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The day you meet the Mandalorian, you beat the shit out of him.
You’re perusing through the marketplace on Jancus just like you always do when you catch the glint of beskar reflecting the daylight out of the corner of your eye. You’ve protected this small village on Jancus for many moons and have had yet to ever see a Mandalorian. According to you, they’d all been wiped out, except for one: the one they called the best bounty hunter in the parsec. And you don’t like bounty hunters. Especially the one who you’ve now spotted with a child—more than likely about to bring it in somewhere to be killed.
You wait to make your attack when this Mandalorian least expects it, and you keep the fight far away from civilians in the instance that he tries to use them to his benefit. Using your ability to run and hide as a trap to lure the Mandalorian away from the crowded marketplace, you constantly circle him and hide wherever you can, watching as he starts to follow the little sounds you make. Once you’ve gotten him just outside the walls of the marketplace, you pounce.
Minding the child tucked in his arm, you leap out from your last hiding place to whack your fighting stick against his helmet, sending him a few steps to the side in shock. Before he has time to even think about retaliating—his hand just starting to reach for his blaster—you lunge forward and knock his blaster from his grip with the stick. The next few moves happen in fast-motion, your body twisting and turning as you go for all the sensitive spots. Your stick hits the unarmored part of his arm, and then the cloth of his neck, and then rams into the area just below his pauldron, and then finally hits the back of his knee and causes him to fall onto it. In a quick movement, you halt your stick just in front of his jugular, pulling your blaster along with it and pointing it at the same place.
“Impressive.” That’s the first word he speaks to you. His modulated voice is low and raspy. It sends a shiver through you, its low reverberations echoing inside your brain.
“Hand over the child, Mandalorian, and no one gets hurt.” You try to make your voice strong, but you sense something unusual about this Mandalorian, and it’s unsettling you.
The Mandalorian’s helmet moves slightly, but without having access to their eyes, you have no idea where they’re looking. He remains silent for a few moments. “I would say you’re a bounty hunter, but I don’t hear a tracking fob.”
You scoff, raising an eyebrow at him. “Me? A bounty hunter? I would never stoop to such a level.”
The Mandalorian tilts his helmet at you. “Then why do you want the child?”
“So you don’t turn him in. I know who you are.”
“Clearly, you don’t.”
You tighten your hold on the stick, though curiosity is now the main thing pumping through you. “What do you mean?” The question is hesitant and unsure, as if you’re afraid of what the answer could be.
“I’m not turning in the child. I’m the one who saved him.”
Your brow furrows in confusion. “But aren’t you a bounty hunter?”
The Mandalorian lets out a sigh. “I was.”
You dare to start lowering your weapons, slowly realizing what he’s getting it. “So, you’re protecting it?”
“Yes.” The word is short, gruff, and you watch as the bundle in his arms blinks its big brown eyes up at its beskar-cladded protector. “The Guild is after me, now. That’s why I thought you were a hunter.”
“No.” Your voice is softer now, your blaster finally going back in your holster as you place one end of your stick against the ground. “I’m just—well, I protect this village.”
The Mandalorian tilts his helmet at you again as he slowly rises to his feet. “From what?”
You shrug, your gaze falling to your feet. “Many things. Raiders, pirates… bounty hunters.”
The Mandalorian takes a step towards you. “Get busy a lot around here?” You look back up at him, shaking your head. There’s a hitch in his modulator, as if he’s about to say something but hesitates. Eventually, you hear him speak through it. “Do you want some work?”
“Work?”
“Paid. Half of whatever I make. I could use some help watching the kid—and protecting him.”
You pause for a moment, your eyes widening at his offer. A Mandalorian—known for being the best warriors in the galaxy—is offering you a job. “Why me?”
The Mandalorian releases a breath. “Because. You’re clearly a hell of a fighter, and I could use someone like that—in my crew.” The last three words are rushed out, as if they’re an afterthought.
You contemplate his offer for a few moments, turning around as you stare at the walls of the small village in Jancus that you’ve known for a large part of your life. You release a sigh as you look back to the Mandalorian, nodding to agree. “Alright. I’ll join you…” you trail off, waiting for some sort of a name.
“Mando.” The Mandalorian then nods once. “Great.” He reaches out his free gloved hand and you accept it in a handshake. You try to ignore the way the contact—regardless of the physical barrier between your skin—sends a slight shiver through you. You assume it’s because of his large sense of intimidation.
That’s how you become a part of the Mandalorian’s crew.
The first two months of traveling around with Mando and the child are simple and quiet. Mando respects your privacy and you respect his. He doesn’t say much, aside from some greetings and any briefings on necessary information regarding upcoming planet stops or suspicious personnel while doing supply runs. You don’t try to converse with him for this reason, instead putting your energy into the child. The furry green womp-rat has quickly become a joy to your life, slowly attaching himself just as close to you as he is to Mando. You help to feed him, play with him, and get him to rest whenever he refuses to. Your favorite thing to do is tell stories.
On this particular night, the child is being more stubborn than usual about going to bed. You know you’ll have to tell a story that’s long and complex, one that’ll either bore him to slumber or make his mind tired from trying to understand it all. For this reason, you decide to tell the child about your own childhood experiences, hoping that maybe it can also help him to cope with his own.
You sit on the old bed Mando’s since given to the child, holding him in your arms as you watch his large eyes blink up curiously at you. “Once, I was just like you,” you begin, watching as his ears lift up in interest. You tap your finger against his nose, making him coo and giggle. “I was a little one, living on a planet called Kagoth. It was very dry and very sandy. A lot of people liked to bring their goods to our town because we were in the middle of many farming planets. My parents owned a store where they sold some of these things.”
The child’s eyes sparkle yet also start to close, as if he either wants to imagine the planet in his head or wants to sleep. You’re fine with both options.
“One day, something went wrong. My parents opened the store for the day and we heard a lot of loud sounds—explosions.” The child’s ears start to droop, and you pet his head for comfort—and to get him to sleep. It starts to work. “Bad guys had taken over the town. They got into our store and took my parents with them. They had me hide before that, and the bad guys never found me. I ran for help to a family friend who lived outside of our town, and he helped me to get to the place where you found me: Jancus.
“It was scary, and I was very sad to lose my parents, but because I was brave, I made it out alive.” You know that the child’s asleep now, his breathing soft and his ears relaxed. You smile as you bend down to give his head a soft kiss. “Keep being brave, little one. We’ll keep you safe.”
You smile to yourself as you lay the child down onto the bed, wrapping him in his small bundle of blankets for additional warmth. The pain of your memories is swallowed back. You’ve almost completely moved on from the remembrance of them when you suddenly hear a familiar modulated voice from somewhere behind you in the hull. “They took my parents, too.”
Quickly—feeling slightly spooked by his sudden appearance—you close the door to the child’s compartment and face Mando, seeing him leaning against the wall near the cockpit’s ladder with his arms crossed over his cuirass. His visor’s looking straight at you. You don’t know what to say, so he continues.
“They barely managed to hide me before they were killed. The battle droid almost took me out himself, but then the Mandalorians showed up, and they took me in.”
“So, that’s how you became a Mandalorian.” Mando nods, and you offer a soft breath and a sympathetic gaze. “I’m so sorry, Mando. I understand how it feels to watch your parents go. That must’ve been really hard.”
Mando simply gives you a nod. “This is the way.” With those words, he begins to make his way back up to the cockpit, and you’re left to wonder if he came down for the sole purpose of listening to your story. The thought makes you smile just a bit. You never expected him to tell you something so personal—and you wonder if he’s going to start letting you get to know the man who hides under all that armor.
For the next month, those conversations come and go. Mando will speak to you a bit more than he used to, usually a random story from his time with the Mandalorians or a few questions about an experience you’ve had since being on Jancus. You like talking with him and secretly wish to yourself that you get to do it more.
One day, after a straight week of just flying around and narrowly avoiding encounters with bounty hunters at the random places you venture to, you take time to rest on a forest moon called Scantu. It has virtually no population and a wide-open clearing where you can land the Crest and stretch your legs for a while. You’ve been aching to run some drills with your fighting stick—but you’ve also had your eyes set on another weapon: Mando’s Amban pulse rifle.
After you land, you find yourself looking at the weapon that hangs idly from the wall of the Razor Crest, trying to assess its different features from afar. You don’t expect your silent admiration for it to become obvious, but moments later, you hear Mando’s voice from beside you.
“You want to learn how to use it?”
You spin around to face Mando directly, seeing his helmet looking where your gaze just was. He then turns to you. “I—the rifle?”
“Yeah.” Mando gestures to it with his hand. “I can teach you, if you’d like.”
Your eyes light up at his proposition. “Really?” You hadn’t expected him to ever let you handle his weapons—especially one as unique as that.
“Sure.” Mando pauses, walking over to the rifle and taking it off the wall. He slings it over his shoulder and hooks it in place. “Bring your stick and get the kid. Let’s go outside.”
You nod, opening the child’s compartment and placing him in his pram as you reach for your stick. Mando opens the hatch and begins to walk down the ramp, the child’s pram following along with him. You join them in the clearing, watching as Mando lets the child watch from afar and then takes the rifle back in his hands.
“What kinds of moves are you familiar with?” Mando questions, gesturing to your stick.
Rather than using words, you use your actions and give him a demonstration. You flip the stick around in all the ways you’d learned—both self-taught and from others with whom you’d worked before—spinning and stepping and jutting and doing all else to maneuver the stick. Once you finally stop, Mando gives a nod of approval.
“Great. Try it with this. It’ll feel different because of its weight.”
Mando hands the pulse rifle out to you, and you take it graciously in your hands. The wooden carved handle is smooth and sleek, and you glide your fingertips over it in an appreciative manner. The metal feels cold against your fingertips, but you quickly adjust to it. Mando takes your stick for you, and you let yourself get used to the weight. You slowly start to run through your drills, getting a feel for how it balances in your hands. The more you move with it, the more you understand it, and soon you’re able to flip and turn it in just the same way as your stick. What you miss during all of this is Mando’s gaze staring at you constantly from behind his visor, absolutely in awe of the way you move with it. It hits him somewhere deep within himself, a place where he never thought he could feel something again.
Once you turn back to Mando, he gives you another nod. “Looks like you’ve got the weight down. Now, for the rest.” Mando offers your stick back, and you swap items once again. He positions the rifle in his arms as if he’s about to go for a target. “There’s a scope that connects to my helmet—but you can look through it on here, too.” The gloved fingers of his left hand dance along the small, black scope he’s just referenced. “I’m glad you didn’t accidentally get yourself with the metal prongs, because…” Mando trails off, lunging towards a nearby tree. You watch as blue electricity begins to tase the bark, leaving a black imprint where the prongs of the rifle had been.
“That might’ve been a useful warning, Mando.” You say the words in playful manner, amusement thick in your tone.
You swear that you hear a breathy chuckle pass through Mando’s modulator. “Might’ve scared you.” He then repositions himself, gesturing with his right index finger to the trigger. “This is for the disintegrations.” Another finger gestures to the charge that’s already inside. “You have to load one up every time you disintegrate. I keep them here.” Your gaze falls when he gestures to one of his boots. “It’s got a heavy kickback, so you have to stay steady.” You nod, watching as he suddenly spots a small bird-like creature soaring above, aiming and firing at it. It disappears into dust. Mando sighs and reloads the charge, looking back to you and offering the rifle over. “Want to give it a try?”
You nod, switching weapons once again as you hold the rifle in the same way Mando just did. You look to him for correction, and he sets your stick down on the ground as he walks over to you.
“Just fix this hand.” Mando steps behind you, his left arm covering yours as his gloved fingers show you the right position to be in. You’re suddenly well aware of the heat radiating from him, and you try to keep your cheeks from warming up as you nod and follow his directions. “Good.” Mando puts his arm back at his side but stays close behind you. “Now find a target and fire.”
“What if I miss? I don’t want to waste one of your charges.”
You hear Mando’s armor jostle around as he shrugs. “I have plenty left on the ship. Go for it.”
With a deep breath, you nod, looking back through the scope as you peer around the area where Mando had found the bird-like creature earlier. Soon, another one takes flight, and you track along with it before you start to flex your finger on the trigger. Holding your breath, you finally press down, watching as the creature turns into dust. The kickback unexpectedly forces you against Mando’s cuirass, and he catches your elbows with his hands to keep you steady. You turn your head and see his helmet just inches away from your face. “Sorry,” you nearly squeak, overwhelmed by the close intimacy you suddenly have with the most dangerous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim.
“No worries.” Mando’s hands only leave your elbows when he’s sure you’re steady on your feet again, allowing you to step away from him. “Nice shot.”
“Thanks.” You give him a small smile as you look at the pulse rifle once again. “I really like this thing, Mando.”
“Yeah?” Mando’s voice is warm, and the sound of it makes you smile just a bit wider. “You can use it more, if you want. I haven’t really been taking it on supply runs or jobs.”
Your eyes widen in awe as you look up at him again. “Really?” Mando nods. “Wow, thank you so much, Mando.”
Mando’s helmet tilts ever so slightly down at you. “I trust you.”
Those words coming from a Mandalorian—one that’s hunted many and is now being hunted by even more—means more than you could ever say. A warmth makes itself known in your chest as your gaze falls to the rifle again, trying to keep your sudden shyness a secret as your fingers glide over the soft wood.
Mando stays true to his word and lets you take the Amban rifle whenever you go out on supply runs, lending you the strap for it so you can carry it more easily. In the few weeks after your day of rest, you and Mando have grown a little closer thanks to some more shared conversations of your young lives spent learning more about weapons than anything else in the galaxy. Late at night, when neither of you can sleep in your shared quarters—an old storage room on the upper deck across from the cockpit—you share some of these stories and mainly laugh about the crazy things you did as kids. It’s those rare moments that make things so bright, but in others, he’s had to do a few rogue jobs for credits. They’re things you easily could forgive him for, since they weren’t technically with the Guild, and today he’s off to do another one while you get more supplies for the ship.
“I’m meeting the client at the cantina just down this way,” Mando tells you as you walk into the marketplace on Yedhi. He hands you a comlink. “If it ends up being a setup, I’ll call for help. You do the same if you need it.”
You nod, accepting the device in your hand and securing it on your belt. “You got it, Mando.” After placing a firm hand on your shoulder, Mando heads off towards the cantina, leaving you with the child in his pram as you walk around the marketplace. You have nearly all of the necessary supplies purchased and secured in the cloth sack that’s hanging over your shoulder when you hear a distant sound that makes your blood run cold: a tracking fob.
Turning your head casually, as if to pretend you’re looking at something beside you, your eye catches a Trandoshan following you closely. There’s a red blinking light on his belt, and you curse under your breath as you try to walk a little faster. When he matches your speed, you get your confirmation of what’s happening, and you reach for your comlink as you weave through the crowds of people and try to hide in a nearby alleyway.
“Mando, come in,” you hiss into the comlink. “We’re by the Jogan fruit stand in the marketplace. We’ve been tracked—.”
You’re cut off by an ambush of two other Trandoshans jumping down from a nearby rooftop, knocking the comlink from your hands and forcing you back against the wall. You drop your cloth sack onto the ground and close the child’s pram, freeing the Amban rifle from your back and beginning to engage. You get a few hits at the two Trandoshans who first pounced, forcing them further back. When one stumbles enough, you lunge towards him and get him with the metal prongs, tasering him until he collapses to the ground in a heap. You can see the other one approaching, and so you take a step back and spin around to hit him with the end of the rifle. He instead catches it in his hand and gives it a firm tug, causing you to fall forward a few steps. You manage to dodge a blaster bolt just in time, pulling your own blaster and getting a clear shot at his chest.
Your victory is short-lived, though, as the third Trandoshan who’d been tracking you suddenly makes his appearance. With a sharp fighting stick of his own, he catches your arm with a blade, making you gasp as he creates a gash in your bicep that causes you to drop your blaster. With a quick flip of his stick, he lunges forward to hit your stomach and knock you to the ground—hard. You completely lose your breath as he hovers above you, ready to make the final blow at your head with the blade.
He doesn’t get the chance to, thanks to a blaster bolt hitting him square in the back and causing him to fall over into a limp heap at your side. You try to sit up but still find yourself without air, mouth open and eyes wide as your lungs burn for oxygen. A shadow crosses over you and you soon recognize it as Mando, one of his gloved hands assessing your gash as the other taps against your cheek.
“C’mon, stay with me,” his modulated voice demands, though you can hear his distress clearly. There’s a wavering in his tone that shows you his full desperation. “Stay with me. You’re okay, cyar’ika. You’re alright.”
“I’m—alright,” you gasp out, letting him help you to sit up as you finally get your breath back. Mando keeps one arm on your back and the other around your hands, his helmet assessing you for any injuries other than your arm. “I’m fine, Mando, I swear. Just this.” You gesture to your arm, wincing a bit as the movement causes a sting to prick through it. “Got the wind knocked out of me.”
“You had me scared for a second there.” Mando’s tone is full of relief and a little bit of playfulness—whatever he can afford in the aftermath of what he just witnessed. He helps you to stand up, grabbing your blaster for you and helping you get it into your holster. “Thought I was losing you.”
“To a couple of Trandoshans?” You scoff, nudging Mando’s shoulder with your good arm. “I hoped you’d think more highly of me.”
Mando releases a chuckle that warms your chest, making you smile as you swing the pulse rifle back over your shoulder and pick the cloth sack up. Mando reconnects the child’s pram to his vambrace and keeps one gloved hand on the small of your back. “Let’s get you fixed up.”
You look over at him with a raised brow. “What about your job?”
Mando shrugs. “Not important right now. We still have enough credits to get by.” He continues to lead you back to the ship, causing your cheeks to heat up as his hand never leaves your back.
Once you’re on the Crest, Mando frees the child from his pram while you discard your belongings. He makes you sit where you are in the hull as he fetches the medpac, coming back and kneeling beside you. Mando removes his gloves and starts to get to work on your arm, cleaning the wound first. You try to hold back your hisses at the stinging it brings.
“Sorry. I know it’s uncomfortable.” Mando’s words are soft, barely passing through his modulator.
“It’s alright.” You grit your teeth with his final swipe of a cloth over the wound, continuing to watch as he reaches for a bacta patch next. While he applies it, you catch something on his left hand, and you raise an eyebrow as you observe it. On the skin between his forefinger and thumb, there’s a dark-colored ink design of a bullseye. Your curiosity piques and you can’t help questioning him about it. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”
Mando looks up at you for a moment and then down to his hand, giving a light chuckle as he finishes the bacta patch and reaches for some gauze. “Yeah. Got it when I was just starting to run out with a group of mercenaries.” He pauses, focusing for a moment as he secures one end of the gauze over the bacta patch. Then, he begins to wrap it around your arm gingerly, and you try to ignore the way the brushing of his fingertips sets your skin on fire. “I used to joke about it being ‘target practice.’ After a celebratory night at a cantina… I got this.”
You smile at the thought of a young, hotshot Mando having a little too much to drink at a cantina and deciding to get some ink—a much more reckless image of the careful and calculated man you’ve come to know. “I like it.”
You hear Mando’s breath hitch slightly in his throat, causing you to bite back another smile at his sudden shyness. “Thank you. Sometimes I forget it’s there, with my gloves and all.”
“Understandable.” You remain silent as Mando finishes his work, ripping off the gauze and securing it to your arm. You flex your hand and fingers out a few times before bending your elbow, satisfied with the reduced amount of pain you feel now. “Thanks so much for taking care of this, Mando.”
Mando stays silent for a beat. Then, he speaks, his voice a bit quieter than before. “Din.”
Your gaze snaps up at him, your mouth falling open as your brow knits together. “What?”
“Din. Din Djarin. That’s my real name.”
Your heart flutters upon hearing Mando’s true name and knowing you’ve gained his full trust to learn it. He’s told you before about how Mandalorians had to strip themselves of their identities to stay safe—and now he’s laid this information in your very hands. You give him a smile as you repeat the name in your head over and over. Your gaze falls to your left hand as it makes its way to his, your thumb brushing over the skin where the bullseye tattoo is. “I like your name, Din.”
Din’s breath hitches in his throat again, but you can’t tell if it’s because of your intimate contact or because of your voice saying his real name. Either way, it makes your heart beat even faster, and you can feel his own pulse starting to race underneath your thumb.
The next few weeks bring more fleeting touches and mildly intimate moments. Din has taken to calling you a name in his people’s tongue, cyar’ika—the same one he’d used after the fight with the Trandoshans. You never ask what it means, trusting that he’ll tell you eventually. You assume it’s some variation of “partner,” or “companion.” Meanwhile, you’ve kept using his name, and you feel yourself falling for this man further and further the more his name tumbles off your lips.
Nothing escalates greatly until one night when you’re sleeping—or, rather, trying to sleep—in your shared quarters. You’ve both had separate cots that allow you your own space, but tonight, you’ve found yourself yearning for his warmth, unable to cool the fire of longing that burns within you. The feelings you and Din have for each other now are unspoken but certainly present, and it’s killing you softly to continue holding back in favor for smaller moments. The subtle looks and touches and flirting are always sweet, but leave you wanting more. It’s now keeping you awake at night.
Suddenly, you hear a faint sound coming from Din’s cot, and you turn your head quickly to see his sleeping form trembling noticeably. You frown, hearing the sound again and realizing that it’s a painful whimper passing through his modulator. Immediately you’re out of your own cot, kneeling beside Din’s as you watch him continue to tremble while lying on his side. You realize he’s in the midst of a terrible nightmare. Gently, you place your hands on his shoulder that’s facing up, nudging him to make him alert.
“Din, wake up,” you urge, your voice desperate yet also soft. “Din. Wake up—it’s alright.”
Din soon wakes up with a start, sitting up so quickly that you nearly tumble over. You catch yourself with your hands and continue to face him, sympathy and concern written all over your expression. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, and you can hear his pants through his modulator.
You reach out a daring hand to rest over one of his. “You okay, Din? It looked like you were having a bad nightmare.”
Din remains silent for a moment, accepting your hand as he takes your fingers between his own. “I will be.”
You brush your thumb over his calloused knuckles. “Do you want to talk about it?”
You can hear Din hesitate. “No, it’s—I’m alright.”
“Okay.” You agree in a soft voice just above a whisper, giving his hand one last squeeze before you pull away. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
Before you have the chance to stand up again, Din reaches out for you, grabbing a hold of your arm. “Wait.” His modulated voice is strong yet desperate then, but as he continues, it gets more hesitant and unsure. “Stay. Please.”
You oblige right away. “Of course, Din.” He moves himself back on the cot to make room for you, and once you’ve slipped underneath the thin blanket covering him, you don’t hesitate to reach your arms out and wrap them around Din. You know he’s in desperate need of affection—not just now, but always—and your heart both warms and breaks at the way his helmet cradles into your neck as his body melts against yours, his arms holding tight to your middle. It’s almost like that of an exhausted child, and you lightly brush your fingers over his back until you feel his breathing even out, proving to you that he’s gone back into a more peaceful sleep.
After that night, you no longer sleep in your own cot. You join them together, falling asleep in each other’s arms every night. The feelings still go unspoken but are evidently present in actions such as these. Outside of your quarters, it’s less-than-subtle handholding on the ship and close proximity off it, constantly making sure the other is feeling alright no matter what the situation is. The child’s even started to pick up on your closer connection, hugging Din’s boot whenever he catches you holding hands and even once managing to get up to your quarters and try to nuzzle his way in with you. Your heart grows fuller more and more each day—especially as you start to watch Din’s walls finally crumble down for you.
You’ve landed on the planet Numath today, one that’s lush with life and beautiful landscapes. Din’s set the Crest on an open overlook, the view of distant hills, valleys, and streams taking your breath away. You assume you’re about to go for another supply run, though you’re surprised Din hadn’t mentioned it before. He lets you equip yourself as per usual before he leads the three of you away from the Crest, heading down a forested path that leads to the nearby marketplace.
“What are we getting this time?” you ask Din, looking over at him curiously.
“Well,” Din sighs, holding out his arm for you to take. You look at him in slight shock, slowly wrapping your arms around his. You’ve had yet to show any kind of affection publicly before. “We don’t really need anything.”
You furrow your brow. “Then why are we here?”
Din finally looks over at you, and you imagine a smile beneath his helmet. “Because I’ve heard this marketplace has some of the best goods. I thought we could… peruse.”
Your heart flutters at his sweet proposition and you’re left to smile like a lovestruck idiot. “So, you’ve brought us here just to let us wander around and look at or maybe even buy things we don’t necessarily need?”
Din lets out a soft sigh. “Well, when you put it like that.”
You laugh. “It sounds amazing, Din.” Your voice is warm and you enjoy the way Din visibly relaxes as you tighten your arms around his. The marketplace is vibrant and full of life, people bustling around to get the best and ripest fruits—looking as if they’ve just been plucked. You and Din, for once in your lives together, aren’t in a rush, simply walking up and down the streets and viewing the items on display. You point out the luxuries you used to enjoy with your parents on your home planet Kagoth while Din reminisces on the items his parents used to gift him when he was a child. The child always looks wondrously out of his pram, and for the first time since you’ve joined Din’s crew, you feel like a family.
Once the nearby sun starts to sink lower in the sky, Din leads you all back to the Crest, getting the child aboard first and then coming back outside to you. It’s just the two of you standing on the overlook now, watching as the sky streaks colors of pink, red, and orange, making the running streams of the landscape look almost golden. Your gaze turns to Din and you can see those same colors reflected off his helmet, somehow softening the coldness his beskar tends to give off. Your heart practically melts at the intimacy of the moment as you watch the sunset ahead, and you decide to finally voice some of your unspoken thoughts.
“Thank you for trusting me so much, Din.” Your voice barely rises above a whisper, as if you’re afraid of someone or something else hearing the words only meant for Din. His helmet finally turns to you, and you swear you can make out the shadow of his eyes behind his visor thanks to the sunset’s glow. “For taking me into your crew and letting me get so close. I know it’s not easy.”
Din lets out a soft breath, his visor falling to your hands as he takes both of them in his own. He then looks back up at you. “There’s no need to thank me. You… make me feel safe, cyar’ika.”
You smile at that, running your thumbs over the backs of his gloved hands. “I’m so glad.” You pause for a beat, trying to search the gaze you can’t see. “What does that mean? Cyar’ika?”
Din’s silent for a moment, but then he pulls your hands towards him, causing your body to be nearly flush against his as he tilts his helmet down at you. “It means ‘darling,’ or ‘sweetheart.’”
You feel your cheeks warm up, and you look down at your entwined hands for a moment before asking another question. “What about ni kar’tayl gar darasuum? I heard you mumble that in your sleep one night.”
Once again, Din lets your question soak in, but this time one of his hands separates from yours as it reaches to tuck your hair behind your ear. “‘I love you.’”
Your heart practically soars as your mouth falls open in surprise. “You—You do?”
Din’s hands now reach for the sides of your face, slowly pulling it towards his own until his forehead touches yours. “Yes, cyar’ika. I do.”
You’re familiar with the gesture—the Keldabe kiss. It makes you feel so happy that you’re almost numb, a bright smile spreading on your lips as you look deep into his visor. “I love you too, Din.” The words are so hushed that you hope he can hear them, but you know he must because he pulls you closer after you’ve said them. You close your eyes and brace your hands against his cuirass, swearing you haven’t felt this happy ever since your days on Kagoth.
The next time you visit that spot on Numath is months after your confessions of love, the child having since been returned to his people and leaving you two free of Imperial pressure. Din’s name’s been cleared with the Guild, though he no longer has a desire to work for them anymore. You’ve only drawn closer since then, and now Din’s asked you to complete the final step in your ever-growing relationship: marriage, through the riduurok.
This overlook is the place that came to mind right away, private enough where you know no one will stumble upon you. You purposely land when the sun is starting to set, replicating the day when you’d finally made your feelings known. Din’s hands are in yours again as you repeat the vows he’d told you about, and you’ve even allowed yourself to wear a more formal outfit you were gifted by a friend of Din’s named Omera. Once the words are exchanged, your smile is never-ending, and Din brings your hands up to rest on the sides of his helmet. You don’t even dare to breathe as you start to ease his helmet off together, watching as the evening glow finally lights up his face to you for the first time.
Your vision blurs as he tosses the helmet on the ground beside you, your hands meeting his face as your fingers start to brush all over it. You trace the scars from old battles, the line of his gently hooked nose, along the shadow stubble he never bothered to rid of, and finally over his lips that are parted in anticipation of what you’ll think. You can’t say anything thanks to the beautiful way his face glows in this lighting, but your smile says it all, and you watch for the first time as he shows a smile of his own.
Din finally pulls your mouth to his as he holds you close, gentle yet desperate in his movements. Your hands glide from his face to his hair, relishing the feeling of it between your fingers as you taste him for the first time. Din keeps everything slow, soft, and steady, as if he’s absorbing every little piece of you and the new affection you get to share. When he pulls away, it’s with another smile, his lips pressing gently against your forehead.
“I love you, cyar’ika,” Din’s voice murmurs in a soft tone, and you nearly go weak in the knees at the sound of it without a modulator.
“I love you, too.” You match his tone as you return his smile, happily going in for yet another kiss—realizing that there’s nothing in the galaxy you’ve needed more than this man and his love, your riduurok.