I'm An Educator And I'm Currently Considering A Different Occupation Because I Can't Afford Shit. The

On a Hot, Hot Day (Din x Reader Insert)

Sequel to On a Cold, Cold Night.

Post The Mandalorian season 2, Pre-Book of Boba Fett

Summary: On a desert planet with the looming threat of a sandstorm rolling in, you find a ghost from your past buried in the dunes with you being his only chance at survival before the storm hits.

Rating: T

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, depiction of depression, brief but mild mention of attempted suicide, alcoholism, and a shit ton of FLUFF.

Word Count: 8,180

On a hot, hot day, the double suns above caressed your skin like an overzealous lover that caused sweat to drip from your hairline and pool uncomfortably in the dip of your lower back. In front of you: home. Behind you: a gale wails in agony as a large tsunami sand wall races after you. The wind whipped at your face, your goggles your only form of protection from stray sand plucked from the ground from the acceleration of your speeder bike, racing against time and nature.

Based on the placement of the nefarious suns, you calculated you had about ten minutes left before you reached the safety of your dwelling and the sandstorm hit, the howling behind you letting you know you had about twenty before the desert blizzard hit and would strand you for a few days once you got home. And just as you approached the ruins of an old temple, the last landmark of your journey, the brightness of something metallic shining in the harsh, desert light nearly blinded you into crashing into a broken column. You wanted to pull your goggles aside to wipe your eyes so badly, but the threat of sand making the sting worse and scraping your face stopped you from doing so.

At first, your mind chalked up the metallic shine to a scrap the Jawas had left behind or hadn’t found yet. But as you passed the ruins, the last stretch of the landmark approaching, you couldn’t help but rethink your assessment. When do the Jawas ever leave anything behind, and when are they ever not aware of alien scrap in their desert? Against your better judgment, you turned your speeder around to hunt down whatever it was that caught your eye. Whether it was curiosity or a nagging feeling on the back of your neck not caused by the suns, you couldn’t say. But something beckoned you either way and who were you to not heed its call?

Your eyes picked up the shine of silver and you had to squint through your goggles to keep your focus on whatever had caught your attention as you approached it. Wavering between broken pieces of the forgotten building jetting out of the sands and ducking when the wind threw something larger than a pebble at you from the intensity of the approaching storm, you finally found the source of what caught your attention.

You parked your speeder and hopped off, approaching what at first looked like a heap of shiny metal untouched by time, your excitement of having an easy payout dampening your logic. But as you grew closer, the scrap turned into the form of a large man, sprawled halfway buried in a dune. Your heart raced at the discovery and ran to the figure to aid them, but immediately froze when you took in the specific details you hadn't seen from afar. 

The body was a Mandalorian.

The helmet’s black strip for eyes bore right into you, daring you to come any closer. You matched its intensity behind your own goggles, body rigid, unsure if the man was waiting to see who’d make the first move. But he didn’t budge. A gust of wind shoved you towards him, making your decision for you. The push nearly had you fall face first into the sand, but you managed to land safely on your knees instead. But when you realized how close the wind had brought you to the Mandalorian in front of you, your head snapped up waiting for the man to strike.

But nothing came.

The gust that pushed you had shoved more sand onto his body, burying him further. And a reminder of the storm that had been nipping at your heels for the past hour. You glanced towards the sea of sand, now much closer than what was comfortable, and you turn back to the Mandalorian. 

“Fuck.”

You stomp the ground in irritation at your good heart and started to scoop the sand away until more of the Mandalorian’s body surfaced. When enough was out of the way, he slumped against you and it took everything in you not to fall over from his weight. Another glance back at the storm told you you had fifteen minutes to get home, and the heavy body in your arms made you wonder if the rescue was even worth it. Was the man under the armor even alive? If he was, would he survive at all if you just left him there?

Knowing the answer and not liking either outcome, it took everything in you to drag the legendary warrior out from the rest of the sand. From his satchel, empty bottles of the local whiskey rolled out, one stopping at the toe of your boot. You scrunched your brow but knew you didn’t have time to analyze this new discovery. With strained muscles that screamed with every step you took, you manage to drag the Mandalorian back to your speeder and with great effort, flung him onto his stomach on the bike and hopped on behind him, taking off with one hand on his back in a weak attempt to keep him from slipping.

Over the roar of the speeder and the approaching storm, you couldn’t be too sure but you thought you heard a weak moan from the man. The thought made your heart flutter with hope and relief that he was alive, but you decided to celebrate later in the shelter of your home.

By the time you made it to the mouth of the cave where the back wall had a single wooden door built into a natural hole in the stone, the storm was minutes away from swallowing you and your metal companion alive. It had become near impossible to both steer and try to keep the Mandalorian from falling, and you thanked whatever deity was out there that they gifted you the luck to get you both home alive and safe.

With haste, you secured your speeder once in the cave’s mouth and fastened an anchor and protective cloth over it. Throwing your backpack over your shoulders, you tugged the Mandalorian off the bike and ungracefully dragged him the ten feet it took to get to your front door, nervously fumbling with the keys to unlock it, and slamming the door shut the moment you both were securely inside. You barely had enough time to lock the door and slam the barricade blocks down to keep the door from blasting open when the storm finally hit. The winds and sand screamed and wailed and scratched at the thickness of the door and the stone walls of your home, but had no effect on the strength of the wooden door and its built-in barricade. You were able to let go of the breath you didn’t know you were even holding, shoulders slumping in the relief you hadn’t felt in maybe two years.

The place you called home was a humble abode carved into the cave itself from perhaps centuries prior with the help of both man and nature. You had found it by accident about a year ago when you were out scavenging for things to sell to get by on the desert planet. It had been mostly hidden by the dunes and the harsh contrast of sun on stone, the shadows cast over the rock formations made the entrance look like a dip in the rock and nearly undetectable to the naked eye.

Although the structure had long been abandoned, you were surprised to find a bed frame and basic pieces of furniture made of solid wood left behind. It wasn't a lot, just enough for you to use until you could make the place more livable and homey. And despite the primitiveness of the house, you found whoever had made it their own had gone out of their way to use every crevice in a modern way. Dips in the walls were used as shelving and a fireplace and stove were built into the stone's crevices like they had belonged there all along.

You had been especially shocked to find that the home had a working natural sanistream, the tub a deep dip carved in the ground within the grotto. Whoever had carved it created a piping system that utilized the planet’s natural pockets of water deep in the ground without damaging the natural formation perfect for the tub. Between a working bath, toilet, and sinks; you felt like you had hit the jackpot of indiscreet housing that was both practical and comfortable all at once.

Glancing down, you finally took in your new companion for the next few days. Your eyes roamed over his body freely now that you no longer had the threat of the storm whipping at your backs.

You couldn’t tell how badly the man was hurt or where he was hurt exactly from the black thickness of his flight suit and the armor he wore. With a shaky hand, you slipped off a glove and bent down, slowly reaching for the man's neck to give him time to stop you if he truely was alive and perhaps even awake. When he didn't snatch at you or groan in defiance, you dug your two fingers under his cowl until you felt the texture of human skin. 

It was cold and clammy, but the faint pulse promised you a sliver of the man’s chance at survival now that you’ve found him. You swore, grateful that he was alive, but panicking now that you knew you had three days to either revive this man like the dying houseplant he was or live with a corpse for the next few days.

Refusing to think twice, you immediately began disrobing him of the heaviest of his armor and gear. The cowl came off easily, but you fumbled for far too long with this breastplate and vambraces. Your fingers went numb with the effort, and no relief came when you tossed the armor aside once it was free. Your hands rested on the indented cheekbones of his helmet and you hesitated. Was there a rule about this? You genuinely couldn’t remember, and it wasn’t like you had time to search for an answer on your datapad anyway.

With trembling hands, you unclasped the helmet and slid it off slowly, inch by inch until a firm jaw with disheveled salt and pepper facial hair was revealed, followed by extremely chapped lips, a sharp nose, and a mop of dark brown curls. You placed the helmet on the ground with more reverence, eyes roaming over the man’s face, fingertips brushing his features.

The Mandalorian’s face and neck were flushed, other parts ashen. His breathing had quickened since taking off his armor, his chest heaving with exertion and discomfort. Your hand jerked back when his eyelids fluttered open and you couldn't stop the hiss from escaping your teeth at the glossed-over look his eyes gave you. Through you, not at you. This was worse than you thought. He mumbled something you couldn’t make out, a shaky hand raising as if to touch you, but his arm fell limp and his eyes rolled in the back of his head. You immediately cupped his cheeks and gently shook his head, willing him to reopen his eyes, but he was out. 

“Kriff.”

You quickly stripped yourself of your own gear, kicking your boots into a box with slippers and some flats, and hanging your outer layers and the Mandolorian’s satchel on a rack beside the door. You turned to face the man in question, wincing. 

“I’ll be right back, just... just going to put this away. Okay?”

You awkwardly held up your backpack of supplies as if he could see it, then skittered off to the kitchen. You unceremoniously dropped each item in its place, including a hole in the natural rock formation that had been turned into a natural refrigerator, and booked it back to the warrior. You sighed, rolling your neck, already feeling how bad your knees and back will ache when you drag the Mandalorian deeper into your home and to your precious sanistream. You’re already looking forward to drawing a hot bath for yourself when the temperature that night drops and the Mandalorian rests. But for now, his life was in your hands.

With a strength and determination you hadn’t felt since your time on the run, you wrapped your arms under the warrior's armpits and dragged the Mandalorian towards your sanistream. You willed yourself on through bated breath and sweat threatening to blind you as it dripped from your hairline. Through eroded hallways smoothed over with time and water from times long gone by and lit with bioluminescent moss-grown as lamps, your back and knees screamed for a break but you knew if you stopped you’d struggle to find it in you to continue again.

The man in your arms groaned weakly only a few times during your trip to the fresher, but otherwise remained still. You nearly cried from relief once you make it to the fresher, the curtain hung up for privacy a beacon of success. The ribbon at the end of a long race. With a burst of energy, you pulled the Mandalorian the rest of the way in and slumped to the ground with him in your arms, your back against the wall, panting. Your clothes clung to you with your sweat despite how cool the cave kept the abode naturally.

The bathroom glowed a warm yellow from the bioluminescent moss, bright enough to see what was important, but soft and dull enough to be kind on strained eyes and tired minds. The never got over how romantic the moss made your home feel in the darkest of spaces, reminding you of something straight out of a fairytale your adopted mother had read to you as a child. 

With the first moment of peace you’ve had since finding the warrior and the storm, you’re able to really feel him against you. Broad shoulders and a strong body that unintentionally flexed wherever you touched him. And with him so close and the elements no longer a threatening distraction, you’re able to truly smell him and you realize he reeks of alcohol. You couldn’t stop your nose from scrunching at the newfound stench and gag from the sweetness that only came from the whiskey bottles you had found him with in the dune. Had he been drinking and wandered off into the desert one night after having one too many? Being out there sober without protection was already a death wish, but drunk?

As gently as you could, you dragged the warrior with weak arms and legs to the sanistream’s tub and thanked whatever god was out there that the original owners thought to utilize the natural formation in the rock rather than build a tub. You weren’t sure how you would’ve gotten the Mandalorian in otherwise and your back ached at the idea. 

Laying the man down next to the tub, you carefully pushed his hair out of his face and wiped away the sweat from around his eyes with the delicate touch of your fingers, heart clenching for him. You really hoped he pulled through.

You barely had the energy to unlace let alone take off his shoes. You ended up ripping them off the moment they were loose enough, and tossed them somewhere behind you to be collected when the man was more stable. You sighed through trembling fingers to unbutton and unzip the flight suit, struggling to peel the thick fabric from the man’s torso, and cursing when you saw yet another shirt hiding beneath. You managed to lift his shoulders enough to slide the flight suit off, then nearly ripped the shirt trying to tug it off with the grace of a newborn bantha. 

You tossed the shirt aside and worked the flight suit under him, struggling to hold his hips up as you slid the offending garment down and had to yank them over thick thighs and calves. Not that it mattered in a medical sense, but you were thankful he had at least worn long johns underneath the suit. Yet you still peeled that article down as well and were even more relieved to see the man wore brief shorts underneath. You forgot just how cold space could get.

With one last burst of energy, you managed to drag him into the tub with you and let him rest against you as you took a moment to catch your breath, his weight falling on you knocking the air out of you. You reached over and turned a knob, welcoming the ice-cold water as it filled the tub. The sudden coldness jolted you and your flinch caused the Mandalorian to groan. You rubbed his arm in an apology, waiting for the tub to fill enough.

Once the water height engulfed the man enough to help bring his temperature down but not enough to drown him if he were to slide or slouch, you carefully slid out from under him and placed his head softly against the tub’s edge.

His breathing had calmed and when you placed your hands on his face, you were relieved to feel the skin was less clammy and had lost a little of its flush from the cool relief. You let your fingers drag down to his neck and your shoulders relaxed, feeling the pulse beneath your fingers beat a little stronger.

Convinced he wouldn’t drown, you hesitantly parted from the warrior, giving him one long last glance, then allowed your tired legs to carry you back to your home’s entrance. Outside, the wind continues to scream and sand scratches to get in, but they fall on deaf ears as you collect the Mandalorian’s armor and helmet and carry it to your room, briefly checking in on the man as you pass the fresher.

The only rooms not needing the bioluminescent moss were the rooms on the upper incline of the cave where they each had large holes turned windows facing the desert. Large sheets of the same transparisteel used on ships had been wedged into place and protected the rooms from the harsh and unforgiving desert environment. By the time you had found the place, the thickness of the space glass had aged with dust, still not enough to block the view but enough to make it look smokey and orange. 

The space you designated yours had been an abandoned bedroom, the furniture still there but collecting dust. From what you could tell, it might’ve been a couple’s room. No photos had been left behind to give you a clue as to who once lived there, so you couldn’t confirm, but the hunch was formed by the size of the bed along with the amount of space the wardrobes and vanity had. Far too much space for just one person, but you weren’t complaining. Especially after living in the tightest, most uncomfortable places while on the run all those years ago. It almost felt like a gift from the gods, and you accepted it with gratitude. 

You had to replace the sheets and clean the mattress and rugs, but after that and a good dusting, everything was as good as new. Minus the windows, which you cleaned the inside of but couldn’t for the life of you bring yourself to clean the outside. Maybe one day you’ll get a droid for that. One day.

The geometric rugs kept the room warm at night and the stone walls kept it cool during the day. When you needed the light, and the desert was kind, the stars and moon were often enough. But when a storm raged, just as it was now and you couldn’t see a thing out of the window, you settled on using old lamps that used bantha fat and oil, resources easy to obtain and took awhile to burn through. 

You were greeted to your room bathed in a dark orange hue, the furniture drenched in long shadows. Your bare feet patted over the soft rugs and over to the vanity where you placed the armor on its table, the last being the helmet that was tucked under your arm.

You held the helmet in your hands, gazing down at the black strip. It stirred a memory for you, of a snowy planet and an abandoned cabin. Of a time when you had been on the run from an abusive slave owner who had taken your adopted family away from you. Had taken you far from the life you were comfortably living.

After breaking your arm and being ill-prepared for a blizzard, you honestly thought your end had come. All the running, killing stealing... it had felt all for naught but you welcomed the embrace of death as it reached for you. You barely remember the day before the storm hit or the days waiting it out, just the moment you had come to, bandaged up and with a comlink waiting for you on your dresser containing the half-assed obituary declaring you dead.

The only memory, if you could call it that, from those blurry days was of a Mandalorian. Tall, broad, and hovered over you like the personification of Death. You remember trying to reach out to him and touch him, but that was it. For the longest time, despite your wounds being bandaged, the cabin boarded up, a fire waiting for you, and even some cooked food in the fridge… you had wondered if you had hallucinated him. If maybe a kind stranger had shown up and you mistook them for a Mandalorian or if you had in your delirium done it all and just didn’t remember it.

But gazing down at the helmet, you knew that the Mandalorian had been real. The lullabies sung to you were too far away for you to make out the lyrics, but the melody was close enough now to tickle your ear from time to time. You often dreamed up stories of places you had never been to, with creatures you had never seen. And some part of you, deep down, knew that they hadn't been made up by your brain. The Mandalorian haunted you in all the best ways possible, the personification of Death turned into one of a guardian angel. 

The Mandalorian had been Death incarnate if you hadn’t been injured. If you hadn’t been sick. He probably would have dragged you back to your owner with no mercy and you wouldn't be alive in this beautiful home in the desert with luxuries you didn’t know existed for people like you. Your near-death experience gave you a chance at life.

It’s why seeing the Mandalorian out in the dunes had startled you. The memory, although comforting, reminded you that you had been the man’s prey if you hadn’t luckily unlucky with your health. And seeing another Mandalorian so close to your desert home made you wonder if he was also a bounty hunter. And if he was, did it mean you had a bounty on your head again? Were people aware you actually were alive and well? And what about the alcohol?

But most importantly… was this the same Mandalorian from all those years ago? His armor had been red if you remembered right, and the armor in front of you was pure silver. 

You shook your head and placed the helmet on the vanity’s countertop, too fatigued to compare the warrior of your past and the warrior of your present. You hesitantly let the helmet go, but not before you let yourself get caught up in its blank stare. It took everything in you to pull away from its grip and willed yourself out of the room.

The warrior hadn’t drowned when you returned, and his body was less flushed and clammy. When you took his pulse, gratitude washed over you that the man was on his way to recovery. The worst appeared to be over, but it would still take a few days before he’d become coherent again.

You drained the tub and pulled out a towel to wipe him down. You struggled to get the man dry, sliding back into the tub with him. You attempted to pull him out but the strain in your back and knees reminded you of the daunting task at hand to get him into your room and you swore. You really were going to need that hot bath later.

The towels had been too small to use to drag him back, so you opted to get your spare sheet and yanked the warrior onto it after managing to drag him out of the tub. With most of his body on the cloth, you managed to drag him the rest of the way to your room and dropped the sheet to the ground once it was next to your bed with a huff. 

You couldn’t tell how much time had passed thanks to the storm, but based on how much dimmer the room was, you guessed it was approaching evening. Your legs felt as if they’d give out on you when you stood, but you ignored the weakness in favor of turning the lamps on before it got too dark and you had to fumble your way in the darkness.

Glancing over at the warrior’s slumped figure, you sighed and prayed to the gods for one last second wind.

You wrapped your arms under his and with the last bit of your strength, you manage to get him onto your bed in an ungraceful sprawl just as your body finally gave out from the strain. 

You let yourself lay on the ground, staring up at the stone ceiling. You allowed your body to feel the deep aches, cradling the discomfort and reminding yourself it wasn’t permanent. You listened to the Mandalorian above you breathe deeply, the very life inhaling and exhaling through his nose was like a melody, lulling you to a doze. 

From your place on the ground, you watched as the room went from a deep orange to nearly black, the death of the day witnessed with gratitude from your unmoving spot. The oil lamps were your only source of light, and where the sun through the storm bathed the room in oranges, the lamps washed the room in yellow pastels. 

Shaking the sleep from your head and rolling the fatigue out of your shoulders, you groaned as you sat up and leaned against the mattress for emotional and physical support. When you were ready, you dragged yourself to the kitchen and made yourself the simplest food you could make with whatever was left over of your energy, mindful of making enough for two.

When you came back, you placed the bowls of soup on the nightstand next to a canteen of water. You looked over your guest now that he didn't have armor or his suit in the way. The man was, at least to the naked eye, doing much better. But his flushed skin had turned sickly and his lips now bled from being cracked and dry. It was hard not to feel worried. 

You helped him sit up and cradled him in the crook of your arm. You took the canteen from the nightstand and did your best to unscrew it, then held it up to the warrior’s mouth. You helped him tilt his head back until a little water trickled through his lips. His Adam’s apple barely bobbed, barely accepting the gift at the alter of his sickbed, just enough for him to let out a content sigh and become even limper in your arms and you carefully laid him back down and tucked just the top sheet around his shivering body. 

You decided to feed yourself and relax your back, allowing the Mandalorian to sleep a little longer before attempting to feed him. When you were done, you cleaned your bowls and left them in the sink, and returned to his side with a damp washcloth. 

You cleaned the sweat from his forehead, brushed his hair out of his face, and dabbed at the places you knew would bring the most relief. When the washcloth was no longer cold, you went back to dip it in water and returned, placing it on his forehead and leaving it to rest there. 

You washed his clothes and hung them up to dry, not before emptying pockets of the most random items outside of weaponry accessories, including a round silver ball that you cradled in the palm of your hand. Despite its simplicity, you sense the object had enough meaning for the Mandalorian to want to carry it on his person and you placed it on the nightstand for him to wake up to when he was ready to return to the land of the living. But you failed to find any evidence that the man was a bounty hunter. At least not a bounty hunter looking for you. 

Slipping into your bed beside him, you rubbed his arms and ran your fingers through his hair and hummed to him, a tune from your own childhood and a tune you vaguely remember from the days spent incapacitated on the snowy planet. You told him stories of your travels, and what you had done since the incident you’ve dubbed “The Miracle.”

You weren’t sure if the man was the Mandalorian that had saved your life, but you decided to talk to him as if he was. It was strangely comforting, like talking to an old friend after a lifetime apart. You talked to him with the same familiarity you had with your family, the familiarity that you missed with your whole being. It was bittersweet, but you welcomed the feeling with open arms.

You laid next to him the rest of the night, dabbing at his forehead with the washcloth when he groaned in his sleep and holding him to your breast when he threatened to thrash around whether it was from a nightmare or discomfort. Caring for the big man in your arms felt so familiar and comforting despite not knowing if he was there by coincidence or if he had planned on turning you in. He was clearly a seasoned professional based on the weaponry you pried off of him, and that fact confused you more as to how he had allowed himself to nearly perish in the desert, far from civilization. How had he gotten there? And why?

You never did get that bath you wanted, but you didn’t complain. The discomfort was a reminder that you still had a lot to live for, and the man in your bed was a reminder of your own miracle. 

When morning came, just before the sun rose, you pried yourself from the Mandalorian and found some old curtains hidden away. You installed them just as the sun started to peek through the angry winds and sands billowing by the window. It kept the room relatively dark without completely blocking out the light and you were happy to discover it made the room that much cooler when the heat of the day radiated through the transparisteel and cloth. 

When you changed out the washcloths you had placed on his chest, neck, and forehead; you wandered down to the kitchen to make breakfast, rubbing your eyes and feeling the fatigue from the last twenty-four hours. The lack of sleep breathed down your neck, but it was far from claiming you despite the threat.

You rummaged through each built-in pantry and the fridge with eyes half open, taking out what you needed to make a type of cinnamon oatmeal you hadn’t had since your childhood. Pouring it into two bowls, you made your way back to your room as the warrior began to stir.

Heart rate speeding up, you placed the bowls on the nightstand and were at his side in a second, holding his hand. He struggled to wiggle out of the sheets, but was otherwise completely out. You rubbed his arm and made soothing noises, assuring him that he was okay. Your touch seemed to soothe him, and he sighed, stilling in place.

You propped him up against you in the crook of your arm and helped him eat, cooing words of encouragement with each successful scoop until the bowl was empty. You set the bowl down and changed out his washcloths, then finally allowed yourself to eat your own breakfast. You watched over the warrior with empathy. 

When you placed the bowls in the kitchen sink, instead of returning to the warrior’s side, your feet led you back to your front door. Outside, the angry howls of the wind had softened and the scratchy sand was less threatening against your door and the walls. The storm was thankfully almost over, give or take another day or two. But your eyes fell to what you had really come there for: the Mandalorian’s satchel, hanging from the rack on your wall just where you had left it. Guilt gnawed at you, but you had to know why the warrior was out in the desert like a sacrificial lamb and what that meant for you when he awakens.

With trembling hands, you take the satchel and sit on the floor, your legs naturally crisscrossing beneath you. You open the satchel and slide your hand in, the room too dark for you to fully see what was in the bag. You took out a few pouches of credits, enough to make your eyebrows nearly rise off your face. You gently kept them in a pile so as to not lose them, ensuring they were tightly shut.

Just like his clothes, you pulled out the most random items, the most prominent objects in the bag being more of the empty bottles of whiskey you had found with him in the dune.

One, two, three… you weren’t even sure how many there had been when you found him in the desert. And with reluctant unease, you concluded that the man wasn’t there for you, nor had he wandered into the desert after a night of drinking. He had purposefully found that place in the sand with every intent on letting the alcohol and harsh weather take him from this life. You couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks even if you wanted to.

Wiping the stray tears away, you continued to pull out items that thankfully didn’t feel like bottles anymore, but profound sadness was replaced with confusion when the items in question were discovered to be baby essentials. A clean handmade onesie, a few clean cloth diapers, an empty baby bottle, and two small hand-stitched stuffed animals. One looked like a half-assed bantha, the other resembled a frog you recalled seeing on Sorgan. 

You nearly dropped the items and the bag as if they had burned you. You scrambled to shove everything back in and hang the satchel back up, your heart racing and heavy in your chest. You let your tears stream down your face, welcoming the painful potential truths you had just learned regarding the man in your bed. Whether the child those items were for was dead or just no longer with him, you weren’t sure, but your heart went out to him either way. You understood the pain of losing parents, but a child?

To keep your thoughts from spiraling, you spent the next day in a strict routine. Replace the Mandalorian’s washcloths, dampen the top sheet to give him comfort, feed him easy-to-swallow foods, and rest by his side when there wasn’t anything else to do but wait.

On the third night, you listened to the final stages of the storm outside as you rested in your bed with the warrior. You turned and faced him, unable to sleep. You had snuffed out the lamps an hour ago and could only make out his features from what little light the moon was able to give you through the fading storm.

You placed your hand over his heart, softly smiling at how much stronger the beat of his life felt beneath your palm. His breathing had evened out earlier, his face only slightly flushed and skin no longer clammy. You suspect he’ll wake up within the next twenty-four hours, and you were still deciding on if you wanted to stick around for that or not.

So you made the most of the night, holding him to you, humming, and telling him any other stories you had forgotten to mention. You pretended he had been that Mandalorian that saved you all that time ago, regardless if he was, thanking him and whispering about how good of a man he is. You sensed maybe he thought otherwise, and you couldn't leave without him knowing. Even if it only came to him at night in the form of a faded melody.

You had no idea if he could hear you, but in a hushed tone, you begged him to continue living. Whether his baby was out there waiting for him in another galaxy or in another life. You told him you relate to his pain in your own way, that you had empathy even if you couldn't fully understand it, and reminded him of how proud he should be of himself for the good things he had done rather than focus on the sins he may or may not have committed. 

You packed your things as the storm gave one last swan song before fading into the sands of time. In the early morning hours of a new day being born, you admired the man you had shared the last few days with. In the blue light, he looked like a painting. His face was now at ease, pain-free, eyelashes resting softly on his cheeks rather than scrunched with discomfort.

Standing next to the bed with only what you could carry on you just as you had since and just as you will continue to do, you realized in the light of a new day that this was how you wanted to remember the Mandalorian, you realized. Not as Death personified, or as a dying warrior in an unforgiving desert. But as a man who had lost his way and found a second chance in the form of a girl who he hesitantly saved all those years ago.

You'd be gone by the time the sun peeked over the horizon. Whether it was the fear of the bounty hunter having a change of heart, or telling others where you were, that you were alive… you couldn’t risk it. But you left behind enough for the Mandalorian to know that, even if it was just the briefest of moments, he had been loved and cared for and seen even if he didn’t think he deserved it. And someday, you hope he could forgive you for saving him just as he had saved you all those years ago. 

But before you could go, there was just one last goodbye you had to leave behind. 

Din had expected to either wake up in the dark void that awaited all Mandalorian who had lost their way, a pit at the end of one’s treacherous life where they're left to rot away from the memories of those who live on; or to wake up in the dreamy realm among the stars where his memory is honored by Grogu and maybe even Cara and Karga and anyone else who might’ve deemed him worthy of glory for all eternity.

He hadn’t expected to wake up with a nasty migraine, nearly naked in a bed that was not his cot in a room that was not his own in a house that he definitely didn’t live in. 

Panic began to set in, but Din’s muscles were far too fatigued to move faster than Endorrian tree sap. The most he could do was weakly sit up until he was able to prop himself against the wall behind him with a heavy groan.

Din blinked away the heaviness of sleep from his eyes, wincing at what little light that the dark curtains allowed in. The strip of light was enough to highlight basic furniture in the room, including the bed he was in and the entryway of the door. His flight suit, long johns, and undershirt had been folded for him and sat at the foot of the bed, waiting for him to wake up. 

He strained his ears but Din failed to hear evidence of anyone else in the stone home with him. He truly was alone, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that just yet.

Din allowed himself to relax, hands dumbly resting on his lap over the sheets. He struggled to recall the last of his memories. Din vaguely remembered the Jedi's rejection to see his son and his heart throbbed remembering the exile from his covert before that, the sting of nowhere else to go…

Din truly thought he had nothing else to live for. With Grogu training to be a Jedi with no promise Din would ever see him again, his covert’s rejection, being the ruler of a dead planet, and not knowing if the waters the armorer had mentioned even existed for his redemption… Din had left his N-1 with Peli along with whatever else he couldn’t carry, gifting what remained of him to the unknowing mechanic. He hadn’t been sure what his plan was, just that he wanted the pain to stop. To have the noise in his head stop. To have the ache in his heart just stop. He wanted whatever relief he could be given. 

He remembered thanking the Maker that whiskey and other alcohols found their way back into cantinas after the Hutts’ downfall. Din remembered getting as many bottles as he could with whatever credits he had on his body and made the final trek into the desert, convinced he’d never return. He remembered finding the best spot to watch the suns rise, lifting his helmet back enough, and losing track of the swigs he took of the alcohol before blacking out. 

Din at least had enough sense to be horrified with his choices in that moment of pain and rejection now that he was sober and awake.

With a grunt and more effort than he cared to admit, Din managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed and rub his face into his hands, deciding to freak out over the fact he’s been helmet-less later on. One crisis at a time. 

The light caught something shiny and Din turned his attention to the nightstand and froze. Grogu’s silver ball sat there, patiently waiting for him to notice it. It sat on top of a photograph of a familiar cabin on a snowy planet he vaguely remembered years ago, but the fatigue and migraine of surviving yet another near-death experience prevented him from connecting those dots.

Din sighed and inched over to his flight suit, grabbing the now clean material, and he chuckled at how it was probably the cleanest it has been since he first bought it. He pulled each article on sluggishly, and if he hadn’t been so tired he would’ve been embarrassed by the slowness of his movements. 

Once dressed, he stumbled over to the vanity on weak legs and clung to the counter when he got to it for dear life. He glanced up at the mirror and flinched at his reflection, taking in how hollow his eyes were and just how pale he had allowed himself to become from his own negligence. But he had more color in his eyes and face than he previously remembered, something he guessed was thanks to whoever nursed him back to health.

This time, he purposefully re-clasped his armor to his body with the same reverence he had when cleaning his weapons. A holy ceremony he cherished through and through. Once dressed with the shine of his religion, he paused, admiring the polish job his host had given it. 

Din stared down at his helmet with the same animosity it had towards him. Judging him, reminding him that he no longer was a Mandalorian. But he couldn’t find it in him to give up the armor nor the helmet, regardless of the shame he felt.

When he lifted the helmet, he was surprised to find something fluttered out from underneath it. When Din bent down, he gasped, touching the offending item with unsure hands. He stood up, staring at the photograph with horror and awe. It was of him, laying in the very bed he had woken up in. The morning light outlined the sharpness of his features while softening the age from his forehead and eyes and the scars that littered his body.

It was the first time Din ever thought of himself as anything other than ordinary. Was this how his caretaker viewed him? He couldn’t help but blush, grateful that someone could see him in a light he never thought was possible. That that kind of softness and gentleness was available to people like him, regardless of the things he had done.

Din flipped the photograph over to see handwriting scrawled on the back. It read:

“In case we never meet again, you are a good man, Mandalorian. Never forget that. I know I haven’t.”

Din grew dizzy and had to cling to the vanity again as the familiarity of the cabin photo and now dawned on him. The snowy planet, the cabin, a quarry… had his caretaker really been the girl from all those years ago? 

As Din collected his things, he found more photos scattered here and there throughout the humble abode. Din wasn’t sure if his caretaker had intended to leave them behind for him to find, or if she had just forgotten in her haste to leave, but Din found comfort in them. 

They were photos of places Din didn’t recognize from the girl’s journal, ones that she must have taken well after Din had saved her life. Was this her way of thanking him? Of telling him she’s lived life fully since he let her go? 

Back then, he hadn’t had the heart to bring her in warm or cold when she was recovered enough. He had rememberd the digital photo he had taken of her when he first found her and was unsure of her likelihood of survival. When he had his change of heart, Din had sent the photo to the man who put a bounty on her head and claimed she was dead. The man bought it, no questions asked, but only gave Din half the credits promised. Din couldn’t find himself to mind it. 

When he saw the half-assed obituary the man wrote, he sent it to the com he left behind for her to use when she was recovered enough. He wasn’t sure until that moment that she had gotten it, and he’s relieved to know she had. Din hoped he found it as humorous as he had.

Not sure if she planned on coming back or not, Din ended up pocketing every photo he found regardless. He grabbed his things and a canteen of water the girl must’ve left behind for him and left the home behind, preparing himself for the long trek back to Peli and the optimism he now had for the future. 

The photos ended up getting him through the desert, back to Peli where he got an earful from the eccentric woman for disappearing on her, and to the next planet. They became his safety blanket at hotels and after lonely trips to brothels, and he had kept them close to his heart under his armor when he was called to help Boba back on Tatooine and had expected to die in combat.

Grogu coming back into his care was not part of the plan, nor was surviving the whole ordeal, let alone succeeding. But the photos that became a massive source of comfort for Din became a source of comfort and hope for Grogu as well. Din would show him the photos before bed and tell him the stories he faintly remembered a soft voice telling him as he drifted in between consciousness.

This time, Din never forgot about her. He could vaguely recall how she looked, but it was her voice and the gentleness that lingered whenever he needed a reminder that there was kindness in the galaxy if you were patient enough to find it. And a reminder that the miracle he had given you that cold, cold night all those years ago ended up being the very miracle he needed to find one hot, hot day. It led him back to himself, his own creed, his son, and another chance at life after far too many second chances. 

The gentleness Din chose all those years ago led him to his own miracle. Thanks to her, he was finally free

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Post The Mandalorian season 2, Pre-Book of Boba Fett: Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: The universe had a habit of pushing you and the Mandalorian together and tearing you apart at inconvenient times. With the Crest and Grogu gone and how expensive a new ship is, the universe forces the both of you to take on jobs that require you both to be away from each one other for long periods of time. To keep the love you have for one another strong in lonely stretches of space travel and planet-hopping, a compromise is made that tests your relationship.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Open relationships, smut, rough sex, romantic sex, F/F/M threesome (sort of), hook-ups, make-up sex, porn with plot, angst and fluff and smut, porn with feelings, unsafe sex, brief Din/OFC and reader/OMC. If I miss anything let me know!

This is the most romantic, filthiest thing I've ever written and probably not the most romantic filthiest thing I'm capable of writing, so enjoy the ride! The ending is worth it I promise!

Word Count: 7,197

The complication of the present is that there’s always an after. And where there’s an After, there’s a Before. A Before time, a Before moment, a Before person. Before choices affecting the After in ways one couldn’t begin to comprehend, and a cycle that tends to repeat itself.

Before there was Grogu, there was you. You, who took on more odd jobs than Din even knew existed. You, who went into every opportunity and job with enthusiasm that made Din’s reckless choices look like logical plans. You, who grated on his nerves when it was always you who could provide him with what he needed when no one else could. It was like the universe had created your very existence just to be his personal annoyance and greatest confidant. 

It wasn’t until After Grogu that Din was able to truly appreciate your spirit and tenacity. What he once believed to be a nuisance to his very existence was now as comforting as a child’s blanket. Over the years, just like the jobs in your life, things just fell into place not when he wanted them to, but when he needed them to. As if the universe and you were conspiring together to make him miserable and happy all at once. 

It was Before the Razor Crest was destroyed and Grogu had been taken by Moff Gideon when the line between friend and partner started to blend with lover. Underneath dark skies with the vast amount of stars twinkling down on them. Underneath the canopy of trees protecting you from the rain of whichever planet you met up. Underneath galaxies and supernovas and unforgiving suns on desert planets. 

The best job that fell into place after all that time wasn’t working as a translator for some noble or speech writer for a corrupt politician. It was being his missing piece, the very thing that filled the black hole in his heart right next to the one that Grogu filled. He thought when he got the kid back, the After would be you and him and the green bean finding a new ship and traveling off into the great, wide void, happily ever after. Wherever the universe took them, they’d go willingly.

He hadn’t expected such a different After.

Din hadn’t expected Grogu to be taken from him the moment he got him back. Din hadn’t expected to inherit a dead planet. Din hadn’t expected to be broke with no son and no covert to go back to and no Creed. If the universe worked so hard and for so long for his clan of three to be together, then why was it working so hard to keep them apart again?

That’s how you went back to the original Before. The Before where you took on more odd jobs than Din knew existed. The Before where he was nothing but a cold bounty hunter, married to his Creed. The Before where the universe was cruel and annoyed him and put everything it possibly could in his path to make him absolutely miserable. 

But it wasn’t as bad as the original Before. Sort of. He still had you. 

After Grogu was reunited with the Jedi, after Din inherited a dead planet, after the Crest was blown up and everything he knew crumbled in his hands; he begrudgingly agreed to buy a small property on whatever planet you both could afford. It would serve as a home base while you found work and saved enough to buy a ship and finally have that After you both originally thought you'd have. The After you both deserved. 

Din reinstated his membership with the Guild and you hustled for whatever job landed in front of you, regardless if it was dangerous or demeaning. It was what started your first major fight, when he found out you had pimped out your body to some rich senator while finishing a different job in Coruscant for enough credits to both feed you for a month and also make a dent in your ship funds. 

Din knew you hadn’t slept with the man out of infidelity, he just wished you had at least talked to him about that option before acting on it. But he also knew it was your body and your choice and he respected it. But that didn’t stop the hurt from taking root in his chest. Or the damage his pride took, knowing that you had to resort to that when he could barely afford public transportation to and from the Guild with a quarry. 

Din knew he was being irrational and cruel. But with the pain from everything the universe had thrown at him in the Aftermath of losing it all, Din took up a job through the guild that would pay almost as much as pimping yourself out had but would also keep him away from you for a number of months. Something he had agreed not to do, the both of you coming to the conclusion that no amount of money was worth being too far from one another for too long.

But the Aftermath left him hurt and hollow and prideful, and with very little communication, he took off one morning while you were still asleep for the bounty that would keep him away from you for a few months.

He watched Jakku, the only fucking planet he could afford to even buy you a house on, grew smaller and smaller and his heart ached worse and worse with every mile wedged between you two. Din regretted the way he left instantly, knowing you’d wake up cold in your shared bed to an empty house with half the armory gone. No goodbye, no lingering hugs or Keldabe kisses…

When the first month crept around the corner, Din was miserable. He missed you so much. He missed your gentle touches and laughter and the way you made the morning caf better than him. He missed the Crest and his son and his independence. He hated every transport ship he had to take, but he’d remember how you sold your body and the hurt and anger had him suck up the discomfort and pain and the yearning he had for you.

That was what might’ve led him to nearly make a horrible mistake.

He had finally caught the quarry after two months of playing cat and mouse. Din had cut off the man’s head, as he had done with other quarries, and stuffed it in a burlap bag. His adrenaline was high, chest heaving from the kill, and that was when he ran into her.

She was a random woman on some random planet but god, she looked so much like you. Same hair length and color, same face shape and lips… but the eyes were all wrong. They didn't have the same comfort and soul yours did, regardless if the color was close.  

She had come on to him and Din had been so close to bending her over and fucking her on a crate in an alleyway at the transportation hub waiting for his ship to Nevarro. He had his hand on her back, pressing her into the crate, other hand going for his zipper. 

Din had abruptly left like a phantom before he could go any further, shame washing over him. The trip to the Guild felt like it was mocking him with how slow it was, almost as if it purposefully was making him have to think about how badly he almost fucked up and how badly he had fucked up leaving you behind without saying goodbye and only checking in here and there. And it was equally slow going home.

Getting off the transport ship when he got back to Jakku was a blur. A blur of racing off the ship before everyone else and grabbing his weapons from the cargo hold and racing home as the sun was setting.

You had been folding laundry when Din more or less kicked the door open. You promptly dropped the clothes, hand going to the blaster you keep at your hip at all times, but he was there before you could touch the weapon.

Din crushed you to him, all the pain being replaced with a yearning he only had for you.

He didn’t bother waiting. He took you right there, pressed against the wall. Then he had you bent over the couch, on top of the table, in the shower with the lights off, and in your shared bed. Din couldn’t get enough of you, your smell, your taste. He fucked and whispered his apologies into your body all night long, your gasps and moans your only response.

He was finally home in every sense of the word, but the guilt sat heavily on his shoulder.

“I almost made a horrible mistake,” he whispered into the night, flat on his back with you curled under his arm and splayed over his bare chest. Din blankly stared up at the ceiling, fruitless with the pitch darkness of the room. You drew circles into his skin with your fingers, quietly waiting for him to elaborate.

Din swallowed the lump in his throat and told you about his trip, his frustrations, how sorry he was for leaving the way he had. That he understood now you did what you had to do for both of your well beings. He told you about the quarry and the adrenaline rush and how it almost lead to his infidelity.

Your hand stopped its movement and Din could’ve cried. He wanted to snatch your hand as you drew it away and place it on his heart instead and keep it there forever. But he let you retract your hand and felt you sit up in the darkness.

The years Before and After let him know that you were looking at him, even if you couldn’t see him, and he with you. But he didn’t feel judgment nor pain, just empathy and melancholy. Din felt you straddle his waist and his hands immediately rested on the dips in your hips, stroking the naked skin there.

It was then, in the After of his mistake and your fight, you proposed a proposition. One he never thought you or he would ever consider, especially not with a shaky voice.

“I think we need to reconsider the long distant jobs. I know we don’t want to be apart, but with the money you brought in and how much more we could if we both did…”

Now it was Din’s turn to trace circles into your skin, listening with a patience he didn’t know he had.

“I’m sorry I hurt you by selling myself. I didn’t think… I didn’t…”

Din sat up and captured you in a kiss that he hoped conveyed just how much he loved and forgave you. When he pulled away, he gently placed his forehead against yours as your voice drops to a whisper.

“I think we should consider taking on longer jobs. Just until we can save up for maybe a small ship, then a bigger one. Just work our way up. What we have now isn’t working as fast as we want and I don’t want that to hurt us... our relationship... our future..."

You splayed your hand on his chest, basking in the warmth of his breath tickling your face.

“And…I think until we can have the same stability we had on the Crest… and as long as you’re comfortable with it... maybe it might be best for us to have an open relationship?”

You had waited for his response and Din let the idea buzz around in his head in silence. He didn’t really want anyone else, just you. But the months away and the loneliness of the job and space… He thought back to the woman who looked like you but wasn’t you and imagined himself fucking her with no guilt. It made him hard thinking about it and he felt you giggle and wiggle around in his lap. Din slapped your ass to keep you still.

Din didn’t want anyone but you, but if he could have guilt free relief when he needed it, he would be okay with it. But the idea of you with another man made his blood boil. And as if sensing that, you pulled him into a long kiss and grinned into his lap.

“It doesn’t have to be forever, just for now. Until we get a ship, until we can settle somewhere else without worrying about money... just for now, okay?”

“Okay, but I think we should establish some rules.”

“Agreed.”

The rules were simple: Don’t fuck friends and don’t fuck people the both of you know. Check in regularly regardless if either of you take on a partner, and whoever warms your bed comes second to your relationship. If anything changes, everything needs to be put on hold until a conversation could be held, and always have implants checked and yourselves tested for STDs if going in raw. Unplanned pregnancies or health issues will be dealt with accordingly, together, regardless of the outcome.

It was easy enough, but Din knew he only wanted you. That anyone he bedded would never replace you, and he knew you felt the same way. 

It wasn’t long before you both took on jobs that kept you away from each other for about a month, then two months. Din had been good, not really feeling the need to have a partner. 

But a new rule was added when he got home and found out in those two months you had bedded a partner and his jealousy got the better of him: don’t talk about your partners without being prompted. It wasn’t your fault, you were excited to show Din a new thing you had learned in the bedroom, but his jealousy spoiled the first evening home you two had together in months and he regretted it. The self-loathing alone kept him up all night, "sleeping" on the couch. 

The tension was still there when you both left for your next jobs, and he held onto the guilt when he found a partner himself after being gone again for two months. He made it up to you with the new oral technique his fling had taught him, you not asking where he learned it, but taking the knowledge better than he would've. Better than he had reacted previously.

That’s how you found yourself eight months after the original agreement, four months into your own job with two more months to go, squeezed into a tiny corner of an alleyway in broad daylight with an absolutely gorgeous Mirialan fucking into you like you’re the last lay he’ll have in his lifetime. With only his fly open and your pants pulled down enough for him to get the job done, but otherwise fully clothed.

The man was technically your employer, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Was it ethical? No, but you couldn't care less. He had hired you on as a bookkeeper for the historic collection he was transporting from one planet's museum to the next in the same galaxy. You had maybe three more planets to hop on your trip, and lately, all you could think of was Din. You were lonely, horny, and wanted your tin can man. But after the first month, and noticing the Mirialan show interest in you, you risked it all to hop into bed with him.

You had just talked to Din that morning, the both of you catching up on your regular weekly calls. A month ago Peli had called with the promise of a ship for cheap. It hadn’t been a Razor Crest like Din had hoped when he went to check it out without you, but it was something. And after a long talk, it was agreed upon that the N1 Starfire was a good enough ship for either of you to use when the other can take a transport ship. 

It would bring in more credits and opportunities, things you couldn’t afford to lose out on. Especially when you were so close to being able to get the fuck off of Jakku and sell your house for something hopefully far better on a planet that wasn't riddled with thieves and scum. And you wouldn’t have to worry about being apart any longer. The After you both craved and wanted. But before you could achieve that, the Mirialan's cock ramming into you reminded you that you’re still in the Before part of that plan.

A shift behind you had Fas’s large cock hit a more vulnerable spot within you and you couldn’t stop the gasp and moan from escaping your lips. Fas put his hand over your mouth, bending both of your knees farther as he fucked up into you relentlessly. You tried your hardest to keep standing, knees weak, but grateful that the Mirialan had one hand on your hip and the other on your left breast. You clung to his arms, the only anchors keeping you from completely collapsing. 

You wished he had bent you over something or let you lean against the wall, but there was something extremely erotic about being fucked standing doggy style and your guts rearranged in a position you couldn’t do with Din due to his height. Not this easily, at least. And especially not standing up. 

Fas groaned himself as your walls tightened around him and you were dunked into an intense orgasm that made your vision go white. As if he felt your body give, Fas wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace as he pistons into you for another minute then grunts, slapping his hips one last time against you as his hot seed filled you. The warm thickness from it triggered a weaker orgasm that you groaned out, grinding back against him, letting the haze of it drift through you. Mirialan's cum, for whatever reason, was far thicker and hotter than a human's cum. You learned that the first time you slept with him, and the shock of it made you go right into a second intense orgasm that had your limbs trembling for half an hour after. 

“Fuck.”

Fas hissed as he pulled out from you and immediately spread your ass cheeks to get a full view of your pussy. His thumb circled your asshole while he patiently waited for the thickness of his species' cum to reach your entrance and threaten to spill out of you. When he sees the hint of white at your entrance, he sighs and tucks himself back into his pants before he pulls your own back up, gently. He kisses your shoulder, patting you on the bottom, then cupping your clothed cunt as if willing his cum to stay inside of you.

“I won’t lie, I’ll miss your humor, skills, and this sweet pussy.” He rubbed the fabric over your mound and your body jolted from overstimulation, his grin only widening upon seeing and feeling your pants gain a new wet spot.

You roll your eyes and turn around to face him, leaning against the wall for support. When you had explained to Fas your arrangement with Din the first month you considered sleeping with him, Fas had been hesitant in a way that made you swoon at how much of a gentleman the man was to everyone. He reluctantly caved and that’s how you ended up fucking like rabbits whenever the chance arose and loneliness hit, whether it was in the showers of the ship or in an Employees Only portion of the museum, or in a brightly lit corner of an alleyway barely hidden by boxes and a sheet.

“I still can’t believe your Mandalorian is okay with this,” he mumbles to himself as he traces the shape of your cheek, unable to hide the yearning he had for you from his blue eyes. You give him a small smile.

“Unless you want your arm broken, I wouldn't tell him you’re one of my hookups.” Your smile widens at his chuckle, thankful you found someone so charming to shackle up with when the itch needed to be scratched. But it just made you long for Din even more. 

“You really miss him, don’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

When Fas took your hand, at first you assumed he wanted another round, but instead he slipped a bag of credits into your hand. It was the rest of what you were owed for the next two months. You stared at him in bafflement and it was his turn to grin at you.

“I’ve accidentally overheard a few of your calls with him," he shrugged. "And never not talk about him, regardless if we’re working or fucking.” His words make you blush. “I’ve got the next two planets, you should be with your Mando.”

“Are you sure?” the shock tightened your chest, filling it with concern and excitable yearning. You reached to give the bag back, but Fas just pushed it back towards you.

“I can tell you miss him, and you’ve been a great asset on the team the last four months, but I've got this. I’m twice divorced and I’d give anything to have someone like you in my life. But I know your heart belongs to this mysterious warrior and I can’t find it in me to keep you apart.” He shrugs, sheepishly. “And I'll admit if you stick out your employment I may find it harder and harder to let you go. So it’s best for you to find your way back to your Mando and let a man wish he had found you first before the warrior had.”

You couldn’t help dragging him into a hug, pouring your gratitude into your squeeze. Before he or you could change your mind, you let him go and ran back to the ship you had called home the last few months to collect your things. And before you could blink, you were on the next flight back to Jakku, giddy knowing you’d be surprising your Mandalorian with your presence for the first time in three months.

And that’s how you found yourself walking in on Din balls deep in an absolutely stunning Pantoran. Her indigo skin shone in the dim lighting, head yanked back as Din gripped her lavender hair tightly in his fist. She was still mostly clothed, pants shoved down enough to get the job done, shirt pushed up and bra band down to expose perk breasts that bounced with each hard thrust Din gave her. 

He took her from behind like a wild animal, pressing her into the wall in front of them, the rhythmic wet slaps of their bodies connecting honestly impressive. Din hadn’t noticed you come in, his head thrown back, completely lost in the pleasure the Pantoran’s pussy gave him. The high-pitched breathy noises caught in her throat made you wet and you couldn't help clench your thighs together at the sight and sounds.

Din tilted his head a fraction, barely noticeable to anyone else, and froze mid-thrust when the darkness of his visor lands on you. His head fully snaps in your direction and you could’ve laughed at the image before you: a moment of passion frozen in time like a high-quality porno.

The Pantoran caught her breath and did her best to look in your direction with how tightly Din still held her hair, and you could feel both of their nerves radiating off of them from your presence. It wasn’t like you caught him cheating, this was part of the arrangement, but it also had been a rule to not meet those you slept with while away. But for whatever reason, that broken rule and the scene before you didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. You could almost sense Din torn on continuing or pulling out of her and ending his affair right then and there, so you made the choice for them.

You closed the door behind you to keep out peeping eyes, despite the fact that you and Din lived on the outskirts of whatever civilization Jakku claimed to have. You let your eyes drag over them hungrily, licking your lips.

“Well, Din? Don’t stop on my account, you promised this pretty thing a good time and I hope you intend to keep that.”

Without breaking eye contact with his visor, you slipped off each clothing item you had as you sultrily sauntered over to the couch, until you were just in your panties. Din’s helmet followed your movements and only stopped when you plopped down on the couch. You widened your legs and placed one foot on the chest you use as a makeshift coffee table to reveal the wet patch forming in your underwear.

“And when you’re done, I want you to fuck me. Understood?”

Din let out a guttural moan, hips involuntarily jerking, causing the Pantoran to moan as well. As if he had never stopped, Din immediately went back to pistoning his hips into her, harder than he had before, causing her to let out a shriek.

You spread your other leg still rooted to the floor, wetting your fingers and dragging them down your body until they land on your clit. Din might be railing this woman three ways to next week, but his helmet was glued to you. He groaned at the sight and reached around to roughly grasp the woman’s breasts, each movement precise and graceful as if he was putting on a show just for you. And maybe he was? The idea of it was hot as is, let alone seeing it unfold.

Din pulled the woman away from the wall and, while still inside of her, guided her to put her hands on the crate you'd been using as an accent table. Din knocked the lamp to the ground, not bothered when it smashed in pieces as it hit the ground. His choice had given you a better view of the show and the woman could now see your own actions. When her honey-glazed eyes rested on you as you fingered your sex, they rolled back in her head as she let out a whine. 

Din’s hips stuttered and he swore, grasping her hips and spreading his legs to slap into her at a different angle.

“Her pussy clenched watching you play with yourself, cyare.” 

“Good. Finish her Din, I’m waiting.”

Din shoved the girl’s feet together and widened his own stance, ramming into her even harder and faster than he had before. Her voice was caught in her throat, tears streaming down her cheeks and she finally came, hard and spazzing on Din’s cock. Her knees gave out and Din gently laid her on the floor, never taking his gaze off of you. When she was fully on the ground and comfortable, Din pointed a gloved finger at you.

“Get on your hands and fucking knees,” he growled in a tone you hadn’t heard before. A voice that made you drip and immediately flip over with your knees on the chest and hands on the couch, looking at him over your shoulder in a sultry manner.

He was behind you before you could blink and shoved his cock into you with urgency, still glistening and pearly white from the Pantoran’s hot pussy. The dirtiness of that fact alone made you groan and clench around him, sweat beading at your brow.

Din immediately jackhammered into you, hands cupping your tits, body curling around yours. He fucked you like a loth cat in heat, shoving himself into you as if he couldn’t be any closer. His dick glided against your walls, the speed causing the heaviness of his balls to slap against your clit with little to no mercy with how he’s putting his full weight into each thrust. The wetness from your own arousal and the Pantoran’s caused a lewd wet slapping sound as his balls found a rhythm against your pussy and the both of your and the Pantoran's slick drenched whatever exposed skin Din had displayed. 

Din muttered filthy words into your ear loud enough for his fling to hear, but only muttered words of love and affection and how happy he was to have you home quietly enough for only you to hear. It was the missing ingredient needed for you to groan and cum, your whole body growing tight then spasming with Din’s continued relentless pace.

The Mandalorian, without stopping, placed one boot on the chest next to your hands and, like the Pantoran, gripped your hair and pulled it tightly as he fucked into you, finding his own high. 

You glanced over your shoulder to find the Pantoran was watching intently, fingering herself, and just like it had been enough for her to orgasm from when you touched yourself, it was all you needed to have one more surprise orgasm that milked one out of Din.

He slammed his hips into yours, grinding into your pelvis, and filled you with spurt after spurt of hot cum with nothing but a satisfied grunt and tight limbs. When he was done, Din sighed and held you to him, flipping you over to sit on his lap on the chest, his cock still nestled in you.

“God, I missed you.”

Din ran his hands over your body, your face, and nuzzled your cheek with his helmet. As much you wanted to melt into his embrace and never let go, you couldn't conveniently forget about the woman he had brought home that was still propped up against your wall.

Din whined as you slipped off of his softening cock and slid on your panties before his spend could drip down your thighs. You pulled on your shirt and reluctantly tugged on your pants as well before wandering into the fresher, wetting a clean washcloth, and coming to the Pantoran’s side. You gently opened her legs and washed away the evidence of her and Din’s affair, then helped her back onto her wobbly feet.

Pulling her pants up the rest of the way and buttoning them for her, you then took her hand and lead her to the front door. She glanced back at Din and awkwardly waved, but he just nodded at her in stoic acknowledgment that made you chuckle. As if he hadn’t just given the poor thing arguably the best lay of her life.

The walk down the path from your home to the road was slow, but not awkward. The Pantoran rang her fingers together, glancing at you shyly as you walked her out.

“Thank you for keeping him company.”

The Pantoran gave you a shy smile, fiddling with her hair. Now that you have better light and aren't distracted by their coupling, you realized the Pantoran was around the same height as you with a similar build and hair length. It was almost like looking at yourself if you hadn’t been born human.

“He and I ran into each other when we both arrived to Jakku. I’m only in town visiting my brother for a few days, and we ran into each other when I was heading home from the cantina. He told me about your arrangement and at first I wasn’t sure if he was just saying that to get into my pants guilt free for the both of us, but figured if Mandalorians are an honorable people, he had to be telling the truth.”

“He was,” you confirmed with a soft smile, grateful that you and Din had both found at least one good person to sleep with that were kind and genuine. It made your heart flutter. “One of our rules was to not meet or talk about our flings, so I'm sorry if I almost ruined that for you. And I’m sorry I didn’t ask for consent before jumping in, I should have. I got caught up in the heat of the moment.” 

You bit your lip when you realized how badly that could have turned out if the Pantoran hadn’t been okay with your choice to stay and watch let alone participate. She stopped in her tracks as you arrived at your property's gate and spun around, eyes wide. 

“Are you kidding me? That was really fucking hot! But I appreciate that sentiment, you’re a good woman. I get why he loves you so much.”

You could feel your face burn, caught off guard with the confession.

“What do you mean?”

The Pantoran sighed wistfully, leaning against the fence and staring off into space. “He talked about you briefly when we first ran into each other at the transport hub, then outside of the cantina, and even before he absolutely fucked my brains out. He wouldn’t stop talking about you. Wouldn't shut up about how much he missed you and even apologized that this couldn’t be anything reoccurring or serious. He just talked about you like he couldn’t stop himself from letting the world know you existed. It’s how I knew he wasn’t sleeping with me to cheat or be disloyal, a man with that much yearning doesn’t talk about his partner like that and then goes behind their backs and cheats on them." She shrugs. “At least I hope not.” She sighs wistfully again. “But you’re so lucky to have a man like that. Does he have a brother?” she joked. 

You laughed, unable to stop the grin from spreading across your face and you leaned against the fence next to her. “Not that I’m aware of, but thank you for telling me that. It’s been really hard being away from him for so long, and knowing he feels that way makes me feel… strangely better about our situation? I guess I was worried that one of us may drift apart or find someone else with how unideal this arrangement has been work-wise.”

The Pantoran put her hand on your shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “Look, I may be just a random hook-up, but even I can tell this only brought you guys closer together. And I’m really happy for the both of you.” She opened the gate and let herself out, closing it behind her. She turned to face you with a grin that matches your own. “Thank you for being a good host, and I am sorry again you walked in on us either way. I’m glad it ended the way it did, it gives me something to look forward to one day knowing that someone out there who can give me the same love and sex you two have is out there waiting for me.”

You shrug and lean closer, your grin turning sultry. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be on Jakku for, but next time you’re in town and we're still around, feel free to give us a knock.” You winked and her indigo skin flushed purple, honey eyes drowned out by the blacks of her blown-out pupils. She gives you a shy smile regardless. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She blew you a kiss and turned on her heels to leave. You watched her walk down the street until you couldn’t see her anymore, the sun setting and casting long shadows. You took a deep breath in, savoring the love blooming in your chest with this newfound knowledge, then turned to return to the love of your life waiting for you on the other side.

You barely had the front door shut and locked before Din was on you, smothering you in his now armorless embrace. He had darkened the room while you were gone and his lips kissed any part of you he could reach while crushing you to his body with the desperation of a man trapped in a desert and had just found an oasis.

You didn’t complain when he stripped the both of you down, swatting your hands away from taking your own clothes off. You didn’t complain when he lead you to your room and made love to you for hours into the night, hours After the Pantoran had left.

Where the raw desperation that had been there earlier was now replaced with deep but slow thrusts and grinding that left you panting and sweating and moaning into his mouth. Din rested his weight on top of you, not leaving an inch of you untouched. His mouth consistently stayed hovering over your mouth and sucked hickies into your skin as if he was afraid you’d disappear again.

In the After, you basked in each other’s presence. Chest to chest, legs entangled, lips grazing, and noses lightly bumping lazily into each other.

“God I missed you so much,” he mumbled into your lips. “I’m sorry you had to come home to that, if I had known-“

You kissed him and he sighed, leaning into the action. You pulled away and pecked his nose. “Don’t, I wanted to surprise you. Fas realized how much I missed you and gave me the rest of my pay. Told me to go home.”

Din paused at this and abruptly sat up. Even in the darkness, you could tell he was looking at you.

“Are you serious?” his shocked excitement made you grin. “Runi, that’s fantastic! I’m so proud of you, that was really generous of him.” Din’s hand found your stomach and gave it a gentle rub, thick fingers grazing the underside of your breasts. 

Despite the happiness in his tone, you could sense hesitation in the slight tremble of his fingers. You placed your hands on top of his, your own digits rubbing into his skin.

“Din, what’s wrong?”

You allowed the silence to linger, content with the feeling of his skin on yours. Finally, he laid back down and draped his arm over your waist, nuzzling his face back into the crook of your neck.

“The bounty ended up being worth way more than was promised alive. The man who put the bounty on the quarry hadn’t expected him in any way other than dead.”

You furrowed your brows, not sure where this was going. “Din, isn’t that a good thing?”

Din took a deep breath and exhaled your name. “It means not only can we sell the house, but we can go elsewhere and not worry about money. At least not for a little while.”

You opened your mouth, a million questions running through your mind. But Din propped himself up on his other arm and cradled your face, his touch distracting you.

“Cyar’ika, you deserve better than Jakku. If you’re okay with it, I was thinking we could settle on Nevarro. Karga and Cara have turned it into a paradise since we last visited, wee wouldn’t have to worry about either of us needing to sleep with a blaster under our pillows or wonder if someone will steal our things while we're away on a job.” 

Din swallowed, hands trembling. “We’d have the protection of the Guild right in town and be able to afford a nice place. I could work nearby with Karga which doesn’t require me to be away for more than a few hours most at a time, maybe a week if something is needed off planet. A house on Nevarro means we might not be able to get a ship just yet, but I figured it was a start. More credits, less time away from each other, and we'd be surrounded by people who we can trust. People we call friends. What do you think?”

Your shocked silence filled the room but it wasn’t long before you flew into Din’s arms like he had before and he held you close, nose buried in your neck. 

“When can we move?”

Din chuckled, rubbing your back. “In a month? Is that okay? We still need to find a place and transfer everything over. One of us will need to fly the N1, but I’m sure Cara or Karga can give the other a lift to Nevarro.”

“What, you have a problem with public transport, Mr. Djarin??” He laughed and pinched your hip. 

“No, but why make one of us wait to be together any longer than we have to?”

You rested your chin on his shoulder, his body a furnace, but a welcome heat despite the scorching warmth the planet radiated being suffocating as is.

“And our arrangement?” you whispered, unsure of where that would stand. You felt Din sigh.

“Honestly, as much as it had its moments of being fun, I just want you. You’re the person I want to take home, the person I want to wake up to, the person whose body I want to get lost in. I know Nevarro may not offer long-term jobs to keep you as close as I’d like, and until we get a proper ship, I’m aware you may still need to travel to bring in credits. So I’m okay if you need to scratch any itch you get while you’re gone, but once we settle in on Nevarro, I was hoping we could go back to it just being us. Like before. But I understand if it’s not what you want.”

“Din, like you said, as much as this has been fun, you’re all I want. I appreciate you wanting me to be fulfilled in every way possible if you can't do it yourself, so I’ll need to think about it. But I’m absolutely okay with things going back to just us when we're ready.”

You pulled away reluctantly, his grip tight around you but gave you enough room to cup his face in your hands.

“I love you, Din Djarin. And no matter what the universe throws at us, I’ll always find my way home to you. I hope you know that.” The deep kiss he pulled you into told you he felt the same, and the hardness of his cock pocking your thigh solidified that fact.

Before there was Grogu, there was you. And After Grogu, here is where you’ll be. 

After you sell the house on Jakku and make the move, things do fall into place just like the jobs you once had in the years you’ve known the Mandalorian. Din was given a well-paying job along Karga’s side that didn’t require him to hunt down bounties across the galaxy. And not once has he had to step on a public transport since.

After a few more months of accepting jobs that took you away from home for a few weeks at a time, you settled in yourself with a job at the local school as a language teacher. The house you bought with Din was bigger than anything you thought you’d ever be able to own, yet despite its size, it was still humble and homey. A place one could maybe grow a family one day.

When Din got the emergency message from Boba needing his help on Tattooine, you didn’t think twice and encouraged him to go. After all, you were here in the Before, and you’ll be here in the After, no matter what the universe throws at you. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I had come up with this idea a while back ago that was partially inspired by @thestrangestinthisstrangeland 's really hot fic "Can You Kiss Me More" and the destain I have for the lack of F/F/M fics in the Mando fandom. Or healthy portrayals of open relationships. Had to fix that fact.

I also came up with this fic to explore open relationships more. I consider myself to be queer leaning on the ace side, like not sex repulsed or anything, but the idea of having one partner is more than enough and the idea of dating overwhelms me. So I've been fascinated with how people can have open relationships or be in poly relationships with ease. It's really admirable.

The Mando fandom made me realize I may be a little bit of the jealous type and the idea of my partner sleeping with other people while I'm gone bothers me a little. But I think being able to write how Din and the reader both feel for each other is what helped me understand that my insecurity comes from not wanting to be cast aside for someone better. I don't think people realize how much trust goes into making open relationships and poly relationships work, and writing this fic made me appreciate that fact even more.

If you're polyamorous or in an open relationship and find this to not portray either or appropriately, please do let me know and I'll do my best to be as inclusive and correct as possible! All are welcome here and I want everyone to be able to feel at home in the reader inserts I've made available to them!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

THE BOOK OF BOBA FETT 1.05 • “Return of the Mandalorian” aka Din Djarin and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

This is money cat. He only appears every 1,383,986,917,198,001 posts. If you repost this in 30 seconds he will bring u good wealth and fortune.

Contemplating some of my favorite fics and how I'm happy they exist but also sad AO3 doesn't have a chat option because I have some thots™️ I really want/need to talk to someone about but I don't have many friends who are as into Mando let alone Star Wars as I am or read Din x reader inserts (hence why I'm here).

So this is my Bat-signal for anyone out there who's read Babysitting for an Alpha by Much_Ado_Abt_Novels and or An Exchange of Credits by ninaloveshiddles to slide into my DMs to cry, rage, and gush with me over how beautiful these fics are and how they've honestly been living in my head rent free these past few weeks. Especially An Exchange of Credits the last chapter has had me angsting and yearning all week and I could use a support buddy right now.

Y'all gotta grow up someday. Congrats, you are now an adult.

Stumbles out of google docs covered in blood

Din vs Bo as a Leader

I've seen people say that Bo is the rightful ruler of Mandalore and owner of the darksaber and deserves to lead and I'm genuinely curious to hear from others as to why that is because I'm having a very hard time seeing that point of view. Semi-spoilerish for people who aren't up to date but I kept it vague enough to not be a problem I don't think.

Since CW and Rebels, Bo has continually made choices that negatively impact the people around her. She's a morally gray character who has a list of war crimes on her rep sheet that honestly makes some real life bad guys look green and it baffles me that people want her redemption to be easy. I'm not saying she should never be redeemed, I genuinely believe people should have the chance to turn over a new leaf cause being human is hard, but how she's acting and being treated in Mando feels like a middle finger to those her actions caused harm to. Like she can be sad about her sister all she wants but she willingly joined a terrorist group who spelt it out for her that they planned on publicly executing Satine and followed the orders of two Sith lords, and she didn't see that as a deal breaker. Being sad over that is like being upset that you got shot in the foot when you fired the gun yourself when you continue to make choices that negatively impact others. And this season alone Bo hasn't tried to be a leader to her people, she cared more about the title and the weapon it comes with than actual democracy. She wields it well, yes, but so did Sabine who taught her how and gave her the weapon despite not knowing how badly Bo has fucked up with it in the past. The moment the darksaber was in Din's hands and she lost her crew, she didn't try to scout Mandalore and find other Mandalorians to help her with her decades long failed plan. She didn't try to put any plans together with outside help to achieve her goal or even try to establish a new territory for her people to be safe on until they can find a way to make Mandalore a livable again. She was never an active leader, just someone who craved leadership and believed was owed it because of her birth right and that reflects in the selfish choices she's made while in a leadership position, which include harming Din and Paz. She didn't lead her people into the siege and trap that awaited them, Din did. He shouldered and strong armed his way through and was willingly going to sacrifice himself if it meant a safe planet for his people and foundling. And she wasn't the last out, Paz was, and for that his clan suffered major losses. She had focused more on weapons and supplies for her fleet and siege than the actual people who would help her achieve her goal, and not once has she discussed what she planned on doing once Mandalore was safe for all Mandalorians again. Reuniting and rebuilding isn't the same as establishing a political system that benefits the well being of her people with the promise of a stable economy, fair societal roles, establishing an intergalactic democracy to avoid what Nevarro went through, and combining the differing traditions/beliefs the remaining Mandalorians have to not favor one over the other and unintentionally cause a civil war. Each time she's gained leadership it's always met with mixed support, often not universally, and has led to her downfall three times now for a reason.

Just the same, I've seen people argue that Din doesn't want to lead/rule and isn't the kind of man who'd be a good leader and I strongly disagree. Since the first episode, Din established himself as a selfless character even if it irritated him to be accommodating. He still tried to compromise with the Jawas, didn't turn his back to Frog Lady needing a ride, was willingly going to sacrifice himself to a Krayt Dragon for people he had just met and entrusted with Grogu, went head first into every battle even for people who didn't deserve it (Ran's Crew), was everyone's Ride or Die at least once, became multilingual which was used more to keep the peace than to gain information on his quarries, and has united and mediated more unlikely foes to friends than anyone else in the SW universe. Even if his actions originated with a selfish need (gaining Boba's armor back for Mandalorians, exchanging his services for info on where Mandalorians/Jedi are for Grogu, etc) he still went above and beyond because it's the honorable and right thing to do and his compassion has earned him friendships across the galaxy and allyship on every planet he's visited whereas Bo can't get even her own people behind her without a legendary sword in her hand. You can't tell me all the people Din met on his journey WOULDN'T lay down their lives for him if he asked?? Paz already did despite Din's choice to rescue Grogu despite unintentionally causing a massacre because Paz recognized the selflessness behind Din's choice that carried over to Paz's own foundling and that is what gained his respect and allyship. Din hadn't asked for anything in return, and his own motive for moving the covert was so that their children could play in the sun and the future generations can flourish. I'm fairly certain even Sorgon would join forces whether it's to take care of Din if he had a bad head cold or taking back a whole planet for him. Same with Peli and her droids, Tusken Raider survivors, Freetown, Boba and his syndicates, Frog Lady and her hoard of warrior toddlers, Karga and the grateful people of Nevarro, Ahsoka, and Miggs Mayfield. We've made jokes about Din accidentally making friends all over the galaxy for a reason. He's so selfless that he never saw himself worthy of his Creed, of being Grogu's father, of being a leader when everyone else has told him otherwise. Din's view on leadership reflects his own self esteem wrecked by his cult and it would take everyone he's ever helped to make him see that he is the leader that the galaxy needs to reunite not just The Mandalorians, but all the people and their planets I mentioned. Leadership comes with a burden for Bo, but for Din, it comes with the strength and camaraderie Bo has only ever dreamed of having and that The Armorer overlooked because of her narrow, traditional views. And this is a side comment, but Din mastered riding the stubborn Blurgg after Kuill made fun of him for not being able to conquer it when Mandalorians rode Mythosaurs into battle. Din riding a Mythosaur would be a great call back to that and would gain more respect as a leader than just having the darksaber. In my opinion.

I genuinely hope Bo comes to these conclusions herself and recognizes that Din is more deserving of the role than anyone else and passes the darksaber back to him and helps him see his potential than just saving the day yet again from the very gun she shot everyone with. Redemption for her starts with letting go of the very thing that's plagued her her whole life and leadership is recognizing when you need more time before you can be the example people need to be the best versions of themselves. This isn't a Bo hate post or any stan post, this is a fan post who wants a fair redemption arc for Bo and a chance for Din to rise up to the best version of himself he's capable of being. So yes, I want to hear everyone's thoughts whether you agree or disagree that doesn't involve Bo being the rightful heir or wanting her redemption cause you like her as a character. I want to hear deeper reasons than surface level motives, cause as I said, your favorite hurting over the consequences of her decades long actions she never learns from isn't a good enough reason for her to lead or have the darksaber but I'm down for any other explanations people have regardless if you're a casual fan of the show or lifelong SW fans like myself.