breath hitched in your throat. “Mando, what are—”

The end of your question was gently swallowed by his lips.

Maker, you had not expected this. Immediately, you had wanted to open your eyes, because you weren’t sure this was real. Was he — was Mando really kissing you? But, he was kissing you. His soft lips were pressed against yours, not bruising, but not gentle either, and it didn’t take long before you felt his tongue swipe across the seam of your lips, seeking permission. You parted your lips with ease.

At the first slide of his tongue against yours, a small whimper escaped your lips, your hand darting out as you blindly grabbed at his shoulder. You fisted as much of the material of his undershirt in your hand while the other part pressed against the cool beskar, and tugged, pulling him flush against you. You felt, more than heard, him groan when your bodies met, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your jaw while his other arm wrapped around your middle, holding you against him. You could feel warmth spreading in your limbs, and an excitement you hadn’t felt in a long time filling your veins and culminating between your legs.

You would have kept kissing him, would have let yourself suffocate in his kisses, but a few seconds later, you felt him begin to pull away. Before his lips could leave yours completely, you pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, giving it a quick nip. And, fuck, the sound that came out of his mouth. You felt another spike of arousal course through you, and you almost, almost opened your eyes. But, you promised you wouldn’t, and you knew what it meant if you did. So, you forced yourself to keep them closed as you tried to regain control of yourself, your hand still clutching his shoulder.

There’s a moment where the two of you stand there, your breath mingling with one another as you both tried to calm your racing hearts. But, it is brief, and before you know it, the hand that was resting on your cheek falls, and the arm around your waist loosens and you feel him step away. Immediately, you want to pull him back to you, bring his lips back to yours. But, you don’t. You’re frozen once more — in fear, in shock, in elation, you’re not quite sure.

You took a shuddering breath. “Mando—”

“Din,” you hear him say, and it sounds pure, smooth. It’s then you realize the helmet is still off. You can’t help the butterflies that form in your stomach at the sound of his unmodulated voice. His voice. It sounds like liquid gold to your ears. But then ,you hear the sounds you heard before he kissed you, the click and hiss, of the helmet falling back into place.

You wait a beat before you let your eyes flutter open, and you come face to face with the beskar helmet once more.

“Din Djarin,” he repeated, and reached out, brushing one of his gloved fingers down your cheek, over your jaw, and stopping at the nape of your neck. “My name is Din Djarin.”

His finger began to draw an absentminded pattern across your shoulder. You could tell by the tilt of his head that his eyes were focused on that finger. That finger that kept moving as the moments ticked by, never stopping, never making any sense against your skin. For the first time since you’d met him, you could tell he was nervous.

You knew he didn’t tell his name to anyone. You had asked when you’d met him what his name was. He had told you to call him Mando. You had thought it odd, but did not think it was your place to push him (you had only just met him, after all). So, you called him Mando, as did everyone else you had come in contact with. But, four months later, you decided to finally push the subject. He told you that he had not used his birth name since he was a child, since he was sworn into the Creed. There were only a few who knew name, and only due to an extenuating circumstance, he had said, making it clear he did not tell anyone. Nobody should have known his name — and from what you could tell, he had no plans of telling any one in the future.

But, here he was, standing in front of you, telling you his name. Willingly giving you this piece of information about himself. You knew he couldn’t show you his face — not yet, not now — but he could give you this. He could give you this part of himself. If the kiss wasn’t enough for you to know that he felt something for you, this sealed the deal. It wasn’t an outright “I love you”, but to you, it was something more, something deeper than that. This was him trusting you, him giving you a part of himself. It filled your heart with joy.

“Din,” you whispered, letting the name roll of your tongue, and filling the space around you. His finger had stopped its’ random movements, and his head tilted up, and you were face to face with the all too familiar beskar helmet. You smiled softly and wondered if he was smiling behind it too. You reached out, and let your fingertips dance over the cool metal. “Din Djarin,” you said, letting yourself try out his full name.

It was beautiful. It was him.

“It suits you,” you said, resting your palm against the side of his helmet. “I love it.”

Din let out a small, breathy, modulated chuckle. “You do?”

You nodded. “I do, cause it’s you.” You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against the cool metal of his helmet, your eyes fall closed. “And, I love you, Din Djarin,” you whispered softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. You wished you could have seen his face, but instead, you heard an intake of breath before you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, hand splayed over your hip. His gloved fingers pressed into your hip bone.

“You mean that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hummed and nodded, letting your free hand fall onto his chest, right over his heart. You couldn’t feel his heart under the beskar chest plate, but you imagined it was beating rapidly, just like yours. “I do.” Perhaps, it was too early to say such things, to declare that you loved him. Most people might think you were crazy, and maybe you were, but that didn’t matter. You loved him — you loved Din.

“Even without,” he paused, and you heard him take a breath. You let your eyes fuller open, and you pulled back a hair, just enough to be able to take him in. He didn’t have to finish his sentence for you to know what he was talking about — even without seeing his face.

“Hey,” you said softly, making sure his he was paying attention to you. “I don’t need to see your face.”

You heard a small, disbelieving chuckle. “Don’t need to see my face, eh?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. You tilted your head in thought. “Well, I mean, do I want to see your face? Absolutely.” You moved your fingers across the cheek of his helmet, to the visor, letting it trace the T-shape. “I want to see the color of your eyes, your nose, your mouth. The wrinkles and lines on your face. All of it.” You let your finger come to rest at the bottom of his helmet, just on the rim. You ran your finger over the smooth metal. “But, I know what that means for you, and I’m willing to wait for that. Your face is your face, and I’m sure it is a handsome face.” Another small chuckle escaped Din’s lips. “But, I don’t need to see it to know what I feel in my heart, Din.”

“You don’t?” He sounded surprised,

You shook your head. “I don’t. Because, I’ve seen you, Din Djarin,” you said, your voice filled with conviction as you looked at him straight on, right where his eyes would be behind that beskar helmet. “I’ve seen you.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian imagines #my writing

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damnedparker · 4 years

Text

mother tongue

pairing: din djarin x reader (no y/n, gender neutral)

warnings: none really, just fluff. hurt/comfort. mention of death, like one swear word

summary: din is exhausted. you try to help him heal after the events on nevarro.

also posted on ao3

title inspired by this song which i heavily associate with din for mando’a reasons.

i’ve never posted my fics to tumblr before so be gentle with me.

“When’s the last time you slept?” You broke the silence you and your Mandalorian currently piloting the Razor Crest were sitting in after finally putting the Child down for the night; or, at least, the night on Nevarro, which you had just left. “Din.” You nudged his arm with your foot, as you were currently stretched out lazily in the co-pilot’s seat. The bounty hunter continued to stay silent, his visor staring straight ahead. You repeated his name a few times over the next few minutes that passed before finally chucking the stylus you were fiddling with at the side of his helmet, resulting in a loud clank. No response. You heaved out a sigh and stood up, walking right up to his side. “Din. Mando. Asshole. Respond to me.” You flicked his helmet again. This time it was a quiet thunk that resounded off the beskar.

“What?” Came a gruff, audibly tired voice.

“I asked you when the last time you slept was.” You reiterated, now resting your hand in the space between his neck and his pauldron. Even through the thicker, practical fabric of his undershirt, the heat from his skin warmed your hand. You felt his shoulders relax at your touch, his head tilting to the side slightly as if your hand had simply deflated him.

“I don’t know.” His words were genuine; he had no idea when the last time he got some real rest was. He was quick to follow up before you could even open your mouth to reply. “I’m fine. I had some caf before we left.”

“You’re not fine,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “Get up. I can fly the next few klicks we have until we jump to hyperspace.” Din shook his head. You held in another annoyed huff. Sometimes he was as stubborn as a child. You stood and observed him for a moment, noticing the stiff posture that had returned, as well as the slight swaying his body had taken on, probably from being drowsy while still sitting up. If you didn’t get him out of the pilot’s chair soon, you would both end up crash-landing on some random planet neither of you were familiar with. “Din,” you began, your voice gentle as ever. His attention returned from the foggy limbo that only days-upon-days of no sleep caused. “It’s okay to be tired, you know.” Especially with everything that happened today.

“I know.” He whispered, voice breaking. “Can you… sit with me? While you fly?” One of his hands left the controls to grasp your wrist. You nodded, ecstatic that he’d actually agreed to let you take over, and even more so to be able to spend the time resting with him.

He shifted back in his seat before gently pulling you down on his lap, not letting go of the controls until you were comfortably settled against him and you replaced where his hands had been tightly gripping, hoping not to drift off while flying the Crest. You didn’t have that much longer before you could jump into hyperspace, switching to autopilot for a while before you would reach the first planet Din had the tiniest hunch might lead to the Child’s species. It had been in the back of his mind for a while, and now that the Child was officially part of his clan, he figured it was time to jump on whatever small chance he had to find his right home.

Din didn’t say much as you focused on flying, both because of his tired state and because he didn’t really know what to say. He had almost lost you today, as well as the Child. You had almost lost him. To some kriffing Imps. If IG-11 wasn’t there, who knows what would have happened. He didn’t really want to think about it. You were here now, real and warm, sitting with him and taking over the controls just because he was tired. You were really a gift to him. Sometimes the bounty hunter questioned what in the universe decided that he was deserving to have someone in his life as good as you. You, his cyar’ika, his partner. At this point, the Child’s parent just as he was its father.

He was terrified. Terrified of loving you, terrified of losing you. Stars, he loved you. He hadn’t loved anything before you and the Child. A heartless, lonely bounty hunter on the run from his own emotions until he stumbled into you one day, a bored former rebel pilot drinking the days away in a cantina. You had accepted his offer of partnership in helping with a particularly grueling bounty job without hesitation. It was something new. You had ended up being a breath of fresh air for him, too.

One thing led to another and you were traveling the galaxy with him before the Child fell into your lives and threw a wonderful, green wrench into it all. It was the last straw that opened up the tension that had been building between the two of you, pushing your relationship into new territory, romantic territory, which was something completely foreign and unexpected for Din. And, oh, how he adored it.

And today he had almost lost it all.

Nevarro was a disaster. The losses of Kuiil and IG had dug themselves hard into his brain, and he felt so guilty, and so absolutely devastated. Kuiil was a good-hearted being, he had helped Din without question, multiple times and had given his life for the Child. IG had done much the same. He couldn’t help thinking how he could have lost you as well.

“Fallen asleep yet, shiny?” Your voice tugged him out of his thoughts, and he wrapped his arms tighter around your middle, shifting to sit up more. He refused to fall asleep while he had the ability to hold you, to make sure you were still there with him.

“I’m still awake.” He rubbed his thumb over the skin that had become exposed from your shirt riding up a bit when you leaned forward to flick a switch, preparing to make the jump into hyperspace. “Just thinking."

“What about?” You hummed, easing the ship into the jump before switching into autopilot. You didn’t get up from your spot in Din’s lap, only leaning backwards into his chest to get comfortable.

“Us,” he paused, voice becoming quieter. “Everything that happened today.” You nodded, taking one of his hands from its place at your hip and beginning to remove his glove.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I… I don’t know,” he told you truthfully. You moved on to remove his other glove. “Not particularly. Not right now.”

“That’s okay,” you set his gloves aside, taking one of your hands in his and reveling at the warmth of his rough skin against yours. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

“I know,” he leant his helmet against your forehead affectionately. “Thank you.” You pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles in reply before you stood, tugging him with you.

“Come on,” you led him out of the cockpit, down into the sad, tiny excuse the Crest had for living quarters. “Let me help you get cleaned up. And then we can sleep. We have a long commute, so we have plenty of time.” You began to remove the armor from his body, beskar dropping on the metal floor of the ship minute by minute before he was in his underclothes. You neatly piled up the armor and scooted it against the wall, to avoid tripping on it like the both of you often did when you actually did get to sleep. Then you left to retrieve a clean set of clothes for him to wear to bed, as well as a towel so he could use the ‘fresher. While you were gone, he removed his helmet, quickly peeling off his dirty clothes from the day, leaving him in his underwear. He stood there for a moment, staring at the beskar helmet in his hands before deciding not to put it back on. He called your name to signal you back in the room. “We should really get you some new clothes, these are—” You cut yourself off with a gasp when you saw the back of his head, immediately turning and squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see anything, you-you called so I thought—”

“It’s okay, cyar’ika,” Din said softly, setting his hands on your hips and turning you towards him. He let out a chuckle when your eyes were still screwed shut. “I know. I wanted you to see.” He slipped his arms further around you, pulling you against him. “I love you. I want to be open with this part of myself with you. You deserve it.”

“Din, I-I,” you swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Don’t we have to be married for this not to break your creed?”

“Yes,” you felt his forehead gently make contact with yours, his breath fanning over your lips. “But only if that’s something you want.”

“It is. Of course it is.” You were surprised at the steadiness of your voice. Din was quiet, leaving you to put the pieces together in your head. Oh. “Right now?”

“I mean, if you want… we don’t have to, I was just—” You cut him off with a whisper of reassurance, nodding enthusiastically.

You had never been surer of anything else in your life as Din began to recite the Mandalorian wedding vows to you, and you repeated them almost too perfectly right after. Once it was done, you were both silent for a moment, when Din pressed his lips to yours in a chaste, passionate kiss.

“Open your eyes.” You finally gave in and obliged, taking in his face for the first time. You couldn’t get enough, bringing your hands up to hold his face and trace over his features. His beautiful hawkish nose that suited him incredibly well, his pouty lips framed by just the right amount of scruff. His brown eyes that shone with affection for you and his messy hair, flattened by his helmet and the amount of sweat and blood that had soaked it after today’s events. You brushed your thumbs over his cheeks and pressed another kiss to his lips, then the bridge of his nose.

“You need a shower.” Somehow that was the only thing you could get out of your mouth without crying.

“Thanks,” he replied with heavy sarcasm, but the smile that had overtaken his lips ruined every bit of his tone of voice. He pressed another soft kiss to your lips, nudging his nose against yours sweetly. “Join me?”

You nodded, following him into the refresher, hand held safely in his. Din helped you remove your equally dirty clothes, and him shedding his underwear, before you stepped under the hot shower. You wordlessly began to wash Din’s hair, loosening and rinsing away all the blood, sweat, and dirt while being careful around the back of his head. You parted the hair around the area you knew he’d been hit in, checking to see how the wound looked. It was healing, that was for certain thanks to the bacta spray, but stars, did it look absolutely awful. No wonder it had almost killed him. You took in a sharp breath before continuing to rinse his hair. Once you finished, Din stilled you from going for the soap next, taking one of your hands in his and caressing your chin with his free hand.

“Hey, look at me,” he tilted your face to his, holding your gaze intently. “I’m sorry I made you leave me. That’s a horrible responsibility to put on someone, and I know I wouldn’t have listened if the positions were swapped.”

“Don’t apologize, Din, you put the Child first,” you swallowed thickly, tears stinging your eyes. The all-too fresh memories flashed through your head; desperately looking over your shoulder at Din lying motionless, the heavy rise and fall of his chest the only thing signifying that he was still alive. The only parts of him with you as you were forced to leave had been the Child and the mythosaur necklace he had pressed into your hand. The gesture tugged at your heart just thinking about it. That necklace was a symbol of his protection, his love. “I wasn’t thinking. I just- I don’t want to lose you. I was scared, I—” He just nodded, the understanding and shared feelings showing in his scared, tired eyes. “I love you. Please know that.” He brought the hand he was grasping tightly to his chest, pressing it against his damp, warm skin. You could feel the steady beat of his heart against your palm, letting you relax. He was here, alive, with you.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar'ta,” his voice was gentle, but so strong. Direct. Spoken directly from his core. “Always.”

“I’m gonna guess that doesn’t mean ‘eat shit and die, laserbrain.’” You joked, pulling a chuckle from Din, warmth spreading all throughout your body at his words. The idea that this dangerous bounty hunter, so fierce he was considered the best in the parsec, would choose to be so vulnerable and gentle with you was unbelievable. His love was a privilege that could never be overstated.

The pair of you finished up your shower quite quickly, on account of you noticing Din’s eyes get heavier and heavier. Soon enough, the both of you were squeezed into the tiny cot, pressed up against each other. You snuggled into Din’s chest, the both of you on your sides, your legs trapped in a happy, tangled mess so you could be as close to each other as possible. No words were said, sleep having invaded the both of your minds far too much to form coherent words.

A sleepy kiss was pressed to your forehead, something you registered between consciousness and the limbo you were in as you were falling asleep. Before you fully gave in, you heard quiet snores coming from your Mandalorian next to you, whose arm was wrapped protectively around your waist, holding you against him. You didn’t need reassurances of “goodnight” or “I love yous” right now. Knowing the pair of you were still together, still alive, was more than enough for now.

mando’a translations:

cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart

ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar'ta: i love you, my heart

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #fluff #my fics #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian fluff

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megasaurusssss · 4 years

Text

Dr Pershing | Chapter 2

Words: 4718

Summary: Din Djarin finds him in the sewers. Starving. Beaten. On the brink of death. Pershing is just trying to figure out why the Mandalorian bothered with him at all.

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He was...

Well. Din didn't know how to describe him.

Jumpy, anxious, weak. But intelligent, and witty. When he was thinking he furrowed at his lower lip. When he was confused his eyebrows drew in. When he was afraid his eyes would widen and his lip would quiver. When he saw the child it's like all of his worries visibly melted away.

When he slept, he was peaceful, but awake, he was anything but.

Restless. Radiating with energy. Needing to do something at all times because if he didn't, he would collapse into his own thoughts.

Din had met many people like him. And yet, he was still incredibly unique. There was something there, something was developing between them. But he had no idea what it was. How long have they known each other? Barely a few days. Sure they met about a month ago before everything went to shit but it was in brief passing and, at the time, the doctor hadn't really caught his eye.

The child cooed in his lap, and he sighed. "I know. I just wanted to get out. Staying in that place makes me sick."

He'd developed a habit of talking to the child, even though he wasn't even sure he was being understood. The child would only coo in response, but he supposed that was good enough.

He cooed again, though, and this time it had a different tone, as if to say, 'I want to go back.'

"We will go back. I promise. There's something I want to do first."

The doctor - Pershing, wasn't it? - had this certain aura about him. He never spoke his mind, but there always seemed to be something racing in that head of his. Din tried to read him, figure out what he was really thinking, but he couldn't.

The doctor was kind, and sorrowful, and depressed. He worried about everything. But he was quick-witted and could hold a conversation for as long as he wanted. When he spoke, Din found it impossible to look away. His hands flapped wildly like he was passionate about every word and, he probably was.

He'd never forget how Pershing's expression fell, or how the heart rate on the monitor picked up speed when Din talked about the pain the Empire had caused. And how the words on the tip of his seemed to tongue leave him, and all he could say was that he was sorry. He was sorry. He was so so sorry.

Pershing would apologise relentlessly for working for the Imps, but Din would still tell him it was okay - but he didn't know why, and that frustrated him.

Of course it wasn't okay. None of it was okay. Pershing was imperial, he would always be imperial. So why was Din even bothering? Because of pity? Sympathy?

He found him in the sewers, starving. Beaten. Bloody. On the brink of death. He should've just left him, so why didn't he? Why did he take one look and decide to help? Why did he ignore Cara when she told him to leave the doctor alone? Why couldn't he just listen to other people for once?

There was something about him. Something about this doctor that he couldn't put into words.

He was good with the child, and the child liked him, too. Even though he had every reason not to. Surely if something was wrong, the child would feel it?

Pershing recoiled when Din got too close. He would flinch away, something would flash in his eyes, like he was afraid of being touched. Every time Din caught a glimpse of it his blood would boil. No one deserves that.

But he had no reason to care about that. He never worried about his bounties, never felt sympathy for their sob story, so why should he care about some imp?

I don't know.

Maybe it was because the child cried when he saw the broken body slumped against the wall. That could be his excuse.

The hyperspace came to an abrupt halt. Silversisi faded into view as the Razor Crest grew closer. The child looked up at him apprehensively.

"I know. We won't be here for long. I just want to pick up some things."

The Razor Crest landed not-so-gracefully on Silversisi's surface, just outside the library. He really needed to get the ship fixed. Properly.

"You coming too?" He cast a glance at the child. He took the blank stare as an affirmative. "Okay then."

He picked up the child in his arms, so he wouldn't have to walk, and waited for him to get comfortable before setting off.

He'd been at the Library of Silversisi once before, but it was for a bounty, so he didn't have time to actually stop and read. Especially considering how pissy the security was getting with the scene being caused.

He reached the front door, pushing it open with one hand. It was heavy and large, but he managed to squeeze through. The door slammed behind him, causing an echo throughout the halls of the library.

"Oi!"

Ah.

"I hope you're not here to cause more of a mess, Djarin." The zabrak stood tall over him, arms crossed over his chest. He would have been intimidating, but the round glasses perched on his nose and the tight-fitted vest didn't necessarily do him any favours.

"Just here for some books, Tudua." Din titled his head. "This time."

"Any funny business and you're out, clear?"

"Crystal." He adjusted his grip on the child, who made an unintelligible noise. Tudua's eyes passed over it briefly.

"What's that?" he asked in a monotone voice. He eyed it suspiciously for a moment.

"My son."

"A foundling?"

Din stared up at him for a moment.

Tudua had been a Mandalorian, and their paths had crossed on multiple occasions when they were younger. Mere years after Tudua swore to the creed, however, he abandoned it to chase after a human he'd fallen deeply in love with.

That relationship hadn't worked out, though; the woman cheated on him with a twi'lek man then died in childbirth, so he was being forced to raise a half-twi'lek son that he hadn't wanted in the first place. Now he spent most of his days in the Library of Silversisi as an honourary librarian.

"Yes, a foundling."

"I've seen that species before."

Din took a mental step back. He stared a moment before clearing his throat. "What is it?"

Tudua only shrugged. "Don't know." Before Din could ask him to please elaborate, the zabrak was walking away with his hands in his pockets, whistling some unknown tune.

Fat load of good that was.

Din sighed, before placing the child onto the cool wooden flooring. "Come on. Let's go find what we're looking for."

It wasn't difficult to locate the section he'd been wanting. Most libraries were filled to the brim on science, it being the very core of how the galaxy operated. He skimmed through the books, tilting his head slightly to read the titles etched on the sides.

He'd always liked physical books, made of paper and everything. Electronic ones were convenient but there was something about turning the delicate pages of old books or blowing the dust off their covers.

He picked out a small selection of things that caught his eye. With a small stack about the size of the child, he marched up to the receptionist desk, where Tudua was flipping through a book on parenting of all things.

"How's your son?" he asked as he plopped down the books. They made a loud bang, but Tudua didn't jump or even look up from his book.

"The same." Without even looking, Tudua picked up each book one by one and scanned them with incredible accuracy. Before long, the entire selection was accounted for. "If you don't get these back to me within a month I'll hire someone from that bounty guild of yours to personally hunt you down."

"You'll have to wait in line." He would have winked, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because it wouldn't be seen through the visor - even if Tudua was actually paying attention.

"And how about your son?"

Tudua finally looked up from the book, just to peer down at the child. There was a faint hint of a smile, but perhaps he was imagining things.

"I don't know the first thing about being a father. But he's fine."

Tudua chuckled bitterly. "You and me both. Receipt?"

"No."

"Didn't take you for the science type."

"They're not for me, they're for..." a friend? An acquaintance? An enemy? "...someone else."

"Mm." Tudua gave him a receipt anyway. "One month, Djarin."

"Don't worry." He tucked the stack under his arm and picked up the child with the other. "I'll return them even if I die. Then I'll haunt you forever as a ghost."

"God, please don't. I'd kill myself."

"Ghost buddies."

"Just fuck off, Djarin."

As aggressive as their banter was, and Tudua's irritating insistence of using his real name, they were friends. Or at least, Din liked to think that they were. Tudua was hostile by nature, especially after the cheating and subsequential death of the love of his life - but he was the only person Din felt he could actually trust with important information. He might've been an angry bitter bastard, but he was loyal and kind at heart.

Soon enough they returned to the Razor Crest and set off onto their journey back to Obroa-skai. As the ship launched into hyperspace Din leaned back into the pilot's seat with an exasperated sigh.

The journey back felt twice as long as the journey from, and he wasn't sure why. It was almost like he was nervous - even though he'd no reason to be.

He merely wanted to grab some books for the doctor so he wouldn't get bored. But the more he thought about it the more he wondered if it was a good idea. Especially after leaving in such an abrupt manner.

The child looked up at him with those wide eyes, like he knew something was off.

"I'm fine," Din reassured him. And he was. Just... confused. Doctor Pershing confused him.

The overwhelming concern that enveloped him when he looked at Pershing's timid structure confused him. The rage that filled him when Pershing flinched away from the slightest of touches or winced at the smallest of movements confused him. The strange feeling developing in his chest confused him.

It made him feel young, which was saying a fucking lot. It made him feel sad yet also happy. It was like a blaster shot him in the heart with affection. Hurt like a bitch but he welcomed it.

He willed it to go away. But it persisted. The strange feeling.

He would ignore it, then. But that was so hard. He had never had difficulties getting someone out of his mind before - except for the child, but the child was his child, so that was understandable.

The doctor was an imperial scientist.

And yet, he had this strange ethereal effect.

Slowly, Obroa-skai faded back into view, and Din was pulled out of his thoughts. He couldn't be like this around the doctor.

The razor crest landed with a groan on the lush green grass just outside the hospital's doors. He grabbed the books in one hand before descending down the ramp, where he was met with one of the ugnaught employees.

"We didn't think you were coming back," he spoke with a thick accent. "We haven't been able to calm door Peri down for hours."

"Peri?"

The ugnaught quickened his steps to keep up with Din's long stride. "Young Mr Pershing, of course. He-"

Din suddenly stopped.

Had Pershing - or Peri, he supposed - thought he was leaving for good? He never intended for it to seem that way. Should he have told him what he was doing?

The ugnaught slammed into his legs with an oof. The child giggled.

"He's okay?" Din turned to stare down at the ugnaught, who was rubbing his nose.

"Well, he's fine now, sir. I can't say the same for our staff."

"What happened?"

"Threw a fit. Or that's what Doctor Avry said. I prefer to call it a psychological mishap. Less offensive."

Din turned back around and continued walking, readjusting his grip on the books. "I take it Doctor Avry isn't well respected."

"Oh, she's respected. But she's Arkanian."

That explained it.

The ugnaught held the door open for him and he stepped inside with a grateful nod. The child followed soon after. He made a beeline for Pershing's room, but a human nurse stepped in front him with her arms outstretched.

"He's asleep right now," she said softly, "you'll have to wait."

"I'm the one who brought him here." Din straightened his back. "I've been staying with him while he sleeps."

The nurse seemed to consider this. Her eyes darted to the child waddling up behind Din before she sighed and relented. "If you wake him up..."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He gently pushed the door open, catching it just as it began to creak. All of the lights were off, but he could see the faint outline of Pershing sleeping on his side, curled up into a ball.

As silently as he could manage he placed the books on the bedside table. The child pawed at his leg. "Come here," he whispered, picking the child up to hold him in both of his hands. "I know you don't like it, but you have to be quiet."

Maybe the child did understand words after all, because he didn't make a single noise in the next two hours.

Unfortunately, that meant he was restless. And... truthfully, Din was restless too. He hated staying in the same spot. He'd always been on the move, switching from job to job to job - it was his lifestyle. But he wanted to be there when Pershing woke up, to explain that he wouldn't just... abandon him.

Even though he couldn't understand why that was. If it were anyone else he would have dropped them off at the hospital and left.

Why was this man any different? This imp? Someone who'd slaved their life away for an empire that only inspired hatred and war. How could such a man be so kind and thoughtful? And why - why - did Din want to help him so much?

Why couldn't he identify the feeling in his chest? Why couldn't he tear his eyes away? Why did he focus on the details, like how Pershing would fidget with loose strings? Or how he'd wrung his hands together when he was anxious?

He hated it, he hated all of it. So why wasn't he making an effort to stop?

Another hour went by, and though he'd tried to doze off, the child was too agitated. He wanted to get out and move, stretch his legs... there was a garden, but going meant leaving Pershing alone. Which he was averse to.

At that moment though, the light flickered on, and the twi'lek nurse entered into the room.

"Oh," said the nurse. "I didn't realise you were..."

"Should I leave?"

The nurse cast an awkward glance over to Pershing, who was beginning to stir from the sudden light. "No, I was just going to replace his drip."

Din had noticed it was running low. It only made sense. But even so, when the twi'lek got close, he felt the sudden urge to shove him away, to keep him at bay.

He clenched his fists. He's doing his job. He's helping. Why are you acting like this? He still remembered the way Pershing flushed when the twi'lek got too close. He remembered wanting to reach over and slap him. Don't you know what he's been through? What are you doing? You're too close. Stay away from him.

But why? Why did he feel so strongly about it?

It was stupid. It wasn't like - it wasn't like he ever went through what Pershing did. It wasn't like he had any particular reason to feel so angry about it. Yes, it was terrible, he wouldn't wish it upon his worst enemy, but...

And then there was another conflicting emotion that he just couldn't understand. Jealousy. At least he could identify it but - but it made no sense. What reason would he have to be jealous?

There wasn't one. It was irrational. Clearly he just needed to clear his head. The fuss of the last month was catching up to him, that's all it was.

Din lifted the child onto the floor and stood from his seat. "Let's go stretch your legs, little womprat." He held the door open for the child to pass through, closing it behind him just as Pershing began to open his eyes.

♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬

The garden was peaceful. It reminded Din of Sorgen, just without the neon-blue krill, and the large knee-deep ponds. The flowers' scent was so powerful it wafted up through his helmet, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. This had been exactly what he needed.

The child was enticed with the flowers, and probably the smell, and seemed to sift through them like he was looking for something possibly frog-shaped. For the sake of the garden, Din hoped there weren't any.

He sat down on one of the benches. The garden was small and narrow, but large enough for a couple of children to run around in - which was probably the idea. He almost wished he could take off the helmet for a while, bathe in the sunlight and the pleasant breeze - then quickly shook that notion away.

Not even the child had seen him without his helmet. Technically it was allowed, the child was his son now, a foundling. But...

He would think on it later.

His moment of alone time was disturbed by the doors abruptly sliding open. Immediately, he jumped up from his seat and his hand shot to where his blaster rested, but it was only an old espirion man being wheeled out by a nurse.

"A Mandalorian!" the old man exclaimed in a croaky voice. His back was hunched and he was riddled with old age, but still bore a large smile on his face. "I have never seen one before!"

I'll never get used to that, Din thought as the old man wheeled himself over. The nurse stood in the corner with her hands behind her back.

"Hello, young man." The espirion held out a shaky hand. Din shook it as lightly as he could, but then the old man's grip became suddenly very tight. "It is an honour to meet a Mandalorian in the flesh."

"The honour is mine." He hoped his discomfort didn't show through his modulated voice. If the old man noticed, he didn't say anything.

"And who is this little one?"

The child was now waddling over with a small assortment of flowers and leaves clutched in his hand. It cooed.

"My son."

"Does he have a name?" The old man reached over to pat the child on the head.

"I'm... yet to give him one."

It hadn't been something he'd put much thought into. He admitted, though, it was getting repetitive, calling it "the child" or "the baby" or "my son" or "ad'ika"... though that one was usually only in private.

The old man hummed, before leaning back into his chair with a satisfied sigh. "He is adopted."

"Yes."

"I have seen one like him before."

Din turned his head slightly so he was facing the man. "You know his species?"

"The species? Goodness, no, Master Yoda was one of very few and I only ever saw him from afar so I never had the opportunity to ask..."

Din's eyes widened under the helmet. " 'Master Yoda' ?"

"Oh, yes... let me tell you something about him..."

Din never got to find out what he was, though, because just then the nurse strolled over to interrupt. "You should come back inside," she spoke with a thick accent.

"But I was just telling this young man about-"

"You can tell him later, you have to have your medicine, okay, Druan?"

She shot an apologetic glance back towards Din as she wheeled Druan away, as though the old man was being at all bothersome. That could have been vital information! Din would have to find the man before he left.

Not too soon later, the nurse re-entered the garden, but without Druan in toe. "I am sorry about that," she sighed as she patted down her dress. "He is... his mind has gone. He thinks there are people who can lift things with their mind and it is a mess."

An order of sorcerers called Jedi. The Armourer's words rang in his ears. As if on cue the child tugged at his leg plate, holding out his hands as a universal expression for "up".

Druan knew about the sorcerers. Better yet, he knew about someone who could be related to the child. Was this Master Yoda also one of those 'Jedi'? How is it that no one knows about them? How had such a powerful race become merely myth and legend?

He placed the child on his lap, who shifted a bit, before finding a spot that was comfortable. "What does he say about them?" Din asked. The nurse sighed like she'd heard about it one too many times.

"That they are all dead. And yet he claims to have met them. It makes no sense." She cast a glance around at the garden before sighing once more. "I must go. But it was a pleasure meeting you."

Pleasure. "Yeah."

Even though this new information was incredible news, something in Din's heart stung. He wasn't ready to give up the child. Especially not to an enemy race. Not so soon. Preferably not ever, but... this is The Way.

Mandalorian culture consisted of two very important things: armour and children. The foundlings were the future. Protect the children at all costs - whatever it takes - even if it took the lives of elders. Deep down he knew that giving the child to these sorcerers was the right thing to do, but that didn't ease the hurt.

The child was his son. The Armourer said as much. They were a clan of two, and Din bore the signet to prove it. How could he possibly give his son away?

Besides, what if the child didn't want to go with these sorcerers? Or what if the sorcerers rejected him? What if Din accidentally stirred up an age-old war, thus dooming the Mandalorians to extinction?

Or perhaps he was just being paranoid. That's what Cara would have told him, with a slap on the back.

Who was to say the Jedi even existed anymore, anyway. Clearly they haven't been seen or even heard of for decades upon decades - since no one seemed to know who they were, or those that do know of them are regarded as one who believes in myths and legends.

Then again, the Mandalorians were becoming somewhat of a myth themselves. At least, that was before they revealed themselves on Nevarro...

The thought lingered in his mind.

The sight had made him sick, and thinking about it now only did the same. Those discarded helmets. Blood staining the floors. The thought that his entire clan might've been killed. His family. Even as they lowly regarded him, he would still find himself with a soft spot for them. Even Paz.

Paz wouldn't hesitate to call him a hu'tuun. Or aruetyc. Even if he hadn't technically done anything wrong.

He would then proceed to save Din from the Guild, thus revealing the covert, and getting himself fucking killed. That was his helmet.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the child began waving and cooing at someone by the doorway.

"I-I thought you left," came a familiar, soft voice.

Pershing.

He was still dressed in the hospital gown, but it was tucked into a pair of grey pants. It was an odd sight to behold, especially within the serene confines of the garden. Yet, somehow, the loose shirt paired with the tight pants wasn't off-putting.

"I did. But then I came back. Did you like the books?"

"Um." Pershing stared at his hands with the intent of a thousand fiery suns. If Din didn't know any better he'd say the doctor was angry, but he was probably just thinking really hard. "Yes, they're... you got them for me?"

The doctor finally looked up, and they locked eyes. A strange feeling shot through Din's chest. "Yes. I thought you might want something to read while you're stuck here. I do have to return them eventually, though, so make sure you don't let your science side take over and scribble notes on every page."

Shockingly, Pershing actually cracked a nervous smile, which... made Din happy, even if the smile was gone as quick as it came. "I'll make sure they're as pristine as the day they left the library. Where did you...?"

"Silversisi."

"But! But that's... at least a two-hour journey from here, even with the fastest hyper-space! You travelled for four hours and then-some just to get me some books? I-I'm sure I would have managed, really..."

It made no sense. It baffled Din, how the doctor would shy away from people who were trying to be nice. It was as if he believed he didn't deserve it.

...then again, he was Imperial.

Din decided to change the subject. "I heard from one of the staff that you had a... psychological breakdown."

Pershing flushed a fierce shade of crimson red. Any eye-contact that they had was immediately broken as the doctor averted his wide eyes to the ground. "I see."

The silence that followed was stifling. Din hadn't intended to embarrass the man. Fuck if he knew how emotions worked... sometimes Din wished he wasn't so emotionally stunted. "I just wanted to ask if you're alright."

He couldn't see the doctor's facial expression, but he could hear the sharp intake of breath and a shaky sigh. "Fine. I'm fine. Um, who's the one who told you that?"

An odd question. "One of the ugnaughts. I didn't catch his name. Why?"

"Nothing. It's fine. I'm fine."

It was very obviously not fine. But Din had at least picked up something regarding manners in his many years: it's not polite to pry. "Why were you so upset?" That, of course, didn't mean he knew how to keep his mouth shut, though. He already knew the answer, of course, but he still felt perhaps it would be better to hear it from the source...

"There wasn't a reason."

The reply was as immediate as a bullet and as sharp as a dagger. There was something in Pershing's tone that made him want to retreat, but being Mandalorian, surrendering wasn't exactly his forte. "There must be one."

"Why?" Pershing snapped. Their eyes met again. The doctor's face was still flushed, but his expression was angry and piercing. "Why does there have to be a reason? I was- I was just upset, okay? I don't remember it. And it's none of your business, you... you can't just pry like that. I don't like it, so don't."

I don't like it. It was the type of phrase a child victim of bullying would say to the perpetrator, and it would never work, because that was the point of bullying. To make them miserable.

But Din hadn't wanted Pershing to get upset. He definitely didn't want the child to make a sad noise, either; or frown up at him, like he just disappointed the entire galaxy. And honestly, he felt like he had.

And it's not like he could just apologise. Or... or well, he could, really, and he should, but he couldn't even remember the last time he so much as muttered those two forsaken words and he feared it would come out as awkward and forced, but- oh, it was too late, anyway.

In the time he took to think about his reply, Pershing had turned on his heel and left without Din even noticing.

Damn you, Djarin. Learn to fucking speak.

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