#certaindark writing

You had been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now, after being picked up on Arvala-7. You were a healer—a pretty damn good one, if you had anything to say about it—and had patched him up after a bounty hunt gone wrong.  

The Mandalorian thought your services would be helpful if things ever got a little dicey again, so he asked you along for the ride (the reality was you had nagged and scolded him so much about how cauterizing was not the answer for every wound, that he eventually caved just to get you to stop). There wasn’t really anything tying you to Arvala-7, so you agreed.

Plus, the Child had taken a real liking to you, and how could you say no to that precious face?  

The Mandalorian was an odd man—well, no.  Not odd.  More like intriguing, and you were drawn to it.  It had been quiet and awkward the first few months.  He was a rigid man of few words, never speaking more than necessary (unless he thought he was alone with the kid; the way he spoke with him made your heart melt).  But after countless late nights together of taking care of the Child and constantly tending to his injuries, you were surprised to find there was a sense of gentleness under all that beskar.

The Mandalorian had been just as surprised as you when he found himself warming up to your presence.  It was all the little moments that had snuck up on him, the stolen glances and lingering touches, and now his heartbeat seemed to quicken every time you were together.

Little did he know, yours did too.  

At the sound of the hatch door opening, you looked up.  You watched as the Mandalorian walked up the platform, admiring his strut.  How someone could look so good just walking, you had no idea, but it was maddening.  

“No bounty?” you called out, turning the kid in your arms so he would be facing out towards his dad.  It was unusual that Mando hadn’t found the target yet, but you were just thankful he was in one piece for now.  He shook his head.

“Not yet.  I ran into some… complications,” he huffed and even though his voice was laced with frustration, it put you at ease.  Being on the ship alone for nearly the whole day, sometimes you just missed hearing that husky baritone filtering through his modulator.  

Not to mention you thought it was sexy as hell.  

You quirked an eyebrow at him.  “Complications?”  

He heaved a deep sigh, lifting a hand for the Child to grab, which he took happily.  “Hey, kid,” he whispered, and you smiled as the Child babbled back.  Mando turned his helmet towards you and continued.  “Yes, but I found a contact who should be able to give more information.  I came back for you and the kid first.  I know you guys must be hungry.”  

You nodded at the same time the little green bean gave a resounding coo, earning a soft chuckle from the both of you.  “I’ll get the pram ready.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

After a quick stop in the marketplace for supplies, Mando had led you two into what seemed to be the only bar in town.  It was only late afternoon, leaving it nearly empty, save for a few older patrons lazily sipping on glasses of ale.  You ignored the way the Weequay behind the bar seemed to look you up and down.     

Mando set you and the kid up with two bowls of soup at a table nearby while he talked business with his contact, who happened to be the bartender.  Sipping your soup, you tried not to eavesdrop as the two began to fall into what you would call a heated discussion.  On Mando’s end.  Apparently, this was a particularly “difficult” target.  

“Lucky for you, he’s got an eye for pretty girls,” the bartender drawled, jutting his chin at you.  “She’ll do fine.”

Your head snapped up from your task of feeding the child, spoon mid-air.  “Excuse me?”

“No.  Absolutely not,” resounded Mando’s gruff voice from under the helmet.    

“Listen, Mando.  This guy is high-profile, practically untouchable, bodyguards with him at all times. And I’m not talkin’ your run of the mill pair of idiots that can’t shoot for a damn, I’m talkin’ highly trained mercenaries.”  The Weequay sighed.  “I don’t doubt your skills as a Mandalorian, but you’re just one man.  You need to get him alone, and she is your only way of doing that,” he insisted.  

“I said, no,” Mando gritted out.  You were non-negotiable.  

The bartender just shrugged.  “Then consider this a loss, cause you’re not getting anywhere near him.”

Your heart hammered in your chest listening to the two of them argue. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, remembering the way the bartender eyed you when you walked in.  All you wanted to do at this point was bury yourself in the confines of your room in the Razor Crest.

Mando seemed final in his decision, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he didn’t want you involved or if he thought you simply lacked the skills to do so.  He could probably tell you weren’t really the seducing type, and truthfully the thought of trying to do was mortifying.    

But Mando needed this, right?  You thought of all the things he’s done for you, how he’s protected and provided for you.  This was the least you could do for him.  You could deal with one night of potential discomfort so he could get his bounty.  It was a lot of credits.  

“I’ll do it.”

Mando snapped his head around at you so fast, it was a miracle he hadn’t hurt himself.  “For the last time, I said you are no—”

“I’m doing it,” you said a little more forcefully, cutting him off. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was staring daggers into you from underneath the helmet, but it was going to take more than a dirty look to get you to change your mind.  

“Excellent!” the bartender’s cheery voice cut through the tension in the room.  “Come on back, I’ve got an old dress an ex-girlfriend left behind that you could probably use.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The dress in question was a slinky black number that had you freezing your ass off in the cold of the desert night.  

The dress was too… everything.  Too short, too revealing, too tight; but the only other thing you had to wear were some oversized t-shirts and utility pants, which aren’t exactly sexy, so you were shit out of luck.  

Mando nearly choked when you came out of your room, thankful for the helmet for hiding his widened eyes and agape mouth. You looked absolutely ravishing, the black fabric clinging to all the right places on your figure.  His eyes roved over the valley of your chest, the curve of your hips, the length of your legs, and his hands balled into fists, just aching to hold you.  It’s as if your skin was begging to be touched.  

You cleared your throat, feeling incredibly exposed and wondering what in the blazes Mando was looking at because you were certain you looked absolutely ridiculous.  The noise shook him out of whatever daze he was in and he quickly shifted his gaze.  

“Not a word,” you warned, wobbling down the platform.  As bad as the dress was, the heels it came with were somehow worse.  “I feel ridiculous.”

“You shouldn’t,” he answered a little too quickly. “You look…” words were lost on him as he tried to find the right one.  One that wouldn’t make it obvious that he was losing his kriffing mind in front of you.  “Good,” he finally decided on, and mentally kicked himself for it.  Good?

You gave him an exasperated look.  “I know you’re just being nice.”

He opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by an ill-timed fit of babbling from the kid.  You had bent down as best you could to give him a little pat on the head and he could feel a lump forming in his throat.  

Mando couldn’t express how much he didn’t want you to do this.  And well, he tried.  The whole way back to the ship, in fact.  But for some reason you were completely hell-bent on doing this for him, and he didn’t know how to explain that you and your safety meant more to him than a few thousand credits.  

The reality was, Mando wanted you.  He never thought he’d be so fond for someone besides the Child, but you were the exception.  And even though he wanted to make you his, he knew it would be selfish of him to pursue you, to claim you, when he couldn’t give you everything you deserved; his Creed prevented him from doing so.  

But Mando was a greedy man, so he took what he could get.  He drank up all the kindness you so freely gave him, like a parched soul wandering in the desert, and cherished every little moment the two of you shared. They probably meant nothing to you, but they were everything to him.  And he wanted more.

Not only was he a greedy man, but a stingy one as well.  The thought of anyone other than him seeing you in that dress was enough to send his thoughts into a jealous frenzy.  

“You don’t have to do this,” he tried to reason again.  

You placed a gentle hand on the soft spot between his pauldron and neck and offered a small smile.  “Don’t worry, Mando.  Everything will be fine.”        

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Everything was, in fact, not fine.  

The night had started well enough.  After all of Mando’s failed attempts at dissuading you again, he had finally resigned to silently stewing in his disapproval rather than voicing it.  

You entered the bar while he stayed behind and watched closely from the outside.  He had given you a comms device, that, with the push of a button, would let him know you were alone with the bounty and it was time for him to step in.  

“Just press it, and I will be right there,” he assured, his gloved fingers pressing the device firmly into your bare palm. Something about the protective tone of his voice stirred something in you.  You nodded before looking away, trying to ignore your racing heart.  

The bar was rowdy that night, patrons hooting and howling from the booze.  The smell of stale spice and death sticks wafted in the air, making you wrinkle your nose.  Your newfound bartender friend had waved you over, pointing out the target with a nod of his head.  

Your eyes fell on a Pantoran man across the bar with a drink in his hand, dozens of black suits surrounding him.  His associates—a Rodian and another Pantoran—seemed to all be talking business.  The bartender wasn’t kidding about this guy’s security.

How the hell am I supposed to get this guy’s attention?  You desperately racked your head for subtle ideas but came to a halt when his eyes met yours.  Kriff, he had caught you staring.  So much for subtle.  Trying not to panic, you flashed your best coy smile before turning back towards the bar.

Somehow, that was enough to give him the courage to approach you.  

Cocky bastard, you thought as he swaggered on up to you, leaning in close, leering.  With his chiseled features and striking yellow markings, you would’ve called him handsome— if you didn’t already know what a sleazebag he was.  An air of arrogance surrounded him, the type that made him think he could get whatever he wanted with a flash of those pearly whites. Typical douche.  You wanted to smack him for being so close.  

Instead, you flashed another winning smile. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you leaned in close and with a breathy whisper of, ‘Let’s get out of here’ he was tossing credits to the bartender and signaling to his guards that he was leaving with you.  

The Weequay had shot you a knowing look as he watched you leave; a warning.  You assured him that everything was fine with a slight nod of your head.      

The asshole had his arm snaked around you, hand on your ass, as you made your way to the motel just across the street.  You fought back the urge to throttle him, instead fawning about how, ‘I can’t wait to be alone with you, darling.’    

Your hands began to clam up as he retrieved the keys from the clerk, and you tried to convince yourself that everything would be fine once you clicked the button on your comm from the inside of the room.

Wrong.  

Immediately after the Pantoran locked the door, the unease in your stomach began to grow.  Bile rose in your throat at his grinning face, the way he fidgeted and licked his lips as he pressed you into the wall.  A hand landed on your bare thigh, trailing dangerously high, where you shuddered in disgust at the feeling.  

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” he whispered, and that was your cue to press the comms device you were desperately clutching in your small purse.  Your mistake was failing to mask the faint beeping noise it emitted.  Your companion stiffened at the sound, pressing you further into the wall.  

“What the hell did you just do?” he growled, using the other hand to rip your arm from your purse.  He stared at the comms device with contempt, before turning his attention back to me.  “You bi—”

He never got to finish, because the next thing you knew your Mandalorian was crashing through the door, blaster in hand.

The scene Mando had walked in on nearly made him sick.  That osi’kovid’s hands all over you, and worst of all, the look of pure fear on your face after being made.  He’d planned to put a quick end to the whole ordeal, but the bounty had plans of his own.

Mando rushed him, shoving him into the wall and away from you.  As expected, the Pantoran went flying before crumpling onto the floor.  What Mando hadn’t been expecting was for him to be armed. He didn’t peg him as the type to get his hands dirty.  

The Mandalorian was about to release the fibercord whip from his vambrace when the bounty rose from the floor with a sneer, a small combat knife in hand as he lunged at Mando, before wrestling him to the floor and sending his blaster skittering.  

You watched in frozen horror as the two fought for the upper hand. At one point, the bounty had tried to charge at you, slashing wildly, but Mando was already there blocking his blows. The knife caught on the cowl above his chest, slicing the skin underneath with a sickening noise.  That seemed to kick your brain into overdrive, and you dived for the fallen blaster on the ground.  

You took a steadying breath before you aimed and shot once, twice, at the bounty’s leg.  He cried out from his place above Mando before clutching his leg and finally falling over.

Mando rose and immediately released the fibercord, imprisoning the bounty.  He held his hand out for his blaster, and you watched with wide eyes as he smacked the butt of it into the Pantoran’s face once, twice, three times.  The third time ended with an appalling crack, his head lolling forward, and leaving him unconscious.  

You stared as Mando stood in front of the bounty, seething.  You could have sworn his hands were shaking.      

“Stars, Mando, your neck,” you murmured, breathless.  The room was dim, but you could see the dark stain of blood that was beginning to drench his cowl.  Your hands went to inspect the wound, but he quickly brushed you off.  

“We need to go,” he grunted, gathering the rope and heading towards the back entrance of the room.  The two of you hadn’t exactly been quiet and the bounty’s guards were bound to notice their boss had been gone for too long.  When you had opened your mouth to argue, to insist that you needed to check his injuries, he was already out the door.

Adrenaline still coursed through your veins as you walked back towards the ship.  You pulled your arms tight across your body in an attempt to quell your trembling hands; guilt, bubbling up in your stomach as you replayed the events of the night in your head.  

You had been the one to volunteer yourself for the mission.

You were the one who had repeatedly insisted that everything would be fine.  

And now, your Mandalorian was bleeding profusely from a nasty wound on his neck.  

“Mando,” you pleaded, trying to keep up with him in your ridiculous heels.  Instead of acknowledging you, your words fell to deaf ears.  He was stomping his way back to the ship, the unconscious bounty in tow.  

Worry bloomed in your chest.  The wound had looked bad back at the motel, but it was as if he couldn’t even feel it.  You could hear his ragged breathing from behind; whether it was from the fight, the long walk, or the wound, you weren’t sure.  

“Mando,” you tried again, this time raising your voice as you approached the hatch of the ship.  

Nothing.

He let out another grunt as he hauled the bounty onto the ship, towards the carbon-freezing machine.  You pursed your lips, jaw clenching in his direction. You did not appreciate being ignored, especially after just half-saving his ass just moments before.

Granted, you were the one that had put him in that position, but that was besides the point.

His back was to you and you stepped closer, ready to unleash a piece of your damn mind, when you stopped.  You took in his brooding stance and clenched fists.  The tremble in his hands.  Anger seemed to roll off the Mandalorian in waves, making you falter.  

What the hell was his problem?

“Mando, can you kriffing listen to me?  I need to treat you, you have no idea if he nicked an important artery or something.  I don’t know what you’re so worked up about, but you’ve been bleeding for a few minutes now and I just need to look—” annoyance rose in you as he continued to prep the carbon machine.  “Maker, can you even hear me?”

The Mandalorian couldn’t hear you, not clearly anyways.  Blood was still rushing in his ears, his vision still tinged red.  But with another call of his name, you were finally able to get through and he suddenly whipped around.  

“He touched you,” he gritted out, seething and shaking. “That skanah had his hands all over you and I swear if I didn’t need him alive for the bounty, he’d already be dead.”  He punctuated the last word with the slam of a button on the machine.    

You took a step back, eyes wide and brows furrowed. Something warm tightened in your chest and belly.  Wh-why did he care so much?  A lump had lodged itself into your throat.  “Mando, I—I’m fine.  Alright? I’m okay,” you tried to assure.  “So, can you please calm down and let me just—"

But the Mandalorian already had his back turned again.  You threw your hands up in the air, groaning in frustration as he continued to work.  Another minute passed and with a faint whoosh, the bounty was finally set in carbonite.  

A shiver ran through your body as the cool night air blew its way into the Razor Crest, raising goosebumps on your exposed skin.  Seeing you tremble in the cold seemed to break Mando out of whatever angry stupor he was in.    

In all honesty, he hadn’t meant to ignore you, but something in him snapped back at the motel.  The image of that skanah touching you had made his blood boil, and his sole goal was to get him back to the ship and be done with it.  

“You’re… cold,” he stated, the words coming out slow and soft, like pulling them out of a dream.  You must have been freezing in that dress.    

Your head snapped up at him.  “I—what?”

“Let me get you a blanket or—” He hesitated when he saw you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes screwed shut.  

You couldn’t believe this idiot.  

“Mando, seriously?”  Your heart and your brain were having a hard time deciding whether you should be flattered about him caring so much or pissed off because he didn’t seem to give a damn about himself.  

You chose a mix of the two.

“Mando,” you sighed, looking up at him.  “I promise you I’m fine, thank you.  Really.”  You gave him your most genuine, caring look to show you were thankful for his concern, and then quickly replaced it with a hard one.  “But if you don’t get up into that cockpit right now and let me treat you, I’m going to use that damn pulse rifle on you.”

And just like that, you had managed to dissolve the lingering traces of anger in his mind.  His lips twitched under the helmet.  “That supposed to scare me?”

You glared.  “Don’t push it.” You could have sworn he was laughing under there.

The Mandalorian would have laughed if the wound on his neck hadn’t began to ache.  Instead, he begrudgingly nodded, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before disappearing into the cockpit.  

He began to input the coordinates back to Nevarro into the navicomputer, warmth unfurling in his chest as he listened to you check on the Child.  A tiredness had begun to settle in his muscles from the fight earlier, and he grimaced as he reached for a lever on the control panel.  The pain on his neck was getting worse, and if he was being honest it burned like all hell, but he was not going to admit that to you.

The door behind him slid open and you stepped in frazzled, medkit in hand.  Even with your hair in disarray and scrapes littering your arms and legs, he thought you looked breathtaking.  

“Uh, so bad news,” you began, gesturing at the medkit.  “They didn’t have any at the market earlier, so we’re out of bacta shots and spray.  I’m gonna have to stitch it closed depending on how deep it is.”  You shot him an apologetic look.

He nodded, putting in the last of the coordinates before removing his chest plate to give you easier access, and turning his chair to face you.  You closed the space between the two of you, quickly going to work.  Careful hands began to peel away at the fabric stuck to the wound, a hiss of pain at the tip of his tongue as you ripped off the last of it.

“Sorry,” you whispered, inspecting the fabric before discarding it.  “You’re definitely gonna need a new cape.”

He shrugged.  “At least now you’ve got a new blanket.”  You always had a habit of curling up into all his old stuff.  

With a smile, you returned your focus to the task at hand, mentally sighing in relief as you began to clean the wound.  It could have been worse, but it was still very deep.  An inch to the left and just a smidge higher, and you would have had quite the problem on your hands.  

“Idiot,” you muttered.

“What was that?”

“Lucky,” you corrected, biting back a smirk.  “You got lucky.  Any higher and this would be a lot messier.”  You tossed the last of the gauze out and prepared the needle and thread.

Mando took in your awkward stance as you tried to bend down and begin stitching.  Standing was fine for when you were cleaning, but for something this intricate it wasn’t the best position.  You cursed and tried again, trying to get the angle right, but it was no use.  The thought left his mouth before he even had a chance to filter it.  

“You can sit on me if that’s easier.”

Heat blazed on your cheeks at his words, nearly dropping the damn needle.  “Oh—um—” Coherent thoughts didn’t seem to be forming in your head at the moment.

Panic flooded the Mandalorian’s brain as he took in your shocked expression and realized his mistake.  “I—well, not like that—what I meant was—” he spluttered, trying to find the right words, thankful that his helmet hid his mortified expression.          

“No, no it’s okay I—I know what you meant,” you managed to choke out after picking your jaw up off the floor.  It would have been comical—the certain and capable bounty hunter struggling to regain his composure—but his words had flooded your mind with some less than innocent thoughts and images, ones that left you heated and flustered.  You swallowed hard in an attempt to relieve your suddenly very dry throat.  “I can, if you’re okay with it?”

He slowly nodded, mentally kicking himself for being so daft.  He held his breath as you stepped closer, bracing a hand low on his chest as you perched yourself on his lap.  You cursed, trying to your best to maneuver yourself onto him without being inappropriate.

Finally, you were situated, hovering precariously over his thigh.  You breathed deep, willing your mind and body to calm down. Being in such close proximity to the Mandalorian was… dizzying, but you had a job to do.  And so, you went to work.  

A few minutes in, Mando could feel the tension rolling off your body, the tremble of your thighs as you tried to hold yourself above him.  “You can sit if you need to.”

The thought had crossed your mind, but truthfully you were afraid of how your body would react if you did. Eventually you gave in, shivering at the cold kiss of beskar on the insides of your thighs as you straddled his leg.  A knot was forming in your belly, low and warm.  

Maker, help me, you thought.

The change in position had slid your dress higher and Mando’s eyes began to wander again, taking in the exposed skin where your dress had hiked itself up, the material bunching around your hips.  His hands felt that pull again, that ache to touch you; to dig his fingers into the soft, plump flesh.  

Osik, he cursed, trying to control himself.  In his mind he conjured up the image of a blaster, mentally taking it apart and putting it back together as a pitiful attempt at a distraction.

You had fallen into a steady rhythm of stitching and knotting, your hands absentmindedly working.  The Mandalorian had fallen into a dull haze in the wake of your delicate touches, despite the sting and pull of the needle.  But when your hands brushed the edge of his helmet, he snapped to attention, reflexes kicking in.

A strong hand had immediately encircled your wrist, forcefully locking it in place.  Your breath seized at the realization of your colossal fuck-up.  How could you be so stupid?

“Shit, shit, I—I’m sorry,” you stammered out.  “Mando, I—I promise I wasn’t going to take it off, I just needed to adjust it to get the needle under.”  Your heart thundered against your chest, and you swear you could hear it in the empty silence of the cockpit.  The iron-clad grip he had on your wrist was starting to hurt, biting into your skin.  

Mando saw the flash of fear in your eyes, the way you had flinched at his touch and loosened the grip on your hand.  Regret began to bubble up inside him.  He opened his mouth to apologize, it had just been his instincts, but you beat him to it.  Your next words caught him off guard.  

“Do you trust me?”

He swallowed hard. Of course he did.  There was no question about it.  You were the one constant in his life besides the kid; the one he found he could rely on time and time again for anything. You had never betrayed him, in Creed or otherwise.  He took a steadying breath before answering.  “Yes.”

You tried to ignore the burst of warmth in your chest at his admission and what it implied. Instead, you nodded, slowly allowing yourself to move again and continue your care.  “Lean back,” you whispered and he obliged, fully baring his neck to you. It was a vulnerable position, but the cautious movements of your hands crushed any anxiety that threatened to well up in him.

And maybe it was that cautious, careful touch that had begun to wear down his walls; the tenderness you so freely gave that softened his heart and opened him up.  He wanted to make up the last minute to you, to show that he really did trust you.  Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop the next thing that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Din.”

You paused mid-stitch, confusion flickering on your face.  “What’d you say?”

His heart felt like it was going to fly out of his ribcage.  “My name.  It’s Din.”

Confusion slowly morphed to shock at his revelation.  He had just shared his name with you; something incredibly personal and dear to him. Knowing it felt… intimate.  How many people actually knew his real name? You couldn’t stop that slow smile that had begun to spread on your face.  

“Din,” you repeated, hushed as if someone else would hear.  His heart skipped at the sound of his name on your lips; the soft way your voice curled around the short syllable.  Your eyes peered into his through the visor of his helmet, a question behind them. “Just ‘Din’?”

“Din Djarin,” he corrected.  

You repeated it again, delight clear on your face.  “I like it.”

I do too, he thought.  Especially when you say it.  “You can use it whenever, as long as we’re alone or it’s just the kid.”

“Of course,” you nodded, then added a soft, “Thank you.”  For trusting me.

The two of you had settled back into a comfortable silence, his hands resting comfortably on your hips, and Din couldn’t fathom why you kept biting back a smile.  You were the first to break it.  

“I’m sorry, for all this.”

“It’s fine, it’s not that painful.”  

You shook your head.  “No, I mean—” you gestured at his neck and then to you. “He was aiming for me.”

He scoffed.  “You’re out of your mind if you think I’d let anything happen to you.” You could hear the anger beginning to simmer beneath his words again.  “No, I… I would protect you every single time.  Besides, that osi’yaim got what he deserved in the end.”  

Your eyes flicked to his visor again and you tried to ignore the way the knot in your belly tightened at his promise to you and the shiver his low voice sent down your spine.  Instead, you tried to change the subject.  “Osi’yaim?”

“A useless, despicable person.  A waste of space.”

A soft laugh escaped you lips.  “You need to teach more Mando’a.  Something besides the bad words.”

Din’s heart clenched at your request. Something about you asking to learn his language stirred something deep in him.  “Of course,” he managed to reply, but it came out more strangled than he had meant it to.    

You continued with your task, getting lost in the repeated movements of your fingers.

Watching you work had always fascinated Din.  You granted each injury the same amount of attention, whether it was as small as a papercut or as big as the gash he had now.  It was endearing.  The meticulous way you ensured every stitch, every bandage, was perfect and in place. The adept movements of your fingers, steady with every touch.  The way you bit your lip and furrowed your brow as you concentrated.  

He was captivated by it, and you, every time.

His gaze was concealed by his helmet most of the time, but tonight you could feel the weight of his eyes on you.  Your cheeks began to burn at the thought of him staring at you so closely and you thanked the maker that he couldn’t see the crimson hue painting your face.  

“Are you warm?” he asked, the low rumble of his voice startling you.  

“What?”

“You’ve been shivering since you started, but… you’re all flushed,” he explained.

Your eyes widened at his words, heart stopping.  “Wait—how can you see my—”

“Heat sensors.” Din couldn’t help but notice the way the heat on your face spread even more, down the soft slopes of your neck and chest.

Of course, heat sensors.  You were absolutely mortified, a nervous laugh erupting from your chest.  May as well be honest.  

“No, not warm, more like embarrassed,” you tried to explain, unable to meet his eyes.  

Din tilted his head, trying to understand.  “Why?”

You scoffed.  “’Cause I just realized I’ve been sticking my ugly mug in your face for the past 20 minutes.”      

Din was dumbfounded.  Ugly? The mere thought of you seeing yourself in that way made his heart ache.  How could you think such a thing when he saw you as the most radiant thing in this galaxy?  That, every time he saw you, he had to remind himself to breathe?

He had no idea what the in blazes he was doing, but he knew that he couldn’t let you go on thinking such things about yourself.  Din reached out and tilted your chin up towards him, making you meet his eyes.  

“Cyar’ika, you are the furthest thing from ugly that someone could be.  I—you are absolutely stunning.  Do you—do you know what seeing you in that dress tonight did to me?” he confessed, letting out a breathy laugh.  The front of his pants tightened in reminder.  “I’ll teach you something new in Mando’a right now.”  He paused, letting his fingers brush over your chin. “Mesh’la.”

It felt like you were on fire at that point, burning under his gaze, but somehow you found your voice underneath all the flames.  “What does it mean?” you breathed, unable to mask the tremble in your voice.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful.”    

Your body betrayed you, melting into a puddle with just a taste of his touch and the boldness of his words.  It was a devastating effect, and there was no denying the dampness that had pooled between your legs now.  You managed to stutter out a, ‘thank you’ before trying to finish the last knot of his stitches.

“All done,” you whispered.    

Din watched as you admired your handiwork and noticed that you made no move to remove yourself from him.  Instead, your hands were softly dragging across the planes of his exposed chest, leaving a trail of fire wherever they went.  It was such a foreign feeling, flesh against flesh on such a shielded part of his body.  He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him there, let alone so gently.  

A strangled sound caught in his throat as you brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, just above the other side of his collarbone.  It was almost too much, the shot of electricity that singed his nerves, but it felt good.

His body involuntarily bucked at the sensation and his hands gripped your hips roughly, pressing you flush against him.  

You gasped at the sensation, of your clothed core dragging against the beskar plate on his thigh, your knee brushing against the bulge that had tented his pants.  Your hands scrabbled to find something, anything, to anchor yourself from the blinding pleasure that fizzled through you.

“Maker,” Din murmured, letting out a shuddering breath.  “Osik, cyar’ika, I’m didn’t mean to touch you like that but—”

“But what if I want you to?” your own voice sounding foreign to your ears.  You did not miss the way his breath hitched, caught in the modulator of his helmet.  

Din’s mind was reeling. “You—you want me to?” he swallowed thickly around the ball of shock that was caught in his throat.  

And you’re nodding, eyes dark and body and mind clouded with need, leading his hands up your torso and chest; but Din, he needs to hear you say it.  “Use your words, cyar’ika.  I need to hear you.”

“Yes, Din.  Please,” and that’s enough to dissolve any shred of self-control he thought he had.  The sound of you saying his name like that, a plea for him and only him, was maddening.  

His hands were on you in an instant; hands that you had seen nearly beat a man to death just for touching you, but on you they were soft, gentle.  Desperate, but tender.  Rough, but passionate and loving.  The contrast was making your head spin.  

“Din,” you whimpered. “You have to be careful, your cut—”

“I don’t care,” he rasped.  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you?  Make you mine?”  He pulled you closer against him, hands grasping at anything he could reach.  He wanted to erase any trace of the bounty from your presence.

You tried to answer, but you were a mess, filling the cockpit with soft moans and mewls as you bucked your hips on his thigh.  

“I want to watch you make yourself feel good, can you do that?  Just like this?”  You frantically bobbed your head.  “Good,” he answered, stroking your cheek.  “You deserve it after tonight, sweet girl.”

The sound of ‘sweet girl’ sent wet heat straight to your core.  If anything, you thought he was the one that deserved to be taken care of right now.  But you were not about to argue with the Mandalorian who insisted on you using him to get yourself off.    

Your hands pawed at his chest again, struggling to find some kind of purchase to anchor yourself. They finally settled for his biceps, nails digging deep.  He watched as you grinded down on his thigh, eyes screwed shut.  His hands fingered the strap of your dress and you nodded, giving him permission to slide it down.  

Din took in the sight of your bare chest, your nipples pebbling in the cold air of the cockpit. He ached to take them into his mouth, hear you whimper and moan against his tongue, but he settled for brushing his gloved fingers over them and watching you arch.  

You ground down harder, desperate you get the friction you needed.  Din’s hands slipped from your breasts down back to your hips, stilling them.  A high whine escaped your throat and it was almost pitiful.  

“Up,” he instructed, confusion marring your face as you lifted yourself off his leg.  He gripped the thigh plate and dropped it to the ground, promptly setting you back onto his thigh.  “Wanna feel you,” he growled, and you could only moan in response.  

Soon enough, your arousal had seeped through your panties and onto the fabric of his pants.  The heady smell hit his nose and his mouth watered, desperate to know what you tasted like, to know what sounds you would make if he buried his face between your thighs.  

You guided his hands back up your chest, up to your neck.  His fingers cupped your face again, thumb brushing the bottom of your lip. You held his hand in place, biting the leather tip of his glove and slowly slid it off, letting it drop between you.

The feeling of his bare thumb resting on your lips sent another wave of arousal through you.  “Wanna feel you,” you breathed, grinning before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking hard.  Din’s eyes rolled back and he groaned; the sight of your hollowed-out cheeks and the sensation of your tongue on the pad of his thumb nearly sent him over the edge.  

One hand trailed to the base of your neck, tangling itself softly in your hair.  He took in the way your eyes were screwed shut, the furrow in your brows as you chased your high.  You had taken your bottom lip between your teeth, biting hard and almost splitting it from the pressure.  It was almost the same concentrated expression you wore as you tended to his injuries, though it was clear you were concentrated on something far more rewarding now.  

“Mesh’la,” he commanded.  “Look at me.”

You wretched your eyes open, fixing your gaze on him.  

Din watched, enraptured, as you continued to pleasure yourself.  You were a sight before him; pupils blown, mouth agape, chest heaving as you tried to ease the ache in your belly.  He was lost in the way your eyes sparkled, perfectly matching the dark galaxy you were set against just outside the viewport.  

Your moans filled the cockpit, desperate sounds and pleads of Din’s name as he sent delicious licks of pleasure throughout your body.  You held on for dear life, panting as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

He feels the tension simmering from your shuddering figure, like a coil just waiting to spring.

“Are you close, mesh’la?” he whispered, his words and the rasp of his voice sending you higher and higher.  “Are you going to come for me?”

And you’re a wreck, whimpering and pleading, yes, Din, yes; and all Din can think is he can die happy knowing how you moan his name.  He shifts you, pulls you right onto the straining bulge in his pants and you both gasp, the sensation pulling you even closer to your orgasm.  A bare hand snakes between where the two of you are pressed against each other and he presses right onto your clit.  

A sob tears from your throat and stars burst behind your eyes as you’re pushed off the edge; and you’re falling, waves of ecstasy washing over you and burning straight to your toes. Din holds you close as your body continues to shudder, a steady hand on your back coaxing you down from your high. He lets out a groan when he feels evidence of your orgasm seep through to his clothed cock.    

Fog clouds the bottom of his helmet as you softly pant, the pleasure lulling to a dull thrum in your veins. He’s admiring your sleepy eyes, the flushed cheeks of your afterglow.  You give off a shy smile, peering into his visor.  “Beautiful,” he murmurs right next to your ear.  “Just like I said.” 

“Thank you,” you hum, pressing a searing kiss onto his bare neck and sliding a hand over the hardness trapped beneath you.  

Din hisses at your touch and you laugh, trying to ease the ache between his own legs.  “Mesh’la,” he warns, grunting at the loss of contact as you lift yourself off him and slide between his knees, kneeling.  

“Yes?” you respond, sliding your hands up and down his thighs, and pausing at the button of his pants.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, but you quickly cut him off.

“But I want to, Din,” you assured.  You rest your head on his knee, peering up at him with wide, innocent eyes, awaiting his permission.  “Wanna return the favor, wanna taste you,” and you grin at the strangled sound that leaves his throat.  He couldn’t deny you even if he wanted to.  

Finally, he nods, spreading his legs wider to accommodate you.  Your smile grows and your nimble fingers make quick work of the buttons on his pants.  You’re just about to free him from the confines of his boxers when an alarm signal sounds from the ship, startling the both of you.  

“Come in, Mando,” Greef Karga’s voice crackled through the small room.  “We’ve got a problem.  I repeat, we’ve got an emergency, please come in.”

Din groans and you throw an exasperated look towards the comms on the control panel.  “Just ignore him, it can’t be that—” and you’re cut off by another sound.

The unmistakable sound of a baby crying.  

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, pressing your forehead into Din’s knee.  You loved that little green bean to death, but damn him for his horrific timing.  Din softly slid his hand over yours and you looked up.  

“It’s alright, cyar’ika,” he hummed.  “Go check on him,” and you slowly nodded, shooting him an apologetic look before rising from your spot on the floor.

Din watched in mild amusement as you wobbled to the door, before turning his chair towards the control panel and sighing.  His own arousal was almost overwhelming, but he did his best to shove it to the back of his mind.  

Whatever Greef needed, it had better be good, he grumbled in his head.  

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

mando’a translations:

osi’kovid – shithead

skanah – very hated person, fucker

osik – shit

osi’yaim – cowardly, useless person

cyar’ika – darling, beloved

mesh’la – beautiful

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

It had been a particularly rough day, no—week.  The bounty he was tasked with chasing had him running in circles for days and by the time he had him frozen in carbonite, the tiredness and exhaustion was settling into his bones.  Being away from the two of you was hard.  

His heart clenched when he opened the door to his small room in the Crest to find you curled up in his clothes and blankets. He cursed at himself for waking you up, watching as you slowly blinked at the dim sliver of light from the door.

“Din?” you murmured, sitting up to reach for him.  

“I’m here, cyar’ika,” he assured, closing the door behind him.

The room was bathed in darkness again, and under the safety of the night he removed his helmet with a soft hiss.  And even though he was sure you couldn’t see anything, Din knew that you noticed the exhaustion, the restlessness, rolling off his body. You always did.  

“What’s wrong?” you asked, not even trying to hide the concern in your voice.  

“Just a rough couple days,” he mumbled, letting out a soft grunt as he bent to take his boots off, his joints protesting.  Maker, he was getting too old for this shit.  

You were fully sitting up in bed now, letting your legs dangle of the edge as you reached for him.  He gravitated towards your warmth, sighing when your hands met his face.  He covered your hands with his own, breathing deep.  

The armor he wore seemed to weigh a ton now, his frame ready to buckle under the weight.  It was as if his body knew that he was finally home and that the armor wasn’t necessary anymore, it’s you that he needed to have on him now.

Din could feel the furrow in your brows from where he stood, the worry that hung over you while you held him, and his heart ached.  You always worried too much.  You’re the reason she worries so much, he reminded himself.  

“Let me take this off and I’ll come into bed with you, mesh’la.”  He began to pull away, to start to remove his armor so he could wrap himself up into the softness that was you, but you pulled him right back in.  It’s like you could sense he was seconds from falling apart.

“No, Din.  Let me,” you insisted.  Confusion gripped him, but quickly settled to warmth when he realized what you were doing.

Soft hands wandered down his neck, down to the pauldrons on his shoulders.  You chose to remove those first, pulling them off and setting them softly on the ground. The heaviness that plagued him was now replaced with your gentle touch.  You’d think he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders with the way he sighed in relief.

Next, you ventured to his chest, removing the crafted cuirass. Your hands lingered just over his racing heart.    

And off came the rest of his defenses—his vambraces, his gloves, his thigh and shin guards, the tough fabric underneath—all melted away in the slow, tender way you always handled him.  

Din is finally bare now, but you’re not done.  You’re pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses on the planes of his chest and up his neck, before finally settling on his lips.  

“I missed you,” you breathed, pressing another kiss to his lips before dropping your forehead to his chest.  He rests his chin atop your head before bending forward to place a chaste kiss there.  

“You have no idea, cyare.”

You pull him to bed then, letting him dwarf your small body with his.  Din pulls you close, burying his nose into the nape of your neck and breathing you in. The tension immediately dissipates from his body, your presence soothing his weary soul.  

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Its become a routine now.  

Not just taking off the armor, but putting it on too.  

And every time you do so, he begins to hear, to see and feel, all the unspoken things your heart is telling him.  

When you shed it off after a long day, in the dead of night, he hears it all.  

His pauldrons.  You’re home now.

His cuirass.  You’re safe.

His vambrace.  I’m proud of you.  

His thigh guards.  Come rest.  

And in the mornings when he has to leave, when you’re fighting the drowsiness in your eyes just to see him one last time before he has to go, he can feel the unspoken promises and affirmations your fingers press into his armor.  He feels it in the way you take your time to make sure everything is perfectly secured and fastened, and he doesn’t doubt for one second it isn’t because it’s you.

His pauldrons.  Be safe.

His cuirass.  Come home to me.

His vambrace.  To us.

His thigh guards.  We’ll be waiting.

But he hears something else in those affirmations, something quiet and selfish when you press your forehead to his helmet in a keldabe kiss.  

Stay, you say, even though you both know he can’t.  

But your touch gives him a new sense of security when he ventures out into the world, one that even the strongest set of beskar couldn’t provide.

No matter what he encounters out there,

it’s your love that brings him home.  

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

taglist: @thecl0wnwars @a-dorin

“Am I?” she tried to play cheeky but the waver in her voice betrayed her.  Kriff, she thought.  

“I can’t imagine why; you haven’t any bad blood with anyone there.  Unless,” Cordé paused, “this has something to do with a certain Jedi Master you left behind,” adding an arched brow and a smirk.  Seraphine shot her best murderous glare towards her friend before wrapping herself tighter in her robes.  An old habit from when she was a youngling.

“Oh, please,” she enunciated with an eyeroll. “It’s not that it’s just… I wonder how different ‘home’ will be now.”  Home being the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, where she grew up.  

For the past 4, almost 5 years, Seraphine had been on a long-term undercover mission on Kessel, a lawless planet in the outer rim territories.  There, she met Cordé, and together they worked with locals and other Jedi stationed in nearby outposts to uncover and destroy an extensive trafficking ring. It was difficult, and they suffered great losses, but within 2 and a half years their mission was a success. Seraphine longed to return home, but instead decided to stay and deal with the fallout of their mission and further assist the victims.  

That quickly came to an end after the events on Geonosis.  When word broke out of the battle and upcoming war, a distress call was sent out to the far reaches of every system, warning every Jedi Temple of what was to come. Those who were able, or those originally from Coruscant, were to come as soon as possible to aid in the war effort.

Just a few days ago, Seraphine received her own transmission from Master Yoda and her old Master, Plo Koon.  They urged her to come back home and bring any extra hands if possible.  So, there they were, aboard a cruiser en route to Coruscant.  

Seraphine’s mind wandered to what she had left behind all those years ago.  Her friends— Aayla, Quinlan, Kit, Nejaa, Bant; her master and mentors.  Not to mention little Anakin training as a Padawan, and his master— Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Her closest friend, her partner in crime, and the most honorable man she knew.  His old master, Qui-Gon, had been partially responsible for bringing her to the Temple as a child.  They had grown up together on Coruscant; trained as Padawans, became Knighted within a few years of each other, and carried out plenty of adventurous missions before she left.  

Her heart skipped at the thought of him.   They had grown so close over time, and she realized too late that her feelings for him had turned into something forbidden, something they were sworn to deny.  

It was no secret to Obi-Wan that Seraphine didn’t fully agree with the way the Jedi Code was conducted, especially when it came to casting aside emotions and preventing attachments.  Her abilities within the Force made doing so very difficult. They had many spirited discussions with each other and their masters when they were younger.  Obi-Wan did not find it amusing how much Qui-Gon and her agreed on such sentiments at the time.  

Nevertheless, Seraphine never revealed how she felt about him.  How could she?  There was that whole situation with Satine, and more importantly— she knew what kind of man he was.  While he had his disagreements with the Council at times, he was fiercely loyal to the Order.  The probability of him reciprocating such intimate feelings for her just seemed impossible.

However, she knew how much he cared.  Obi-Wan had always done well in preventing emotions from clouding his actions in important situations, but that didn’t mean he was callous.    He was compassionate and cared deeply, and always made sure, in his own little way, to show it.  They entrusted each other with their lives.  

But Seraphine had grown weak and tired of burying herself away, so she did what she thought best: she ran away.  

Confessing that she was leaving was difficult.  While he tried to mask it, there was no denying the wave of hurt and disappointment that radiated from Obi-Wan.  There was no doubt that if he knew how big a part he really played in her departure that it would hurt him even more.  So when asked why, Seraphine held back, and he could tell.  Her failure to tell the whole truth had left a bit of a ridge in their relationship.  

They tried to keep in touch, but it became difficult when she went deep undercover, so their communications died out. Something sat heavy in Seraphine’s gut and chest, like a boulder, whenever she thought of him for too long. Guilt, her mind told her.  What you’re feeling is guilt.  It felt like she was losing a part of herself.  

Being so far away, she worried constantly for his wellbeing.  Regardless of how capable she knew he was.  But something ensured that if anything were to happen, she would feel it.

By some twisted form of fate, a Force Bond had developed between them during a mission they had carried out just before she was Knighted.  If one of them was in trouble, the other would know.  Seraphine wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it wasn’t the most convenient thing to possess when trying to hide her true feelings.  However, Master Plo’s teachings and training made reigning in her emotions doable.  To her, the pros outweighed the cons.  It was nice being able to reach out and feel Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force when she was missing him.  

She always wondered if he did the same.

Foolishly, she thought time would subdue her feelings. She was wrong.  All the kriffing training in the world couldn’t prepare her for being forced to face the very thing she’d been avoiding for years.              

It’s not that Seraphine didn’t want to see him, but she didn’t know if she could handle his reaction to her return. Resentment?  Would he even be on the platform when they landed? Insecurity seeded itself back into her mind, making her feel like the ugly duckling she always saw herself as when they were Padawans.  Seraphine buried her body deeper into her robes, painfully conscious of herself. Doubts continued in her mind in a torturous cycle until Cordé interrupted.

“We’re about to make the drop out of hyperspace. We’re here, Seraphine.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Obi-Wan’s hands fidgeted with his forearm armor while he stood, waiting in the landing bay of the Jedi Temple.  His heartbeat thrummed in his ears as he began to pace, one hand absentmindedly stroking his beard.  

“You’re nervous,” Anakin pointed out to his former Master, amused.  He’d never seen him act like this.  

“I most certainly am not,” Obi-Wan insisted. He most certainly was, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit that to Anakin.

“Really, Master?  Cause’ I haven’t felt you this tense since—”

“Oh, don’t start.”

Obi-Wan believed he had every right to be nervous. In a few moments he’d be seeing his oldest friend, his closest friend— Seraphine.  They had grown up together, here at the Temple.  And while she was 6 years his junior, they had trained closely as Initiates and Padawans together, and she became Knighted just a few years after him.  She had been there for him during one of the most difficult times of their lives, when Qui-Gon had died.

They had been inseparable since they were younglings, so when she decided all those years ago to leave so abruptly, he couldn’t help but feel like he was losing a part of himself.  But he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, let it show.  He was aware there was more to why she left— their Force Bond had told him that much— but when he pressed her, she refused to disclose.  

She had been his rock in taking care of Anakin, and he’d been fearful of what would happen when she left.  It was difficult the first few months, and it didn’t help that his heart had suffered a blow as well.  Obi-Wan recognized his hurt reaction as indication of feelings he was not supposed to have, so he told himself it was truly for the best. Though, it was hard to get his heart on board with his head.  

They had tried to stay in touch when she had first left, but it quickly became difficult with their differing schedules, and almost impossible when she went deep undercover.  He worried for her but knew that if something bad happened he would feel it.  Once in a while, he would reach out in the Force just to feel a touch of her presence and make sure she was still there.  

He wondered if she ever did the same.  

News came around the Temple of her successful mission a few years later, and he remembered being incredibly proud.  As quiet as she was, Seraphine was also the fiercest person he knew, and it showed in all her actions.  Not only was he proud, he was excited.  A successful mission meant she’d be coming home soon.  

However, he was disappointed to find out she’d be staying out there for who knows how long, to clean up the fallout of the mission. Somehow that news hurt more than watching her leave, but he couldn’t be angry with her.  Most people go in, get the job done, and leave without any regard for the long-term consequences of their actions.  But Seraphine always took responsibility for her actions, good or bad. It was just the kind of person she was, and one of the many qualities he admired in her.

And now, he was finally getting what he’d been looking forward to all these years.  With the war looming over them, they were in dire need of assistance from any Jedi they could spare.  Not only that, he knew that her incredible skills would transfer over well to becoming a General for the Republic, and the Council knew it too.  Just a few days ago, Master Yoda and Plo Koon had reached out to her directly to come home.  He couldn’t bring himself to be in the briefing room when they called.  

“Why is he nervous?” Ahsoka whispered loudly to Anakin, interrupting Obi-Wan’s reminiscing.

“Oh, for the last time, I’m not nervous,” Obi-Wan insisted.  “It’s simply been a long time since I’ve seen her, she’s a dear friend.”  He reminded himself to keep a reign on his emotions.

“I have some memories of her, but they’re a bit fuzzy.  In bits and pieces,” Anakin murmured.  

“You knew her too?” Ahsoka questioned, trying to get as much information about this mystery woman that seemed to have Obi-Wan on edge.  Anakin nodded.

“She helped Obi-Wan take care of me when I first came to the Temple.  We’d always train out in the back courtyards, under that big blossom tree,” Anakin paused and chuckled.  “I’d sit and watch her sketch in her notebook, or she’d tell me all these crazy stories.”

The memory caused a burst of warmth in Obi-Wan’s chest; those days seemed so far away now.  He’d already heard all her crazy myths, legends she had buried her nose in or remembered from her homeworld and recited as a child, but he loved to listen to her retell them to his young Padawan.  His thoughts went to those very sketchbooks Anakin had mentioned, which were hidden away under his mattress, along with a small box of her belongings. She had given them to him as a sort of parting gift.  A promise; something for him to hold onto until she came back.

“So, why did she leave?” Ahsoka probed further.

“She left for that Kessel trafficking mission a few years ago,” the older Jedi responded.  The younger furrowed her brows, realizing it was something she’d learned in her classes.

“That was her?” Ahsoka was stunned.  “We’ve talked about her in our studies, she’s amazing.”

Obi-Wan smiled to himself.  “Yes, she is.”

Something about that mission sparked a faint memory in Ahsoka, something she’d read in an Archive file.  “Wait, didn’t the same girl destroy that sect of Black Knights that emerged a long time ago?”

The memory of that mission left a sour taste in Obi-Wan’s mouth.  He’d almost lost her that day.  He opened his mouth to respond but was quickly interrupted by Commander Cody’s voice crackling on his commlink.  

“General Kenobi, we’ve got an incoming ship from the east.  Looks like they’re here.”  Obi-Wan nodded at his Commander from across the platform, steeling his nerves as he watched the ship land.  

He held his breath as the hatch opened, watching two figures emerge.  Seraphine. He picked her out immediately as the one in front, knapsack hanging off her slight figure.  The one trailing behind must have been her friend that Master Yoda mentioned.  Obi-Wan urged himself to calm his emotions; stay cool and collected.  

That silly notion completely disappeared upon seeing her walk down the platform.

Oh, Maker, she was beautiful, he thought. Just like she had been the day she left, but things were a bit different now.  Her face had matured and while she always had a hardened demeanor, there was something else she wore on her face now.  A sort of defiance in her brow that wasn’t there before.  

Back then, Seraphine had buried herself in her Jedi robes like a security blanket.  Always trying to make herself smaller, quieter.  But now?  Obi-Wan was in awe at how much taller she stood on that platform.  Without even thinking, his eyes roved up and down her body. Her robes kept her somewhat obscured, but he could make out the new fabric underneath.  It was still modest, but he never remembered seeing so much of her skin before, especially her legs.  The thought made his face blaze and he quickly tried to think about anything else.  She mirrored Anakin in her dark colored wardrobe— not a traditional Jedi look but then again, she was not a traditional Jedi.  

He willed his eyes to shift their focus back to her face, noting how long her hair had grown.  When she had left, it was still short and choppy from her Knighting, when she had impulsively cut it along with her Padawan braid.  Now, it was long and flowing, like when they were younglings.  A silver circlet sat at the top of her head, attached to a chain that weaved into her violet locks and made her look like an angel, her namesake.  

Obi-Wan’s chest tightened as they got closer, and realized it was because he hadn’t taken a single breath since she stepped off the ship. Reminding himself to breathe, his eyes fell on the familiar swirl of tattoos on the edges of her face and down her neck.  Others often found her markings too striking, too stark of a contrast on her skin and features, but Obi-Wan always thought it suited her perfectly.  

He desperately tried to make out her expression, but her head was tilted towards Cody as she walked and talked.  Her presence was immediately soothing to him, a pulse of comfort in the Force, but there was a cloud of uncertainty that hung in the air.  Whether it was hers, or his own, he couldn’t tell.  Would she even be happy to see him?

Those thoughts dissipated when Seraphine finally looked away from Cody.  Obi-Wan watched as those golden brown eyes lit up and she broke into that wide, toothy smile of hers that always made him melt.  It was a smile that rivaled even Master Fisto’s trademark grin.  

His heart was in his throat, but he managed to smile back.  In the blink of an eye, the space between them was erased and her arms had enveloped him in a hug that was too big for someone of her size.  He stiffened on reflex, but quickly relaxed.  Obi-Wan was never one for public displays of affection but for her he would make an exception.  

“Obi-Wan,” she breathed into his ear, clutching him tight. Disbelief tinged her voice and the air around them, like she wasn’t sure if any of this was real.  He clutched her just as hard, assuring her that it was. Her touch had stoked something in him, and he realized how long it’d been since he hugged another human being.

“Seraphine, my darling,” the term of endearment slipping out.  Obi-Wan rarely called her that with so many people around, but frankly he was too happy to care.  Gone were the days of having to reach out into the Force just to feel a taste of her presence.  Now, he was almost overwhelmed by it.  Their Bond seemed to swirl in harmony, sending waves of bliss and relief over them.

He didn’t mind.  All that mattered to him was the fact that she was finally back home with him, where she belonged.  

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Seraphine’s stomach somersaulted as the ship dropped out of hyperspace and made its descent onto the landing platform.  The nerves were overwhelming, but a tiny ball of excitement sat in her chest as well.  She’d be seeing her best friend again.  

The hatch of the ship opened with a hiss and she willed her legs to move forward, half aware of Cordé trailing behind. The two were greeted by a Commander Cody at the bottom before making their way towards the Temple entrance.

From afar, Seraphine could see a small group of people gathered that seemed to be waiting.  She squinted, trying to make out any faces while making small talk with Cody.  Her heart caught in her throat when she was close enough to see him.  Obi-Wan.

Oh, still as handsome as the day I left him, she thought.  He looked a bit different, but that familiar twinkle in his eyes let Seraphine know that it was still her best friend standing before her.  Not to mention the signature smirk he so often wore.  Smug bastard.  

He had grown older, but not in a bad way. The smile lines that crinkled around his eyes made him look even more distinguished.  His hair had grown out, accompanied by a well-groomed beard that suited him perfectly.  Maker, that beard, she thought.  Seraphine willed her mind to keep itself in check, but that kriffing beard was raising all sorts of sinful thoughts in her head.  Thoughts she quickly shook away as her face began to heat up.  

The traditional Jedi attire he usually wore included additions of battle armor that broadened his shoulders and heightened his build.  Seraphine never thought she’d live to see the day where Obi-Wan Kenobi, the ever “peaceful negotiator”, donned an outfit for war but he looked good.  It should be a damn crime to look that good.  

The excitement in her chest was crushing and her feet surged forward on their own.  A huge grin was plastered on her face as she threw her arms around him, whispering his name. She felt Obi-Wan stiffen for a split second, but his arms dropped and encircled her just as quick.  

“Seraphine, my darling,” he whispered softly in her hair. A stronger flush rose on her cheeks at the sound of his nickname for her, and she was thankful he couldn’t see her face. She breathed in his scent and smiled. Still the same as before: warm, clean, with a hint of oak.  Seraphine squeezed tighter, wanting to make sure it was really him standing in front of her.  No more reaching out into the Force just to feel a faint taste of his presence.  Now his signature shined brightly, blazing through their Bond.  He was really here, and she was finally home.

The grin never left her face as she took a step back to look at him.  Stormy blue eyes meeting hers and making her heart melt.  A wave of relief washed over them, and neither was able to tell whose it was.

There was so much Seraphine wanted to say, but the right words just wouldn’t seem to form.  Instead, she resorted to what she knew best with him— teasing.  She playfully tapped the end of his beard with a small smirk.  

“You look… different,” she said with a laugh, and thankfully he did too.  “In a good way.”  A smile spread across Obi-Wan’s face, along with that twinkle in his eye.  

“I could say the same about you,” he countered, and Seraphine’s face betrayed her with another blush.  The older Jedi thought it was endearing how easily flustered she was, even if she found it mortifying.  He watched in amusement as she tried to force it down and cover it up with an eyeroll.

Remembering they weren’t alone, Seraphine turned to the man standing next to Obi-Wan.  Her brows furrowed, trying to identify him.  He seemed to enjoy watching her try and figure it out, judging from the mischievous smile on his face.  Something about it made him look so familiar, almost like…

“Anakin?” Seraphine asked, dumbfounded.  Anakin responded with an even bigger grin than hers before reaching out for his own hug.  “Gods, I can’t believe it.  You’re not a little kid anymore,” she mumbled, feeling bittersweet.  He had completely grown up in her absence, his figure towering over hers.  The thought was sobering.  Seraphine felt like it was just yesterday she was wrapping him in blankets, acclimating him to the cold of Coruscant.  

“It’s good to see you again, Seraphine,” he punctuated with a tight squeeze.  As she looked over his shoulder, she met the eyes of a young Togruta girl.  She wondered why a Padawan would be here, but still gave a polite smile as she pulled back from Anakin.  

“I don’t believe we’ve met yet, what’s your name?” Seraphine inquired, extending an arm out as a greeting.  The girl seemed to be skeptical at first, but with a small nod from Anakin she took Seraphine’s hand.  

“I’m Ahsoka Tano.  I’m Master Skywalker’s Padawan,” she answered, pride clear in her voice.  Seraphine tried to hide her surprise as she let go of her hand.  While Anakin had been a very skilled and powerful student when she left, he was still wild and headstrong.  The fact that he’d been Knighted, let alone given a Padwan, shocked her.  I supposed if anyone could get a Padawan so early, it’d be the Chosen One, she thought.  

“Seraphine Kharis, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I know,” Ahsoka replied, much to Seraphine’s confusion.  “We’ve talked about the Kessel mission in our studies.  Your work is looked up to by a lot of us.”

Seraphine tilted her head at her, a look of puzzlement on her face.  They talked about us in their classes?  “Well, it certainly wasn’t just me, I had a lot of help.  Especially from her,” she assured, putting a hand on Cordé’s shoulder.

After everyone was introduced, the group made their way towards the inside of the Temple.  Falling into stride with Obi-Wan, Seraphine leaned to his side to whisper.

“They gave him a Padawan already?”

“Hey!” Anakin interjected, shooting a glare my way.  Obi-Wan chuckled.

“Oh, trust me.  I expressed the same sentiment at first, but he seems to be doing alright so far,” Obi-Wan assured.  Seraphine could only imagine his initial reaction but knew that he trusted Anakin.  That didn’t stop her from teasing though.

“Right, I can tell from the number of new grays you’re sporting.”

Ahsoka’s mouth fell open in shock and laughter while Anakin snickered.  Obi-Wan simply glared back, but Seraphine knew there was a small smile threatening to take over.

“It’s nice to know you haven’t lost your sense of humor while you were gone,” he countered.  

“Never,” she smirked.  Obi-Wan shook his head at her.  

“Now, you two can drop your bags off in your rooms, but I’m afraid we’ll have to go straight into the briefing after.  The Council is waiting, and you’ll be introduced to your clone divisions.”

Anakin and Ahsoka announced they’d be going ahead while Obi-Wan led the remaining duo to the main sleeping quarters.  Seraphine was surprised to see that they had decided to give her old room back, with Cordé being given the one right across.  

Seraphine peered into the old room, not sure what to expect.  The quaint space she had spent almost her entire life in was void of any artifacts or trinkets that once branded it her own, but strangely still felt like home.

Some things never change.