#“Get some sleep ner cyare”

[sweetlittlestarbursts]

they've stolen my heart again...

Cody: Okay, truth or dare? Obi-Wan: Truth Cody: How many hours have you slept this week? Obi-Wan: Obi-Wan: ...Dare Cody: Go to bed. Obi-Wan : I don’t like this game

[janghoefett]

Telephone Line (Jango Fett x F!Reader)

Jango needs to provide an, ahem, sample of sorts for the Kaminoan cloners and needs your help via holovid. Please check warnings.

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ Pairing: F/M Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Established relationship with set boundaries, yearning, breeding kink (ish), mutual masturbation, use of toy, instructions, dirty talk, praise kink!! jango is in a soft mood

and perhaps you can consider this as part of the hotline bling universe, apparently i can only write booty call themed fics for jango

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

Metal tools. An examination table. Bright lights. A stiff metal chair in the corner.

Did the Kaminoans really expect Jango to produce a semen sample in a place like this? Well, it’s not like he hadn’t been able to get off in worse conditions, the bounty hunter thinks to himself... and he certainly had been paid to do worse things than jerking off.

Although he had the room to himself, laying on the examination table under the lights would make him feel as if he were on display, like some sort of specimen. He could stand; he does it enough in the fresher. But, no. He’d rather sit and try to get comfortable. So, with the empty cup in his hand, Jango takes a seat in the metal chair. 

He’s absolutely flaccid, there’s a chill in the air, and there is not even a morsel of humanity in sight to inspire the aid of his imagination. Jango unhooks his codpiece and frees his cock, spitting on his hand before giving himself a few tentative strokes.

Jango closes his eyes and sighs. Naturally, his mind wanders to you. 

Stars, he missed you while he was away... he wished you could stay with him on Kamino full time. The last night you had spent together had been replaying in his mind over the last few days. You just felt so good and you were just so beautiful that Jango could still imagine you if he closed his eyes... yes, he could see you now. He could hear your soft moans. He could feel your soft skin. He could smell the fragrance on your skin. 

Jango starts to grow hard at just the mere thought. He wonders what you’re doing, what you’re wearing... he wonders if you were still thinking about that last time the way he was. 

Well, he could wonder about you all day long... or he could, you know, call you.

Jango pulls out his comm and sets it in front of him, his thick fingers punching in a few commands. He does some math and realizes it was late on Coruscant, though he figured you were still awake, and he prays to the maker that you would pick up.

“Jango,” you answer happily, pleased to see the flickering blue image of your Mandalorian. You’re sitting in your bed wearing nothing but a warm sweater over your underwear. Perhaps Jango would be in for a treat tonight, you think to yourself.

“Ner sarad,” he smiles.��“Miss me?”

“Of course,” you smile, already feeling your cheeks growing warm. Stars, the things just the sight of this man did to you....

“Listen, I...” Jango starts. “I need to give the Kaminoans another sample. And I’m thinking about you.”

Oh. 

“You’re thinking about me?” you repeat with that wicked smirk.

“Course I am. Thinking about last time.”

“I’ve been thinking about last time too. Stars, Jango...” you sigh. You shift in your seat remembering just how good it was. “Tell me what you need. I’m all yours.”

“Can I see you, pretty girl?” he rasps, his voice turning husky.

You hum lowly in approval, pulling your sweater up over your head as Jango readjusts the range of his comm, revealing his cock to you. You lay back on the bed to give Jango a full view, left only in the racy bra and underwear he had bought you when he went to Naboo.

“Mesh’la, always so perfect,” Jango groans. His grip grows tighter and he tugs. “Spread your legs for me. Let me see that pretty cunt.”

You slip the underwear off past your ankles and spread your legs, inhaling raggedly at the way you were exposing yourself to the rugged Mandalorian. Your hand comes between your legs to spread your folds, rubbing yourself gently. 

“Fuck, Jango, I wish you were here...” you sigh.

“I know, angel. Soon.”

The low vibrations of Jango’s voice send a chill up your spine. You both stroke yourselves languidly, your eyes fixed on the images of each other. The sight of Jango’s fist around his cock is enough to get you wet fast.

“Don’t have much time...” Jango rasps. “I know you have that little toy in your dresser. Use it for me.”

You reach over and pull out the toy with excitement, a plain dildo that came in handy while Jango was away, and grab the bottle of lube next to it. Jango watches you prepare with hungry eyes as he pumps himself. You bite your lip as you watch Jango grip his cock, lining up the toy and slipping it in slowly, gasping at the intrusion.

“Feel good?” he asks, squeezing his cock and trying to recreate the pressure of your warm, wet heat.

“Yeah,” you whine. You move the toy in and out tentatively, breathing heavily. “Wish I could feel you... stars, you look huge.”

Jango chuckles. “It’s all for you, girl,” he groans, watching your cunt flutter around the stiff cock. “Can you move for me? Want to see how you fuck yourself while I’m away.”

You throw your head back upon hearing his words, starting to work yourself slowly. Jango’s hand begins to pump in time with your movements. Your hips buck as you imagine the way Jango was on top of you last, moving the toy faster.

You watch the bounty hunter as he pleasures himself to just the sight of you, and the thought of it alone is enough to push you closer to the edge. The ache between your legs is indescribable, straddling the line between pleasure and pain, as you chase your release. 

Jango’s grunts are audible, nearing quiet growls. “Fuck,” he curses upon seeing your wrist stutter when your legs shake.

“Jango...” you whimper.

“That’s it,” he growls. “You’re close, don’t stop.”

Your hands continue to pleasure yourself just right, your mouth falling agape as you find that spot. Jango pumps himself faster. “Shit, I-” he grunts.

“The cup. The cup, Jango,” you pant. You come with a small cry, stilling your motions.

Jango’s large hand swipes the cup from the table and he angles his cock downwards, reaching his peak with a gruff groan as he empties himself into the container.

The sight of Jango Fett, fully armored and groaning as his cock weeps pearly white tears is one that would you remember for a long, long time. You bite your lip and take the toy out, groaning at the empty feeling.

“So when are you going to fill me up like that?” you sigh contentedly in your state of ecstasy. “I want to make those warriors we talked about.”

“When are you going to leave Coruscant and finally come live with me, cyare?” Jango counters, his voice soft and wrought with desire.

Your heart flutters upon hearing Jango repeat his request, but you don’t have an answer for him. Kamino was the last place you wanted to be, under the constant observation of those long-necked scientists. You knew Jango couldn’t live just anywhere, and while what you had with the famous hunter was special, it was almost impossible.

“Jango...” you sigh.

“I know,” he says, bowing his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Jango tucks himself away as you wrap a blanket around yourself to fight the chill of the night air.

“Stars, girl, you were so good for me,” he remarks, reattaching his codpiece. “I have to go turn this in.”

“Will I get to see you soon?” you ask.

“You have my word,” Jango smiles. “Now sleep tight for me, cyare. You’ll see me sooner than you think.”

[mandospace]

Cuun aliit morut'yc (Din Djarin x Reader)

Request: hi heard your requests are open and I was wondering if I could request mando x reader ? Maybe reader is having a nightmare and calls out for him or something ? Thank you 💕✨

Requested By: @theichabbieclub​

Word Count: 1,873

Warnings: Violence, sligh swearing, racism/microaggression??(Gideon is an ass, you’ll see what I mean), nightmares, fluff.

A/N: It has been so long since I’ve posted anything, and I am so sorry for that. College has been kicking my butt recently since it is my last semester and there is just not enough time in the day for me to get everything done. Also sorry that it’s so short and being posted so late. Anyways, I hope you like it and my requests are open! Or you can also just drop by to say hello :)

MASTERLIST

You had to find them. 

Adrenaline was pumping through your veins, pushing your legs to move faster down the dark corridor. At every door you slammed on the breaks, flung it open, and scanned the room for your missing family. With every empty room, the feeling of dread settled deeper.

“No, no, no,” you repeat to yourself, flinging open another door. Empty. Feet scrambled to the next one. Empty, again. They had to be here, right? Logic and reason told you that they had to be here, somewhere, in this giant starship. Your family hidden from you.

Another door, another empty room. Dread soon replaced the adrenaline that was pumping through your veins. It was like you could feel it’s icy grip on you, freezing every cell in your body. Your heart beat faster in your chest, trying to keep the icy tendrils at bay. It was no use, they were gone— gone from you forever and there was nothing that you could do about it.

Just as you were about to accept your lonely fate and let the numbness set in, you heard it— a small, tiny giggle. Immediately your head snapped up and to the left. You knew that laugh, that giggle— it was one you heard from your adopted son every time you played hide and seek with him.

Your boots scrambled for purchase on the shiny waxed floor and you chased after the sound. With every turn you could hear it getting louder— more full and heartier. Tears started to wet the corner of your eyes at the idea that you almost found him— your ad’ika.

The laughter was coming from behind a black door, identical to the others. It finally slid open and you saw him— a little green thing dressed in his brown sack. The bottom was torn and one of his little feet was sticking out of it— you and Din had sewn it together to protect his feet once he started walking. Your heart tugged at the memory. The tears began to flow freely.

“Oh, ad’ika,” you breathed out in relief. You fell to your knees to scoop up the little bean but he seemed to disappear right under your fingertips— like a mirage or a hologram. Confusion replaced the relief you once felt.

A ‘tsk-ing’ sounded from behind you and you spun around on your knees. From the shadows emerged Moff Gideon, holding your son in his arms. Grogu had small handcuffs around his tiny wrists and a muzzle over his small mouth. His ears dropped in sadness.

“Let go of him!” the snarl ripped through your chest and before you could lunge out at him, four stormtroopers had their blasters trained on you.

“Now, is that any way to address your superior?” Gideon smirked down at you, stepping further into the dim light of the room.

“You’re not my superior. You are the scum of the galaxy. You aren’t even worth bantha shit.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled patronizingly at you. “You really should watch your mouth, girl. Especially since I have your son and Mandalorian.”

The mention of Din must have made you react or something because shortly after Gideon was back to laughing at you. The stormtroopers moved in on you, blasters trained at your head while the door slid open. Another trooper dragged something behind him, and to your shock and horror you realized the thing he was dragging was Din’s limp body.

“Mand—” before the words even fully left your mouth a trooper was swinging the back of his hand towards your face, backhanding you. Blood filled your mouth.

Din laid in a heap of beskar, unmoving and lifeless. Your eyes searched his form for any type of injury. He was barely breathing— his chest only raising slightly. You turned back to Gideon.

“What did you do to him?”

“You should be more worried about what I will do to him than what I already have done, girl,” Gideon stepped closer to Din’s unconscious body, giving him a swift kick to the ribs. A horrible crunching sound reverberated through the room.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” tears flowed past your cheeks. “Please.”

Gideon just smiled ruefully at you while he knelt down next to Din’s limp body. He leaned in close to his helmeted face. “Did you hear that, Mando? Your girl is begging me to not hurt you. Should I listen to her?”

“Please.”

“Okay, then,” Gideon stood up but not before nudging Din’s helmet with his boot. “Maybe she’d prefer if I hurt your child?”

“NO!” the cry was ripped from your chest. Gideon had grabbed Grogu by the back of his sack and gave him a shake. His small whimpers and big eyes broke your heart into a million pieces. “Please, no. Please, do something to me instead. Don’t hurt my family, please.”

“Interesting proposition, but no.” Gideon tossed Grogu to the ground next to his father. You went to move towards them but was met with blasters poking your back. “Why would I hurt you— physically, at least— when I can hurt my most hated adversary?”

Immediately the blasters that were trained on you moved to Din. “No, please, no!”

“It’s a package deal for me, it really is,” Gideon sauntered towards you, crouching on his haunches. His gloved hand gripped your jaw and forced you to look him in the eyes. “I first will kill the child that turned out to be a waste of my efforts. Then, as you are sobbing over your dead child, I kill Mando as he watches his— what do you people call it? Riduur?” the Mando’a wraps distastefully around his tongue. “Well, whatever it is— I kill him in a merciful act to put him out of his misery. And then that leaves you, whom I will drop off on some desolate moon to live out the rest of your days knowing you couldn’t have done a damn thing to change the outcome.”

Your eyes widened in horror at his plan. “You’re a monster!”

“No, girl,” Gideon stood. “I’m Empire.”

He motioned with his hands and suddenly all of the blasters were trained on your son. 

“NO!” your cries tumbled past your lips and onto deaf ears. “Please, no! Mando, wake up! Mando!”

“Say goodbye to your family.”

The remaining troopers grabbed you by the arms and forced you to watch what was about to happen. You struggled in their grasp but it was no use. “Mando! D-Din! Din, wake up! Din! DIN!”

Time slowed down and a single red plasma beam streaked towards your son. “DIN!”

“Cyare, wake up.”

You felt someone shaking you but you were still frozen in place, watching your life be destroyed.

“Cyar’ika, please,” Din’s voice seemed to be coming from behind you, but that made no sense— he was currently on the floor in front of you, motionless. “Come back to me.”

It was those four words that pulled you from your nightmare. Eyes flying open, you were met with the dark interior of the ship, not the Imperial starship you thought you were on. Your breaths came quickly and your heart raced. You searched the area for Din and gasped when you felt his warm touch on your arm. 

“Din,” you cried and flung your arms around his neck. He immediately pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist. The cold beskar and the warmth of his exposed neck grounded you— he was still dressed from the day’s earlier hunt, sans his glove and helmet. His scent enveloped you and the feeling of his tousled locks under your fingertips brought you back to reality.

“Are you alright?” he pressed his lips to your hairline and rubbed soothing circles into your back. When you shook your head and buried your face further into his neck, he picked up his motions. “Shhhh, it's okay. I have you. I’m here.”

You hadn’t noticed but you began to shake violently in Din’s arms as the sobs wracked through your body. Din just held you tighter, pressed kisses to your forehead, and whispered soothing Mando’a in your ear. 

After you had calmed down a bit, you pulled back from Din who’s neck and cowl was now soaked with your tears. His brown eyes searched yours and his warm palm cupped your cheek, his thumb lightly grazing your cheekbone. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You didn’t want to talk about ‘it’ in fear that you would break down at the memory of your son being shot. Your son!

“Din, where’s Grogu?” your voice came out high and panicked. You could feel the anxiety gripping your heart. 

“He’s in his pram, sleeping,” both of his hands were cupping your face now. His forehead dropped to yours in a Keldabe kiss. “He’s fine, he’s safe. I’m safe. You’re safe. Our aliit is safe.”

“I—I need to see him,” your words still held a sense of panic. “Hold him.”

“Of course, Cyare,” Din pressed his lips to yours briefly— reassuring you that he would be right back. When he returned with a grumpy looking frog in his arms— not happy that he was woken from his sleep— the tears streaming down your face were no longer from sorrow but joy.

“Oh, my ad’ika!” you reached out for your son and took him from his father’s arms. At seeing his mother, Grogu let out a small chirp of happiness. You held him tightly to your chest and placed kisses all over his wrinkly green forehead. Grogu must have sensed your distress because he started to pat your cheek with his tiny hand. 

Din took his place next to you and pulled you back onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping tightly around his family. Grogu curled into your chest and you curled into Din’s. 

“We’re safe, ner riduur,” his warm lips pressed against your forehead. “Cuun aliit morut'yc.”

“I was so scared, Din,” you whispered, placing a gentle kiss to your sleeping child’s head. You met Din’s eyes. “It was awful.”

“I know, Cyare,” he resumed rubbing soothing circles into your back. “You were calling out for me in your sleep, screaming my name. You only do that when it’s really bad.”

“Oh,” this was news to you. You never knew that you talked in your sleep. “Sorry.”

“No, do not be sorry, Riduur,” Din grabbed your chin and tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I will always be there for you when you need me. Remember our vows? ‘Mhi me'dinui an— we will share all.’ That includes sharing your fears and sorrows. You don’t have to face them alone, Riduur.”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Din.”

The smallest smile formed on his lips. He would never tire of hearing you say that. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

He leaned in and captured your lips in a soft kiss— one that said everything left unspoken. How Din would always be there for you. How he would protect you and your small clan of three. How he would fight till his dying breath to keep you safe and happy. You were his family, his aliit, and no amount of bad dreams would take that away from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MANDO’A TRANSLATIONS:

Cyare = beloved

Cyar’ika = darling, sweetheart

Riduur = partner, spouse, husband, wife

Ner riduur = my partner, spouse, husband, wife

Ad’ika = little one, son, daughter

Aliit = family

Cuun aliit morut'yc = our family is safe

Mhi me'dinui an =  we will share all; a part of the Mandalorian marriage vows

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = I love you

[silverwings22]

Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter 9 Feels Like This: Maisie Peters

Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness

Chapter warning: character injury, nauseating amounts of fluff

Translations: Cyar'ika: sweetheart

cyare: beloved

mesh'la: beautiful

ner kar'ta: my heart

ni kar'tayl gar darasuum: I know/love you for eternity

Previous chapter:

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21 BBY

Crosshair was curled up in his rack on the Havoc Marauder, in a mood and unable to sleep.  And he'd been trying for hours.  

They'd landed on Coruscant two days ago after a particularly difficult run on Separatist supply chains in the Outer Rim.  And, as usual,  nothing went right in their lives.  One of those Sith people she'd talked about, a woman Miria called Ventress, had been guarding the flagship they'd rushed.  The whole mission ran on repeat through his mind like a bad holo vid, tinged red through the haze of memory. 

"If it isn't the Order's crippled little pet." The skinny figure of the Sith circled,  having cut the Jedi off from her unit.  "What are you going to do without your batch of mutants to back you up?"

Miria smiled pleasantly, though her eyes were colder than Hoth. "And here I thought this would be a boring mission. Ventress,  always a pleasure.  Your hair is lovely."

Trapped with three sets of blast doors between them and waiting desperately for Tech to get them open, Crosshair could only hear the banter and hum of sabers through her open comm line in his helmet.  He hardly dared to breathe in case he distracted her and cost her the fight.  Or her life. 

"Maybe I should put you out of your misery. You should have stayed with your precious younglings."

"If someone had taken the time to show you some kindness as a youngling,  we might have been friends." Miria said mildly. Sabers hummed again and Hunter tensed,  barely noticeable to anyone but the brothers who knew him best.  "Oh, dear. One of the best duelists in the Order training you and you're still this sloppy? Now Ventress, you can do better." Her tone turned mocking. 

"Who are you calling sloppy, you walking corpse?!" Ventress hissed, locking her twin sabers against Mirias as the batch finally got through the third set of doors into the reactor room.  

Their Jedi was holding her own, though the strain was starting to show on her face.  "Crosshair! The reactor core,  now!"

He lifted his rifle,  hesitating a split second.  She was too close to the reactor, she'd-

"CROSS!"

He pulled the trigger.  

"It's your turn to keep watch." Tech muttered as he walked past Crosshairs rack,  returning him to the here and now.  

"Might as well.  I can't sleep for shit." Crosshair grumbled and sat up, reaching for his gear.  Mirias hairbrush sitting on her footlocker beside his stuff made him pause. 

"You're worried about General Halcyon." Tech observed, keeping his voice low to avoid waking Hunter. Wrecker they'd have to bludgeon if they needed him. 

Crosshair's shoulders slumped slightly.  "Yeah. She wasn't… doing well.  When we landed."

That barely covered it.  When he'd shot out the reactor core,  she'd shielded all of them from the explosion with the Force.  Including Ventress.  Who'd taken the chance to literally stab her in the back, all the while her own use of the Force to save their lives was shredding her lungs to ribbons. 

He never wanted to hear her scream like that, choked with blood and in agony as the red saber went through the back of her shoulder and out the front,  again.  

"She made it to the temple healers in good spirits for her condition when we delivered her. She waved goodbye from the gurney." Tech sat on the edge of his bunk and looked at his brother. 

"Because she didn't want anyone to worry.  You didn't sit on the hold floor with her the whole way back,  you didn't see-"

"She didn't want anyone to worry. But you are worried."

"Of course I am."

"Why?" Tech prodded. He was confident he knew the answer,  but he also knew Crosshair.  When it came to anything remotely emotional,  until he said the words out loud he could deny the feeling existed.  It was a great coping mechanism for stress or fear on the battlefield, but not so much when you were the only one of your brothers to have an actual girlfriend.  

How Miria put up with him for nearly a year so far was anyone's guess. 

Crosshair's hands flexed on his knees, his eyes fixed downward and sharp.  Why?  He could have almost laughed at how ridiculous the question felt.  How couldn't he be worried?  It was Miria, the first sleepy smile he saw every morning.  The person who turned on the caf maker, who reminded everyone to eat when they got busy. Who slipped up behind him and put her arms around his shoulders when he was sitting on the bridge studying terrain maps. The soft spoken assurance everything would be fine while blaster fire rained down on them.  The hands that stitched wounds closed, the kiss that settled or raised his heartbeat depending on context.  The arms he curled up in when they were finally exhausted. The face he kriffing dreamed about. 

She had become everything to him.  No fucking wonder he couldn't sleep.  

He put his head in his hands,  rubbing his temples.  "I think I'm… fuck.  No,  you shouldn't be the first person I say it to."

Tech smiled.  "I'm sure the General will appreciate that. For what it's worth,  I believe she came to the same conclusion several months ago, but didn't want to say anything that might push you away."

Crosshair reached for a toothpick.  "What makes you say that?"

"She likes to meditate when it's my turn in the cockpit.  I don't disturb her,  but sometimes we talk after." Tech shrugged. "She has a perspective I would normally not consider, but is valuable all the same. I approach the galaxy logically.  Wrecker is impulsive.  Hunter is analytical,  and you are cynical.  But the general approaches the galaxy with compassion. It's…. Refreshing. And interesting,  to hear what someone like her thinks about you."

Crosshair cocked an eyebrow. "Is this gonna piss me off?"

"I don't believe so. She adores you,  Crosshair." Tech chuckled softly.  "But I think she's the one you should talk to. "

"Right…" Crosshair murmured, standing up.  Fuck,  how was he going to get into the Temple…

"I'll cover your watch." Tech smiled fondly. "Also, I believe General Skywalker is on shore leave on Coruscant and might be persuaded to be of assistance. He and General Halcyon are friends, and his relationship with the rules is ... quite interpretive. Maybe more so than ours."

Crosshair nodded.  "... Thanks. Really." He grabbed his armor but left the rifle.  That might be more trouble than he cared to explain.  

Tech just shooed him out. Crosshair sighed and pulled up his comm to ping Skywalker.  Then he thought better of it,  and pinged the padawan instead. 

I need a favor.  It's for Miria.

Once you're used to sleeping with someone, sleeping alone is garbage.  

Miria lay quietly in her rooms in the temple,  shoulder bandaged. She'd spent hours in the Halls, finally brought back here to rest in peace. Anakin had dropped by to say hello,  Obi-wan and Plo Koon had commed to check on her. Their pleasant conversation did nothing to dull the ache of longing in her chest.  

She wanted Crosshair. After spending nearly a year with him half on top of her in the narrow bunk of the ship or, more rarely, Kaminoan barracks she could barely close her eyes without missing his heartbeat under her ear. 

Force, she was violating every tenant she'd been raised with to be with that man. She couldn't help it.  She was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him.  Despite everything,  her illness, the war,  the Jedi code, and the fact he'd been created in a lab… she loved him.  She wasn't supposed to,  but when had the heart ever really obeyed?

A knock at the door startled her and she got up. Her bad arm hung limp in a sling to take pressure off the shoulder. Bacta might heal,  but a lightsaber wound was a lightsaber wound. It took time that she'd rather have spent with her sniper.  

She pulled her cloak over her shoulders but didn't bother with the arms,  just trying to make herself decent instead of running around in her short sleep shorts and tank top she could actually manage to get on and off one handed.  She pulled her door open. 

Her eyes lit up with delight at the familiar face. "Cross… How'd you get in here?" She sidestepped so he could walk in.  

"Tano. I just told her I needed to bring you something from the ship." Once the door shut, he pulled her to him.  "You okay, cyar'ika?"

She put her head over his chest and smiled, instantly content.  "Hm. Feel better already."

Crosshair chuckled and slid one hand under the back of her knees while the other cradled the small of her back. He was mindful of her shoulder, sitting on her couch with her sideways in his lap.  As soon as she was settled,  he kissed her forehead.  "Missed you."

Mirias eyes softened. She treasured the moments he was sweet with her,  rare between their hard lives and the rough way he handled her when there was stress to be worked out. Not that she complained about that either.  She loved any excuse to be in his arms.  "I missed you too."

Crosshair cuddled her close. "I hate it when you end up here… I know it's your home, and you grew up here,  but it seems like every time we're here you're hurt or sick."

"I'm always sick, darling.  It's part of my life… but the Temple hasn't felt like home in a long time." She admitted quietly.  

He lifted his head,  eyes finding hers.  There was something in his eyes she wasn't used to seeing. Fear, though something laced over it… something like hope. "Yeah?"

"You're going to tease me for being sentimental." She kissed his jaw.

"No. I want to hear it. Please, cyar'ika." 

Crosshair never begged for anything. It both broke and soothed her heart to hear,  and she lay her good hand on his cheek. "My home… it's on the Marauder. Or Kamino. It's right here. " Her hand drifted down to his chest. "Wherever you are is where my home is."

Crosshair slid a hand over hers.  "Miria… I want to tell you something.  That's why I came."

He sounded so nervous,  so uncharacteristically shaken it almost scared her.  "I'm listening." 

Crosshair took a deep breath. "I was talking to Tech,  and he asked..  why I was worried about you. So I had to think… and I realized that… you're everything. All the good things,  anyway.  I… I think I love you."

Mirias eyes widened,  but she smiled. "Crosshair…"

"I know.  We're not supposed… you're not allowed and I'm-"

"Stop talking." She leaned up,  cutting his blather with her lips on his.  "We're part of the Bad Batch,  when have we ever done anything the way we're supposed to?  I love you too."

Relief flooded through him and Crosshair put his head on her shoulder,  letting her run her fingers through his hair.  "What do we do now…?" He finally murmured,  once he felt like he could breathe again.  

"The same thing we've always done." She chuckled.  "Fight a war and steal as much time as we can."

"I'm selfish.  I want more than that." He grumbled into her neck.  "I want more of you. But if I take you away,  you'll die…"

"We all die eventually, darling…  But whatever I have left is yours." She held him tightly. "Maybe after the war,  I could leave in good graces.  Maybe they'd still be willing to help me… we could have a life together. You and I." It was a pipe dream, but it gave them hope.  Something to hold on. 

He smiled into her skin. "Wanna go to Salucemi?  Be Cut and Suus neighbors?"

She chuckled.  "While you hunt nexu?"

"It'd be a fun job." He nuzzled a little closer,  breath warm on her skin.  "I've never thought about a future like that. I didn't think I was built for it, ner cyare."

"That's a new word. It sounds like cyar'ika…" She kissed his temple softly.  "What's that mean?"

"... My beloved." He finally murmured.  "There's a lot of words I could use to describe you. "Cyar'ika. Cyare. Mesh'la. Ner kar'ta,  my heart…."

"There is a romantic in you,  Crosshair." She chuckled. "Who would have thought?"

"Just for one stubborn Jedi." He huffed.  

"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black?" She laughed.  "I'm stubborn?"

"Yeah. Who else would save a Sith?" He wrinkled his nose.

"Mercy is in short supply in this galaxy.  If I can offer it, maybe she'll come back to the light." She mused, cuddling a little closer.  Leaving the Order if she could wouldn't be enough to turn her away from some of those beliefs.  

"You're a dreamer,  but don't wake me up yet." He breathed against her skin.  

Miria smiled and held tight to the dream, once so unreachable.  A life outside these walls,  with Crosshair, loving him out loud…

She could win this war if that's what it took to have him as her own.

  "How's it going, General?" Wrecker sat down with Miria as she sat on the bridge of the ship,  working busily at a data pad.  He looked sheepish and had his hands behind his back. 

"Let her work,  Wrecker."  Tech scolded mildly, looking up from working on some little project he hadn't yet info-dumped on the group about. "General Halcyon is catching up on the units reports."

"It's alright,  Tech.  I need a break anyway." She chuckled,  looking up. "What is it, Wrecker?"

He didn't say anything, just pulled a black and red tooka stuffy with a torn ear from behind his back. 

Miria smiled. "Oh no. Lula!" She held her hands out.  "Here. I'll patch her up for you.  Will you get my sewing kit? It's in my footlocker."

"Thank you,  General." He grinned and wrapped her in a quick hug that swept her out of her chair before setting her down and darting toward the bunkroom.  

She chuckled fondly.  "Oh Wrecker…."

"You indulge him a lot, General." Tech raised an eyebrow.  "You indulge us all."

"Of course I do. You're my family." She said softly. "I don't really remember the one I was born in. But I have you… it's not just Crosshair that I love. It's just a different kind of love."

He blinked thoughtfully.  "I should have considered that…"

She smiled. "You're a genius.  But no one knows everything. And love is complex."

"I hope you know we care for you too."

She nodded.  "I do."

Wrecker came back with the sewing kit and Miria settled back in her chair to start repairing the doll. Wrecker sat at her feet.  "You don't think it's dumb that I have Lula, do you?"

"Not at all.  I used to have a purple one just like her when I was a padawan." She smiled. "I called her Violet."

"What happened to her?" Wrecker murmured.  

"I gave her a new friend.  A youngling in the creche who was lonely too." She smiled fondly. 

"Didn't you want to keep her?"

Miria paused,  looking down at the stuffy.  "Well, yes… but someone else needed her.  And I… won't live forever.  So sometimes it's okay to let things go." She patted his shoulder fondly.  "Other things are okay to hold onto.  Things that bring you joy, like Lula here,  can stay."

Wrecker smiled.  "Can you stay,  then? You make everyone happy."

Miria smiled. "I'd like to.  I hope that I can… Cross and I have talked about it… I don't know if it'll work.  But I want to try. Why don't you tell me what the future looks like for you,  if we ever get the chance?"

Wrecker pondered thoughtfully.  "I could work construction and demolition…. But I like little kids too. They..  get me.  How excitable I am.  Maybe you'll have some and I can be the fun uncle."

Miria paused again.  She couldn't deny she'd thought about it… being a mother.  Maybe a cute little silver haired kid… if her body could even survive the process. "What about you,  Tech?"

"I'd enjoy teaching at a university…" He mused. "Or some engineering position where my mind is appreciated. But Wrecker is right… I'd like to come home to my brothers and the people that make them happy." He chuckled.  "And we've seen with Cut and Suu that clones are capable of procreation."

"Does everyone want me to have a baby?" She flushed.  

"You have the experience." Hunter walked onto the bridge with a chuckle. 

"Not you too." She sighed. "We're talking about the future."

"I know. Heard you from the bunkroom." Hunter chuckled.  

"I'd scold you for eavesdropping, but I know you can't help it." She shook her head. "Come join us?"

"That was the plan."

"Well what about you,  Sergeant? What do you want?" Wrecker grinned. 

Hunter sat on a crate, drawing a knee up.  "Hmm… bounty hunter or survival guide. Or a search and rescue service. I could track people." He shrugged.  "Wouldn't mind finding someone who likes me. Building a house somewhere with everyone nearby."

Miria chuckled, tied a knot of thread off and handed Wrecker the doll. 

He grinned and squeezed it happily.  "You're awesome,  General."

"Thank you,  dear." She chuckled again. 

"Your turn,  General." Hunter chuckled. "What's your idea of the future?"

She smiled wistfully.  "Oh… I don't know.  If I could do anything… I don't mind doing anything as a job.  I can fight, or teach,  or care for children. I've even got a few medical skills… anything that provides enough to get by is good enough." She softly smiled.  "I… I  want to spend my life with the people I love most.  And I want it to be a long life. I want to be able to take long walks and sleep in late, spend hours exploring flowers and plant trees and get to see them grow…"

"And Crosshair?" Wrecker teased. 

The dreamy smile on her face warmed all their hearts. "I want to spend every day with him without wondering if it'll be the last…" The dream took hold again. A home all their own, giving him all the things he craved and never asked for. Unconditional acceptance and freedom and love. 

And maybe,  just maybe,  another member of this strange little family. 

"We'll find a way to give it to you.  There's gotta be a cure somewhere in this galaxy." Hunter promised. 

Her face fell.  "The greatest healers in the Order have no idea what's really wrong with me.  How a kyber crystal can cause all this…." She rubbed her shoulder tiredly. "Even living it,  I only understand so much."

"They don't have Tech's mind." Hunter pointed out.

She nodded, softening some.  "Is Crosshair in the cockpit? I'm going to stall on these reports a little longer."

The guys laughed. "Get some rest, General."

She shoved up tiredly and headed up to the cockpit where her boyfriend was seated.  She slipped warm arms around his shoulders and planted a kiss on his temple.  "There's the best sniper in the galaxy." She murmured. "How's it going?" 

"It's going. How are your reports, cyare?"

"Boring. So I took a break." She chuckled  "Sewed up Lula for Wrecker. Talked to the guys some. Missed your grumpy face."

He chuckled. "Hm. I'm not better conversation,  you know."

"But I love you best. So it evens out." She smiled and nuzzled against his cheek.  

He reached up and tangled a hand in her hair, watching the black and white strands curl around his fingers.  "What did you talk about?"

"The future.  What they want to do after the war…. They all want to stay together.  I think it's sweet."

"Not too close together. Maybe a compound." He murmured. "But we get our own space. And a bigger bed."

She smiled, letting him go so she could walk around and sit beside him.  "I like that idea." 

He rolled his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. Maker,  he wanted this so bad he could taste it. 

If she can leave the Order.  If we survive the war. If she really wants this …

"Cyare?"

"Yes, darling?"

He paused,  a brief moment of consideration in his eyes.  He didn't like asking the questions that made him feel vulnerable.  But it was okay.  Safe,  with her… "Do you really want to leave the Order for a clone? It's all you've ever known..."

She blinked. "Cross…"

"I just want you to be sure." He covered quickly.  

"No. I  don't want to leave for a clone. I want to leave for the man I love." She reached for his hand. "You're what I want. Being a clone doesn't matter."

He curled his fingers around hers, relief pulsing through the Force like a heartbeat. "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum." He murmured after a minute. 

She smiled. I'll love you for eternity.  

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

Sharing a bath, or accidentally sleeping in for Jaster/Walon? 🥰

Walon’s just kind of floating in the hot water when the door creaks open, but he doesn’t open his eyes. There are only two other people in the house, and neither is one that he’d be bothered with the appearance of. Both would be welcome for very, very different reasons, of course.

It’s Jaster’s heavier footsteps, though, and he allows his lips to twitch up in a smile. There’s the sound of soft cloth hitting the floor, and usually he’d scold but considering everything Jaster’s gone through in the last couple days, getting back home, he won’t dare. He’ll pick them up and fold them later. For now he just listens to the low groan as Jaster lowers himself into the path, sending the water level up a fraction even in this big basin. “Hello cyare,” he breathes and leans over to kiss Walon’s neck.

“Mm. Feeling alright?” he asks, enjoying the feeling as Jaster tugs him into his laugh.

“Just sore,” Jaster promises, nosing into Walon’s braid. “Nothing some hot water and attention won’t fix.” He says the latter part to make Walon laugh, and it works in bubbling up a soft chuckle from his chest. “Can I comb your hair out?”

“Alright,” Walon says. The ends are already damp and really he should just make today a wash day. It’s not like there’s anything else happening; classes are out for the next few days, after all.

The water laps against Jaster’s skin as he reaches back, taking the comb he’d carved Walon out of an animal bone on last years final campaign and unknotting the tie at the bottom of his braid all at once. Then he uses the thicker tooth at the end of the comb to unweave the simple three strand braid.

Walon sighs, feeling satisfied, as he begins to comb through the hair. “Do you want me to give you a rub down later?” he asks softly. “Would that help?”

Jaster scoffs, but he doesn’t say no. “You married an old man,” he does say mournfully.

“Jaster,” Walon says, tone warning him to not start this argument again. “You’re not old. You’re not nearly old enough to be my father and I have cousins from my parents’ younger siblings with a wider age difference from me than between you and I.”

Jaster pauses his combing. “You’ve not mentioned that before.”

Walon shrugs. “They assumed that the title would pass to them directly before I was born.”

Jaster scoffs again, but there’s more feeling in it. He doesn’t like the world that Walon came from one bit—not the planet, but the class system Walon was born into. Which is fair; Walon’s not terribly fond of it either.

“I’ll warm up the oil,” Walon decides, stroking a hand down Jaster’s thigh. “We’ll make a night of it.”

Jaster kisses the back of his head. “You’re too good to me.”

“You are the Mand’alor who picked a convert,” he reminds him. “You deserve all I can give you and more, ner kar’ta.”

It makes Jaster laugh, but he just goes back to combing out Walon’s hair and then braiding it back together with clever fingers. He might think that if he makes Walon relax enough, he’ll forget about the massage that will inevitably linger over the new, painful scars that he feels foolish for, even though none of them were expecting that kind of a betrayl.

“Kar’taylir darasuum,” Walon murmurs, turning back to kiss him.

“Kar’taylir darasuum,” Jaster echoes.

[echos-newlegs]

Hello ❤, can I get 29 with Jesse please? (She/her pronouns) and thank you

Riduur

Jesse x Fem!Reader: “I want to marry you..”

Oml yes, this seems so cute 🥺

Warnings: none

Not me posting before adding tags

Jesse had this idea that had been brewing in his mind for the past month. Now was it a good idea? Probably not, but the man was too stubborn to not go along with it.

You and him had been an item for nearly eight months now. ‘Almost long enough for y/n to pop out a kid!’ Fives would tease. Causing Jesse to either laugh, get flustered, shake his head, or all of the above. Kids weren’t really his forte. I mean sure, he’d love his own, hell. He’d die to have a kid of his own, but he knew that would never happen. Not with the war going on, and not with him being a clone. He wouldn’t even wish for it to happen. Too afraid something would happen and you would have to watch over a kid by yourself.

You were helping Kix on the field today. Being the medic for the 212th. Both the 212th and the 501st out playing with droids today. You honestly hated being there working along with the 501st. You loved the men, and the generals. Nothing against them. It was just with Jesse out there you couldn’t help but worry. It was one thing to worry from afar, but to be right there. With the possibility of not being able to help him? That hurt even worse for you.

You rubbed your face and sat down when the night was over and everyone was back to the safety of camp. So far there were no casualties. Though there were a few injured. Nothing too severe and you were thankful for that.

“Cyare,” Jesse hummed. Sitting next to you. Leaning a head on your shoulder. Causing your lips to press into a small grin. He was so open about affection after the day Fives caught you two cuddling and told basically everyone. So he just didn’t care at this point.

“Welcome back, Jess,” you spoke. Your hand finding his while you rested your head on his. “Can you walk with me?” He asked. You could tell he was nervous by the way he played with your fingers. So many thoughts rushing in and out of your brain. Did something happen? Was he okay?

“Yeah, sure, what’s wrong?” You asked with worried eyes and he shook his head. “Oh nothing, it’s nothing bad. I just wanna show you something.” His smile reassured you. Making you smile back as the two of you began your walk away from camp.

He was squeezing your hand a bit tighter than normal. It didn’t hurt, but it made you curious what he was up to. “So, where are we going?” “You’ll see.” He was always up to surprises, and quite frankly. You enjoyed them. “It better be worth missing an early sleep.” You told him. Kissing his shoulder, and he let out a light laugh. “Isn’t any time away with just me, worth missing an early sleep?” He asked, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Hmm.. no.” “Ouch,” he pouted, and you snickered.

You started looking around more, the trees that surrounded you were beginning to fade. Then Jesse moved in behind you covering your eyes. “Hey, what’s the big idea!” You spoke with a giggle, he tittered in your ear. Kissing behind it. “Shh, I want it to be a surprise.” You sighed. Free hand moving to fold across your chest. “It better be a good one,” “oh I’m fairly positive the view or either what I’ll be doing will surprise you.”

You were growing more curious now. What were his plans? He seemed determined to not tell, yet. So you knew begging with Jesse would do no good. Even if you knew you could probably get it out of him. You were honestly excited to watch this all play out. See what he had in stored.

When he removed his hand once the two of you came to a stop. Your eyes widened and you audibly gasped. The view was gorgeous. You could clearly see the stars and the other moons. Plus the giant planet near the moon you guys were wandering on. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured and his smile beamed. Nuzzling his nose into the side of your face. “I’m glad you like it, now come sit.”

You barely had anytime to protest before he was dragging you off to go and sit on a blanket laid out. Handing you a soda as he took his own. “Where’d you get these?” You asked, opening yours and taking a sip. “Fives, Rex and I found a whole crate of ‘em. We was told to leave them but Fives and I snuck a few bottles out. He was gunna give some to the other clones and I gave one to Kix. I told him to leave the Star Cherry for you though.” He explained, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him. Leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Well, thank you.” He nodded, wrapping an arm around you as he pulled you close to his side, head resting on top of yours.

“Anything for you, Beautiful.” He spoke, and your heart nearly melted. He was always so sweet to you. You wondered if you even deserved it sometimes. “Y/n,” you shifted a bit, still watching the stars. “Hm?” You hummed and he paused for a moment. “I want to marry you.”

His words made you pull back. Still sitting next to him, but now looking at him with wide eyes. “Before you say anything, Cyare, I love you. So much, and you know that,” he shifted to face you. Taking one of your hands in his. “We both know that, or should, and I.. When the war ends. I want to be with you, still. I want to be your riduur, if you’ll have me.” He spoke. Taking both your hands in his now. “I want to start a family with you, y/n, even if it is just us an a bunch of Loth-Cats.,” he teased and you smiled faintly. Still taking it all in. “Maker, I’d leave the war for you if you asked me to..” your smile faded a bit as that.

He frowned slightly when you weren’t saying anything. “Did I.. ruin the moment?” He asked, and you looked back to his eyes. Shaking your head with a small smile. “No, no, you didn’t, Jesse.” You reached up and took his face in your hands, “I love you, too, and I want to be with you. I will be your riduur, but..” you trailed off, and he brought his hand to cup the backs of your hands. Your anticipation killing him. “You don’t want to, do you?” He frowned, and you leaned in, pressing a kiss on his chin. “No, I don’t think I can wait until after the war..”

His smile was instant and it made your heart melt. “Well, I’m sure we could fix up something. Fives is in on it, he said he wanted to be the best man.” He rambled, and you giggled. He was so happy about all of this and it made you feel so warm and loved. The fact a simple agreement from your end could make Jesses whole world. “We’d have to do it in secret though, we’d be in so much trouble if anyone found out.” You told him, and he grinned. “Mesh’la.. If that means I get you as my riduur. Then I’d happily accept that fate.” He hummed. Leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

You wrapped your arms around his neck. Then pulled away with a sigh. You were both so happy and content. Jesse was already planning how the two of you could marry in secret, but you were too tired to think up a plan. Right now, at least. “After we finish our sodas you may have to carry me back to base. I’m about ready to fall asleep.” You spoke with a yawn. Making your both laugh a bit. “I’d carry you anywhere.. Ner kar’ta.”

[crystalessenceswrites]

Hi Again! I was wondering if you wrote for the clones? (I'm thirsting for Wolffe!!) If not, that's ok! And if so, I thought maybe something fluffy and a bit hot with Wolffe? I'm a huge sucker for the trope- Reader tries to hide that she hasn't been feeling well and turns out she's pregnant? With twins! She's scared because even though they're committed, it wasn't planned? And then fluff and some love making?? <3333

Hi lovely, welcome back! I am open to writing for the clones, I just haven’t done so yet! I too thirst for Commander Wolffe so you’re in luck! This trope is def very cute, the end turned out more fluffy than spicy, I hope that's alright.

Commander Wolffe x fem!reader Rating: E (18+) Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected p in v sex, unplanned pregnancy, swearing (first time writing for Wolffe, may be slightly ooc)

[PART TWO]

There was never enough time. You really should not have been surprised by the revelation, you were at war, but it still sat heavy on your chest. Always needed elsewhere as soon as you completed a mission. Never time to rest, even in transit. Someone always needed your attention for reports, strategic planning or council meetings as the GAR cruiser hurtled through hyperspace. It never left you enough time for him. Thankfully, the stubborn nature of your clone commander allowed him to make time, even if just a spare moment, for the two of you.

“Oh fuck,” you throw your head back against the door as he reaches that spot deep inside you. Pushing you ever closer to the edge. “Wolffe, please-” you’re whining as he grinds up into you, throbbing inside you. He’s always had the uncanny ability to read your body, he knows better than you when you’re close to bliss and he enjoys drawing it out. To think Commander Wolffe was a fucking tease.

“Please what, cyare?” His smug grin slides across your chest following the trail of marks he’s littered across your skin where no one will see. “What does ner jetii need?”

“Please, ‘m so close,” you tighten your legs around his waist, trying to draw him in closer, anything to reach your release, “please, Wolffe!”

He groans into your neck as you tug at the curls fallen loose at the nape of his neck, “well when you ask so nicely, cyare.”

His sudden thrust up pushes the air from your lungs. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as he pounds into you, all teasing forgotten. He’s relentless as you tighten around him, the coil in your belly threatening to snap.

“That’s it,” he grunts, “come on my cock ner jetii.”

His words and his gloved thumb brushing over your bundle of nerves has you falling apart around him. White hot pleasure rolls over you, leaving you a limp, moaning mess in Wolffe’s arms.

“That’s it, mesh’la. Squeezing me so kriffing tight,” he groans, hips stuttering, his own release fast approaching. “Fuck.” Wolffe manages a few more thrusts before he buries himself in you, spilling himself inside you. Whispered praises fall from his lips as he comes down from his own high. His lips ghost over yours in a chaste kiss as he withdraws, tucking himself away before he lets you down.

Your legs cry out in relief when they meet solid ground, not longer clinging to Wolffe for support.

“Good, cyare?” his hand sweeps over your brow, so tender for a man with such a fierce reputation, even amongst his brothers.

“Mhmm,” leaning into his touch, he chuckles at your blissed out expression.

“Someone’s bound to come looking for you soon, General. Let’s get you cleaned up.” You don’t protest as he helps you redress, though you do moan about how unfair it was he just had to remove his codpiece and you had to strip completely out of your robes for these little storage closet rendezvous’.

“I don’t think jedi robes were designed to allow for easy access, cyare.”

You pout, “you’re probably right.” There was that whole bit about no attachments you were blatantly ignoring after all.

Before the commander can come back with another sharp retort your commlink blinks to life. “Yes?”

“General, General Plo is looking for you on the bridge.”

You sigh, “thank you, Sinker. I’ll be right there.”

Never enough time.

.

The next couple of months continue much the same. You and Wolffe sneaking away between missions when you can, trying to find solace in each other despite all the horrors you both see on the battlefield. In a war that seems to stretch on forever he is your rock. As he watches his brothers fall, one after the other, you are his comfort. It breaks your heart to be apart from him but there is little you can do to control it. When the council requests you to join Obi-wan and Anakin for a series of missions you cannot object. Instead, you drag your tired self out to the far reaches of the outer rim to help them as best you can.

“You look exhausted, my dear.” Such tact this one possessed.

You roll your eyes, “you don’t look much better, Kenobi.” Though you doubt he has been waking in the middle of the night to empty the contents of his stomach like you have for the past week.

“This war does seem to be pushing us all to our limits.”

“I’ll race you!” Ahsoka sprints by, apparently headed for some target or another with her master hot on her heels.

“Snips!”

Cody chuckles under his bucket, shaking his head as the two disappear into the distance.

Obi-Wan scrubs a hand over his face, “it’s pushed most of us to our limits.”

“What I wouldn’t give to have the energy of a padawan again,” you groan.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Obi-wan nods, “we should all try to get some rest while we can. We need to break camp near dawn.”

You agree and bid your fellow jedi an early goodnight. With the headache you could feel coming on, sleep sounded like a good idea. As you go to stand the world spins around you, any sense of balance you had gone. You reach for the crate you had been sitting on to try and stay upright but you miss by a mile. Knees giving out you collapse to the floor, the world around you still spinning. You can barely hear Cody shouting over the ringing in your ears.

“Call for a medic! The General’s collapsed!”

.

By the time you regain consciousness you’re no longer planet side. Obi-wan had been quick to have you medevacked to the closest med-station for testing. The unholy white lights of the station burn your eyes when you finally come to. Your sudden groaning draws Kix back to your bedside.

“General. Good to see you’re back with us.”

“Kix?” You try to focus on the 501st medic instead of the bright lights, “what happened?”

“You collapsed back at the forward camp. We weren’t able to determine what was wrong with the limited medical supplies we had on hand, so General Kenobi called an air lift for you.”

Another groan bubbles up, Obi-wan had been forced to waster precious resources on you. “Were you able to find out what’s wrong?”

The clone’s face falls, “yes.”

You’ve never heard the medic sound so meek before. “Kix?”

“I’m not sure what’s the best way to explain this, General… but you’re pregnant.”

Oh.

Oh.

“H-how far along?”

“Looks like just over two months,” Kix shifts from foot to foot, pointedly not looking you in the eye. You can’t blame him for being uncomfortable, this isn’t quite the medicine he’d been expecting to practice. He was a combat medic not an obgyn. “We were able to get an ultrasound, would you like to see?”

Nodding, you sit up, your head now spinning for completely different reasons. Kix brings you a datapad displaying the grainy black and white image.

“Kix… am I seeing this right?”

“Yes, general.”

“There’s two…”

“Yes general. You’re having twins.”

Oh fuck.

.

Kix is a godsend, having worked with Anakin and Rex long enough to know reporting everything may not always be a good idea. The official report on your sudden collapse reads that you suffered from a foreign infection your body had not been prepared to fight, coupled with the battle fatigue, your body had shut down in order to force you to rest. Obi-wan and the council believe it, ordering you back to Coruscant to recover and rest. You knew you would have to tell them; it would not be long until you were showing, but you would much rather deal with the council in person than from your medbay bed.

Before your escort arrives, Kix slips you a disk with a copy of the ultrasound pictures, “in case there’s someone you want to show them to.”

“Thank you, Kix,” he blushes when you give him a quick peck on the cheek, “you’ve done more for me than you’ll ever know.”

You do your best to rest on your trip back to Coruscant but its incredibly difficult when your mind is going a parsec a minute. Besides the council there’s one other person you have to break the news to. While you two had talked about what life would be like for the two of you after the war, this was not something you had discussed. You were not sure if Wolffe wanted kids ever, let alone now. Having twins while the whole galaxy was at war was not ideal. Not when the two of you were expected to put your lives on the line for the Republic.

Panic washes over you when you arrive at the capital to find the wolfpack waiting for you on the tarmac. They’d just arrived back for some long overdue shore leave and Plo had informed them of your sudden illness. Normally you would be touched by how much they cared for you, but now all you can think about is how you are not ready to face Wolffe. Not yet.

You can feel his gaze heavy on your back as you field Sinker and Boost’s barrage of questions.

“I’ll be alright, I just need to take my medicine and get some rest. It shouldn’t be long before I’m right as rain again.” You hate lying to them, but you did not want them worrying unnecessarily either.

It seems to appease them; the pack wishes you well and invites you out to 79’s with them as soon as you’re recovered. Wolffe hangs back, watching his brothers go.

“I’ll walk you back, general.”

“No.” It comes out much harsher than you’d like. The surprise that washes over his face feels like a stab to your gut. “There’s no need, Commander. I’ll be alright.”

His voice drops, brow furrowed together, “cyare?”

“Not now, Wolffe,” you frown, “I just need to go lay down. We’ll talk later.”

But you don’t. You cannot find it in yourself to answer any of his calls or messages over the next few days. Instead, you wrap yourself up in as many blankets as possible and hole up in your quarters while you try to figure out what to do. You watch Coruscant go by from your window. It’s only when Sinker and Boost call that you’re freed from running around in circle inside your head.

“Boost? Sinker? What’s going on?”

“Oh thank goodness you’re alive, General!”

“Boost what are you going on about?”

“The Commanders been going crazy! He hasn’t heard from you in over a week and we don’t think he knows how to handle it!”

Although you and Wolffe did your best to keep your relationship hidden, in such tight quarters it was hard to keep it from Wolffe’s brothers. You’d never outright admitted it to them, but you figured they understood what was going on. You were glad for it now.

“I’ve seen him pace before, but never like this,” Sinker adds.

Oh Maker. “Where is he?”

“The barracks, General.”

“I… I’ll speak with him, alright? Hopefully that will calm him down.”

“Thank you, General! We were running out of ways to distract him!” That was the kind way of saying ways to annoy him to keep Wolffe’s mind off you.

“Thank you, Boost, Sinker.”

“Good luck, General!”

You were going to need it. This was not a conversation to have over the com so you make your way down to the barracks, doing your best to avoid attention when you can. It was not like you weren’t allowed there, but the last thing you needed was more questions.

Boost and Sinker were not lying about the pacing. Punching in the access code to his quarters reveals a tightly wound Wolffe, pacing back and forth across the length if the tight space. His armor has been haphazardly discarded around the room. You’re surprised he hasn’t worn a path into the floor yet.

“General?” Surprise and then relief fall over his face when he catches you standing in the doorway.

“Wolffe, I-”

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting.”

You’re thrown off by the sudden cold tone in his voice. “I-I came to explain, Wolffe… to apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“I’ve been avoiding you Wolffe,” your voice cracks despite your best efforts to remain calm, “and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, I just needed to find a way to tell you and I couldn’t.”

His frown deepens, “tell me what?”

“That I’m pregnant.”

“What?” He looks at you live you’ve grown another head.

“I’m pregnant, Wolffe.”

It takes him a moment to wrap his mind around your words, but you can see the instant he does, his mouth dropping into an ‘o’ as his jaw falls slack.

“You’re pregnant? With my… with my baby?”

“Babies,” you correct.

His brain seems to sputter out again, “babies?”

You nod, “twins.”

Before you can blink, he’s got you wrapped up in his arms, spinning you around the room. “Twins. You’re having twins.”

It takes everything you have not to start bawling. Kriffing hormones. You’ve never seen Wolffe this happy. This was beyond any reaction you could have imagined. The awe on his face when he sets you down makes your heart melt.

“This is why you were sent back? Your sudden illness?”

“Well yes… but Kix’s report was that I had an infection. I wanted to talk to your first before anyone else. I just didn’t know how.”

His warm hand oh-so-gently cups the side of your face. You lean into the touch. After even just a few weeks apart you’re starving for him.

“Why were you worried, cyare?”

“We’d never talked about kids. And we’re in the middle of a war. Not to mention we’re not even supposed to be together on the first place… I didn’t know how you’d react…”

His face softens, his amber eye drifting down to your nonexistent bump. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised. It may not be how either of us hoped, but it is a pleasant surprise.”

“Really?”

“Really, cyare.” You cannot help but smile as he pulls you in for a kiss. His lips slanting against your own as he holds you close. “I know there may be somethings we need to work out, but we’ll take it one step at a time,” he murmurs against your lips, hands tracing patterns across your back. “We’ll figure it out together.”

[lordabovehelpme]

Okay this: the reader is just tired from whatever, you can chose, and din can see they're fighting sleep and he begs them to sleep and when they protest and fight he just picks them up and throws the over his shoulder and places them on the bed. then maybe he turns off the lights and takes off his beskar and cuddles the reader (maybe some singing?) and reader starts to fall asleep and MAYBE MAYBE NOT reader kissing him sleepily. Just fluff u kno? u can change it if u want! do ur magic with it!

Nuhoy, Ad’ika- Din Djarin X Reader

Summary: The mandalorian returns to find you refusing to sleep. 

Masterlist 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s three days past his expected arrival when your lack of sleep really hits you. The child is fussy with worry, feeding off of your own energy. You’re barely functioning at this point, just going through the motions of life. You’ve tried over and over again to catch even a minute of sleep, but your worry overwhelms you and keeps you wide awake. At least the child will still sleep.

You’ve been busying yourself with little jobs around the Crest. All of the laundry and blankets have been washed and dried. They’ve been folded neatly and placed back in their respective homes. You’ve scrubbed both bunks until they were almost new colors. The next task you’ve assigned yourself is polishing every button and switch in the cockpit.

***

It’s the middle of the night when you hear the hatch open. Fearing for the worst, you grab a blaster and hide behind a corner.

“Cyar’ika?” Your body instantly relaxes at his gruff voice. You slide around the corner to face him and place the blaster down. “What happened to you?” Flinching at his comment, you walk over to him. He doesn’t mean any harm and you know it, but it is still unnerving to hear someone ask about your appearance.

At no sign of you answering him, he wraps his arms around you. “I’m sorry I’m late. But have you gotten any sleep?”

You sigh, knowing there is no way you can keep a secret from him for long. “Well…” you try to think of a way to sugar coat it, but your half awake mind is already barely functioning, “no.”

“Oh, cyare.” He pulls you closer to him. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Alarm bells go off in your head. “NO! I need to be awake to help you take off. And are you hurt? Oh I didn’t even ask you yet! Plus, I need to reheat dinner for you.”

Under his helmet he frowns. “Cyar’ika, you can’t even stand properly.” You hadn't realized it but all your weight is currently leaning onto him. You instantly push away from him to try and show you’re awake.

“I’m fine. Look! Two feet right here keeping me up and at ‘em!” Words are slurring together as your brain tries to keep up with your pace.

He huffs before picking you up bridal style. “No, wait. This isn’t fair!” He can see you fighting sleep now. Your eyelids are threatening to close and his arms are too comfy. His scent surrounds you and it’s like you are sedated.

“We’re going to bed.” He sets you down on his bed before flipping the lights off.

“What about your dinner?” While he was away you had added fabric under the padding, providing more cushion. Albeit, it seems your plan worked so well it had turned against you.

His voice is now clear and deep and you can hear him set his helmet down somewhere, “I’ll be fine. I had a large lunch.”

You know for a fact that he probably had not eaten anything but you are putting all of your energy into staying awake, so you’ll have to fight that battle later. The cot dips under his weight as he shifts to lay beside you.

“Wait, I still have to finish polishing this one area!”

“Sleep, cyar’ika.” He pulls you down so that you are laying on his chest. It always amazes you how soft and yet strong he is under all that armor. Taut muscles flutter with his movements and yet it is as if you are laying on a cloud.

“But…” Betraying you, your mouth closes and your brain practically shuts off. You snuggle further into his embrace, loving the natural heat he produces for you to leech off. Placing your hands on top of his own you give them a gentle squeeze. 

He hums before murmuring, “I missed you.”

You mean to say it back but you can only get out a whimper of approval. His large hands slip from your grasp and hold you close to him. Rubbing all over your body, they lull you further into sleep. Placing a few kisses on to his pec, you hope it portrays your gratitude.

You’re almost unconscious when you feel something rumbling up his chest. His voice, husky with sleep, produces the most beautiful lullaby you’ve ever heard.

“Nuhoy, ad'ika. Gar ner cyar'ika. Ni ja'haili'gar. Akay vaar'tur.”

You recognize a few words, only because they often replace your name.

“Nuhoy, ad'ika. Gar ner cyar'ika. Ni laarari'gar. Akay vaar'tur.”

He listens to the even breaths of your rest. His chest swells with adoration at the domesticity you two are sharing. He continues the lullaby that was often sung to him by his adoptive family. Never could he have asked for a better person to be asleep in his arms.

It’s in this moment that he realizes it, he loves you.

“Nuhoy, ad'ika. Gar ner cyar'ika. Ni cabuor gar. Akay vaar'tur.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Credit for the song goes to the lovely @themischiefoftad 

The original post for the lullaby can be found here.

Translation: Sleep, little one. You are my sweetheart. I will watch over you Until morning. Sleep, little one. You are my sweetheart. I will sing to you Until morning. Sleep, little one. You are my sweetheart. I will protect you Until morning

Anyway, I hope you all liked it! 

Love, Lordy

[mysticalgalaxysalad]

An Old Love Doesn’t Rust

Ship: Paz Vizsla x Din Djarin

Fandom: The Mandalorian/Star Wars

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: yearning, two idiots in love trope, feelings, detailed smut (18+), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), oral sex, porn with feelings, fluff, romance, set after Chapter 16

Summary: Din accepts his fate with the Darksaber on the Mandalore. While preparing a ball for Mandalorians, he unexpectedly meets an old friend from the past and feelings come on the surface.

Words: 3.2k (what the fuuuck, i have never written this much for a oneshot, holy shit, i impressed myself at this point)

It was difficult to settle without him.

After Din let Grogu leave with Luke, he felt empty. He knew that he’ll miss his son. And that Grogu will miss him too. But there was something, that he needed to do. Din looked at the Darksaber and sighed. He wasn’t ready for this, but this was the Way.

       Few months later…

„..and these flowers will be there…“

Din was already exhausted. As the Mand’alor, he was throwing a ball for his fellow Mandalorians. And it was pretty big event. His assistants were talking too much and at some point Din caught himself to be dived deep into his memories. Especially in his memories for certain bigger boy in dark blue Beskar armor…

Paz Vizsla. The name of a man Din thought of very often. Of his best friend. Oh, how much Din wanted to see that big blue di’kut again! In those rare moments, when Din dared to be vulnerable with himself, completely honest, he missed Paz in ways he would have never thought he would. He missed his deep voice, when Paz was talking about practically anything he had on his mind, his wholehearted laughter, when he and Din had gotten away with some mischief, his like dark night sky blue, shiny armor, his touch, when Paz patted Din on the back, when Din was choking on a piece of juicy fruit…

Din was so caught up in his thoughts and feelings about Paz, that he didn’t notice his right hand Mandalorian in purple Beskar saying him something. He remembered himself only after Mandalorian patting him on his shoulder.

„What’s going on?“

„Sir, I think it’s time to prepare for the event,�� Mandalorian nervously stepped.

„Oh yes, that ball,“ Din sighed and got up. „Thank you for noticing me,“ he nodded at Mando and left to prepare for the night.

          Later that evening…

„Ladies and gentleman and others, welcome to the ball,“ Din, dressed in his silver Beskar armor, which was shinier and overall looking better than usually, started his first speach as the Mand’alor. All Mandalorians, also dressed in their shiny armors, listened to him very attentively. Djarin didn’t speak for too long, although he seemed to be very calm and confident, his heart was nervously pounding in his armored chest. He spoke about what he thought was important and from his heart.

„And now, let’s the fun begin. This is the Way,“ Din finished his speech with Mandalorian creed, and everyone could feel the smile in his voice.

„This is the Way,“ Mandalorians chanted cheerfully. Some of them even chanted Din’s name. Din blushed a little and smiled under his helmet. As he was watching his fellow vods having fun, he caught sight of very familiar blue color. And he felt suddenly his heart to stop.

That familiar blue color could originate from the only one source. In that moment, Din knew, who it was. It felt like Maker had heard his most secret hopes and dreams. Maybe…maybe he could be happy again.

Stunned Din watched his long lost friend Paz talking to Bo-Katan. Suddenly, he felt a lump forming in his throat, his mouth dry like Tatooine sands. Will Paz still remember his friend from childhood? And how did he leave Nevarro? Where had he gone after that shooting? Din’s head was full of questions he hoped he’d get answers to soon.

„…and then we saved Grogu and I lost the Darksaber,“ Bo-Katan grumpily rambled about their adventures to her new object of complaining, Paz, who really tried to listen to her, but he kept daydreaming, just as Din.

„So, who’s the new Mand’alor?“ Paz interrupted Bo-Katan’s venting, much to her annoyance.

„Look for yourself, big blue boy,“ she smirked.

Paz groaned. Something about the way she said „big blue boy“, irked him. He was about to say something ironic to her, when he noticed she left. Good, at least I’ll get some peace now, he thought. But not for long. When he turned to see the famous Mand’alor, he froze.

Paz would not have been much happier for his helmet than in the very moment he saw Din on the Mand’alor throne. His dark, sparkling eyes went comically wide, plump, soft lips, which had never kissed yet, slighty parted. It felt like all his thoughts, words were thrown out of Paz‘ head. He couldn’t even tell, what exactly he felt at that moment. Relief, happiness, doubt, that Din would not remember him, or something, that made his lower parts tingle? Probably all at once, if Paz would be absolutely honest with himself. And maybe something more. There was always something more with Din.

As the ball continues, Din felt himself very tired. But since he saw Paz, he could say, that something in the air changed. He also knew, that he wouldn’t be able to sleep without talking to Vizsla, but it seemed Din couldn’t get to him. Every few minutes someone wanted to talk with him.

While politely conversating with another Mando, he caught Paz‘ visor staring at him and suddenly the world stopped existing. It was like each other of them could see each other’s sould and it was intense and burning. Din’s breath hitched and his blood changed into something similar to molten lava.

He politely excused himself from discussion and nodded at Paz to follow him. He headed to a small part of garden, protected by a bunch of bushes with beautiful, soft looking bloody red flowers with thin petals and honey-sweet smell. Mand’alor didn’t turn his back to see, if Paz was really following him. Paz was.

When they got into that secret garden spot, Din slowly turned to Paz. His whole body lightly buzzed with nerves and sweet anticipation. For a few minutes, there was a silence, filled with a tension and something else. Promise.

They stared at each other for a while. Then Din moved and Paz moved too and they hugged like their lives depended on it. Mand’alor sighed happily. Paz‘ strong, big hug provided him security and comfort Din never knew he needed. Untill now. And when he got a taste, he could never get enough.

„Djarin, so you’ve made it to the Mand’alor,“ Din could feel the grin and proud in Paz‘ raspy voice. He, after all, was grinning like a fool himself under his Beskar bucket. „I see you’ve made it pretty good too, Vizsla,“ Din said, then he whispered softer. „I thought you’d died.“ His black visor met Paz‘ one.

„Y-yeah, i was succesful with leaving Nevarro, but I had to stay low since then,“ Paz explained, his voice sounded little bit choked. „Otherwise I would get in touch with you, but I thought it would bring you unwanted attention from those kriffing Imps and I - I didn’t want to endanger you, Din,“ Paz‘ voice got softer and softer with every word spoken. And I was afraid you wouldn’t remember me, Paz thought of.

Din was awestruck from what he just heard. After a minute or two, when he regained his composure, he spoke again, voice filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite entitle. „You could never endanger me, ner vod,“ and before he could stop himself, Din’s hands grasped Paz‘ helmet carefully and he stepped on his toes to clink his silver bucket against Paz‘. Din didn’t think about it twice. It somehow felt…so right.

To say Paz was overwhelmed, was a big understatement. He knew since he had seen Din for the first time after such long time, there had been something between them. He could feel it with his whole body, mind, soul. It was syrupy thick and sweet and hot and so intense, it consumed him. It brought emotions in Paz, which he wouldn’t even dare to call it.

So, he just stood there, absolutely dumbstruck, and gulped dry. His heart was pounding in his chest. Before he could do anything, Din let go of him. Paz was still quietly processing, that his best friend just kissed him in Mandalorian way, when Din did another thing, which took Paz Vizsla’s breath away. Din Djarin, the new Mand’alor, took off his helmet.

Paz knew he should scold Din for what he had just done. Broken Creed atc. However, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. All he could do right now, was to think about how Din looked so beautiful in the moonlight. His dark brown eyes, deep as the galaxy surronding them, reflected the light of stars above them. His helmet hair were wet with sweat and full of soft curls. And the pink, plump lips…Stars, Din was a sight for gods. Paz slightly shuddered. His mind was flooded with very tempting pictures of Mand’alor himself, writhing beneath big blue Beskar Mandalorian, his mouth creating perfect ‚O‘ shape, as Paz hit that heavenly spot inside Din, which made Din see not stars, but whole galaxies…His body reacted to these images very precisely and he was thankful for his codpiece, as he was already hot and throbbing in his pants.

Din noticed Paz‘ quietness and his tremble. He had no idea, why it happened, but he slowly started to be afraid, that Paz was disgusted by what he had done. Oh, if he only knew…

There was a flesh of insecurity in Din’s eyes and Mand’alor took a step back. This alarmed Paz, who got into his protector mode. „What’s wrong, cyare? Did I hurt you? Oh, kriffing hell, I didn’t-“ Paz would probably continue in his rambling, if he didn’t see Din’s surprised look with a hint of hope. And Paz realized, what he said. But there was no way in hell for him to take it back. Paz simply couldn’t hold himself anymore.

„Yes, Din, cyare,“ and now was time for Din to be in shock, because Paz copied his gesture with taking off the helmet. Din gasped, when Paz came closer and slowly, as if Din was made from a fragile materiál, caressed his blushed cheeks. His whole body throbbed with need. „So beautiful,“ Paz whispered and lowered himself to Din’s face. „You-you’re very pretty yourself, Paz,“ Din answered and looked at him with silent plea. Paz obeyed. His lips touched Din’s and it was burning like a wild fire. Slow, gentle kisses quickly turned into more needy, hot sensual ones. Both men after a while groaned into each other’s mouth, and that just spurred them more. It was sinful and passionate and just everything they wanted.

„We should také this somewhere private, Djarin,“ Paz panted into Din’s ear, when he licked his earlobe and sucked it. „Ye-yeah, we should- oh, kriffing stars,“ Din groaned, when he felt Paz‘ lips on his neck, sucking a mark on his tender spot. Under Vizsla’s touches, Din quickly changed into needy, trembling mess, he was so touch-starved.

Finally, Paz reluctantly let go of Din, picking his helmet. When Din got his helmet too, he nodded at the man with blue Beskar to follow him. They quickly walked through garden, too eager to feel each other’s body. After few minutes, which felt like eternity, they got into Din’s private quarters, and the moment the door closed behind them, they were on each other again.

They eagerly stripped of Beskar, it was laid randomly on the floor. Neither of them cared. Paz sucked another mark into Din’s neck and tugged on his T-shirt to pull it off of Din. When Din was half bare before Paz, Paz also took his shirt off. „Mmm, so beautiful,“ whispered, as he was kissing every inch of Din’s tender skin. By the time Paz got to his nipples, Din was a panting mess, back arching into Paz. „Shhh, Din, I know, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, ner cyare, let me take care of you.“ With those words, Paz sucked one of Din’s erect nipples, licking and carefully biting it slowly, while kneading the other one. Din let out a loud whimper, his hand went straight into Paz‘ soft, fluffy hair. His body shook and Din thought he could cum just from his nipples being sucked.

Paz paid the same attention to the other nipple as well and Din’s groans of pleasure got louder. When Paz felt Din’s nipples gor enough attention, he slowly kissed, licked and bit Din’s torso to his stomach and lower abdomen. „O-oh, it feels s-so g-good, Paz,“ Din panted, while Paz sucked few more hickeys into his skin. „And it will be better, love,“ Paz purred and tugged on Din’s pants. Din lifted his hips, so Paz could get rid of it. It was also tossed on the floor and Paz turned to Din’s rock hard cock, leaking precum all over. 

 „Holy shit,“ Paz whispered to himself, as his mouth watered at the sight. He couldn’t resist to lick Din’s length and taste him like the best lollipop. The sinful groan he let out, went straight to Din’s cock and Din thrusted his hips instinctively. „S-sorry,“ he exhaled. „Don’t have to be, love,“ Paz winked and let Din slide into his warm and wet mouth. Din’s mouth shaped perfect ‚O‘, as Paz‘ mischievous tongue licked along Din’s velvety dick. He never felt anything like this. Everything, what Paz did to him, made his blood change into wild lava and reduce him into whimpering puddle. And  after one particularly good suck Din found himself teetering right on the edge. „P-Paz, I-I think I’m gonna-“ That was when Paz let him slide of his mouth with loud ‚pop‘.

Din pushed himself up on his elbows and with loud disappointed grunt looked at his lover. Paz shushed him again. „I will také care of you, my sweet boy, do not worry,“ he also undressed and bared himself to Din. And at the sight of naked Paz, Din lost his ability to speak. Paz was big and thick and beautiful. And very aroused. Paz pumped himself few times, smearing his precum all over his cock. „Do you have lube?“ „In a nightstand,“ Din nodded, his voice raspy from moaning. Paz found a small bottle and squirted a good amount of gel on his fingers. „Will you let me take care of you, Din?“ Din nodded again, opened his legs slowly and leaned back on the bed, trying to relax for Paz. Paz smiled and kissed him.

„That’s my good boy,“ he purred and at first he just touched Din’s hole with his wet fingers. He looked at Din’s face for any sign of discomfort, but when he didn’t find any, he carefully pushed one finger in. Din closed his eyes and grunted. It was slightly uncomfortable, but eventually he got used to Paz‘ fingers sliding in and out of him. It also helped that Paz used a lot of lube too. All this time Paz was praising him. „My sweet boy, take my fingers so good. Oh, you’re so beautiful, my love.“

Din felt absolutely wonderful. Paz‘ fingers always hit that one spot inside him, that made him keen and lean into Paz‘ touch. „A-ah, Vizsla, yes, yes,“ Din moaned and grabbed the sheets beneath him, as if to anchor himself. After earlier edging, he was worked up and felt on the edge of heavenly pleasure once again. But Paz had apparently other plans and stopped stimulating Din.

„Paaaz-“ Din pouted and looked at him with almost teary dovey eyes. Although he quickly shut himself, when he felt Paz nudging at his entrance. Paz took the lube again and squirted a lot of it all over his cock. „I-I’ve got you, Din, my love,“ Paz whispered and slowly entered Din. He groaned deeply and when Paz was fully seated inside of Mand’alor, he leaned to kiss him passionately. This allowed him also také a breath, because of how tight and warm Din felt around him, Paz felt like he might combust right and there.

After a short while, Paz set slow, sensual pace. If Din thought this couldn’t get better, he was painfully wrong. And also painfully hard. But Paz proved his earlier words, when he grasped Din’s beautiful weeping cock and started to pump him. Din’s moans and grunts got two octaves higher, and under normal conditions, he’d be embarassed for it. Now he couldn’t care less. Not when Paz was looking at him, as if Din hung all the stars on the sky himself. Not when Paz‘ sight was full of passion and so much love for him. That was moment Din knew he was done for.

„I-I love you, Paz,“ Din panted and his one hand caressed lovingly Paz‘ scruffed cheek, while the other one hugged around his strong, broad shoulders. „Y-you do?“ Paz‘ hips slowed for a second and he leaned his forehead against Din’s in Keldabe kiss. „Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Din,“ he growled, his pace quickened again, his hands pumping Din matching the pace of his hips. At this point Din was almost screaming from intense pleasure, and Paz was very happy about it. „Now, be a good boy for me once again and cum, Din, let me feel you, ner cyare,“ bigger man mumbled into Din’s ear and slightly sucked it.

That praise sent Din over the edge and oh, did he cum. With a loud groan of Paz‘ name and curses in Mando’a, he climaxed all over Paz‘ hand, his stomach and some of his cum even made it to his neck and chin. The sight of climaxing Din and the feeling of him clamping hard around Paz, triggered Paz’s own orgasm and he climaxed inside Din, panting Din’s name, before he collapsed on blissed out Mand’alor beneath him.

They both laid like that for a short amount of time, listened to each other’s heart. Then Paz slided out of Din, and smaller man whimpered weakly at the loss of him. Paz chuckled. „I’ll be right back, mesh’la,“ he stated and in a while he came back with warm cloth to clean Din. But he had to admit to himself, it was pretty hot to watch his load leaking out of Din. After Din was cleaned, Paz cuddled to him and tucked them both under soft blanket. Din happily sighed, soft smile on his face. He never felt as relaxed as now, laying on Paz‘ chest.

„You did so well for me, Din, I’m proud of you, my love,“ Paz whispered lovingly into Din’s hair, peppering him with kisses and caresses, where he could reach. Din’s smile got bigger and it tugged on Paz‘ heart. He always wanted to see that gorgeous smile. Then Din spoke quietly.

„Did-did you mean it, Paz? Do you love me?“

„Yes, I do, Din. I’m never leaving you ever again, my love, I promise,“ Paz kissed Din’s forehead, nose, both cheeks and finally his lips and it was so soft and full of love.

„Stay with me, please,“ Din asked, kissing Paz‘ handsome face. Paz smiled, and it was biggest, happiest smile, which made him look so much younger and light-hearted.

„With my biggest pleasure, ner Mand’alor.“

taglist: @sunsseto45​ @pedrosaccent​ @charcharlonglegs​ @ahoeformando​ @latenightsthoughtsnstuff​  @randomcollection-o-stuff @just-fics-i-read @tibbietibbs

anyone who wants to be tagged in this, just let me know and i’ll add you :D i just forgot who else wanted to be tagged in my fic, i’m sorry for it :(

[stubbychaos]

A Guilty Conscience

Chapter 10 of Saviin’ika

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Part 5|Part 6|Part 7|Part 8|Part 9

Masterlist

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: While you get used to your new role in the tribe, you make it your mission to meet the ones who are to be your family. While befriending some unlikely members of the tribe, Paz later surprises you with something that he thinks will make you happy, though it ends up having the opposite effect.

Rating: T

Word Count: 14,000 *Y’all idk how this happened, I’m so sorry lol*

Warnings: Some unresolved sexual tension, minor injuries and reader still dealing with a bunch of past trauma. Other than that, this chapter is pretty harmless!

Just a quick mention: Thank you as always to @datmando for inspiring me and giving me so many amazing ideas for this story!! You’ve helped me so much with this story and getting through writer’s block and I freaking love you <3 Thank you as well to @aerynwrites @hdlynnslibrary and @maybege for all being wonderful and I love you all for motivating me to write more Paz!!

Also thank you to @coredrive​ for the beautiful gifs you made!! If anyone wants quality gifs for their stories, masterlists, etc... please go to Kat because she was so freaking lovely and sweet!!

“Would you like one of my shirts, ner cyare?”

You turn around, coming face to face with an unarmored Paz who is sitting on the foot of the bed, his forearms lazily resting on top of his thighs as he observes the way you hopelessly shift the torn, silky fabric in your hands. You turn to face the culprit who is currently curled up in a white rocky ball close to the furnace in the main area of Paz’s private quarters, seeming completely unbothered and not regretful that she had used your only sleep attire as a chewing toy while you were in the shower and Paz was talking to the armorer.

“That would be nice, thank you,” You murmur softly, watching with a smile as he promptly stands and makes his way over to the dresser near his bed while you discard the torn, silky fabric.

Though a few days have passed since the fight without incident--much to your appreciation--you notice Paz acting differently around you and while it’s not in a bad way by any means, it still has your curiosity growing. You notice how he almost seems worried about letting you stray too far from him, though you’re certain it’s not because he’s concerned one of his own will hurt you again, but perhaps he has the same fears you hold in your very own heart. While you’ve only been with the tribe for three days, you find yourself getting less sleep with every passing day, afraid that when you wake up, you’ll be right back at the village infirmary with your estranged father.

Perhaps he’s anxious that if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll randomly decide to leave without a word or trace.

The thought amuses you and also fills your heart with grief, wondering how the Mandalorian could possibly conjure the thought of you even thinking about leaving the place that had quickly become your safe haven.

“I’m going to shower, if you want to change,” Paz gruffly voices as he approaches you with a thick, black garment and you perk up a little upon feeling how warm it is--how warm it will keep you.

Once the Mandalorian is in the refresher, you’re quick to strip your clothes, smiling softly as you neatly fold the emerald, long-sleeved dress that Ima had found for you in a designated stack of clothes that wasn’t being worn by anyone in the tribe. Once you are only in your shorts, you grab Paz’s black shirt that he must wear over all his padding and sheepishly tug it over your head, instantly relishing in how it smells just like him--all woodsy and spicy and just like the soap he uses. The material is incredibly thick, though it’s not stiff and doesn’t make it feel like you’re suffocating; it feels soft and comforting against your bare skin, engulfing you so warmly just like one of his embraces, though you still long for the intense pressure of his arms around you. The sleeves that usually come to an end just above his elbows now fall just a few inches above your wrists and the hem skims the middle of your thighs.

As you sit on the edge of the bed and get to work on tending to your braids and all the tangles from the hair you had chosen to leave down, you think of how surreal everything still feels and how all the horrors you had ever dreamed about running away from are currently above you in the village. You try your hardest not to think about it, and instead, your mind wanders to the tribe and its intimidating, rambunctious warriors that you’ve been interacting with in the covert for the past few days.

It’s been… an interesting experience, to say the least.

For people who you used to be terrified of until recently, you think it’s somewhat surprising as well as amusing that Paz had been correct when he mentioned them being quite mischievous when it came to you, though you’re certain most of it comes from you being an outsider and not understanding their language. It had already happened a couple times where you would be exploring the enclave, trying to memorize the tunnels and where different ones led, and you would run into a small group of Mandos speaking in their native tongue as you shyly approached them to introduce yourself.

Most of the time they would simply peer down at you while informing you that they already knew who you were--that they had seen you standing your ground against Paz, which apparently nobody in the tribe had ever really done before. It was quite interesting seeing everyone’s perspective towards their heavy-infantry warrior, how they knew him to be one of the strongest in the tribe and how they respected him for it. However, it was also slightly amusing that they seemed to have no problem making jokes at his expense--talking about how they were glad you were at the covert so he would stop being grouchy and angry all the time.

Ima, you found, was the exact same way, although she had no qualms about berating the man she called her uncle to his face.

Seeing the way the teenager and your blue warrior interacted with one another felt like some sort of special phenomenon that you had never really witnessed before--a relationship stronger than that between a sister and a brother, but not quite as profound as one between a daughter and father. You thought uncle and niece was a good way to describe it and though you’re curious as to why Ima doesn’t call anyone else in the tribe ‘brother’ or ‘sister’, you decide it’s better not to ask for the sake of accidentally bringing up a sad memory.

You’re too deep into your thoughts that you don’t notice a hulking figure emerge from the refresher minutes later, a few water droplets dripping down his shoulders and back as he mindlessly observes you combing through your hair with your fingers.

A small cough startles you and you turn your head to gaze at Paz, his helmet slightly tilted to the side as he stares at you through the guise of that unforgiving visor. Your fingers are still threaded in your damp hair, your bare legs dangling off the side of his bed with your sock-clad toes barely skimming the stone floor as you blink owlishly at him, still not used to seeing him expose so much of his skin.

He’s not saying anything and it has you slightly worried--have you done something wrong? 

“Paz, are you okay?”

His bare, broad shoulders tense upwards when you shift on the bed, finally working through a stubborn tangle as you tilt your head at him; you find yourself doing that a lot more lately and you think being surrounded by so many Mandalorians has their little mannerisms rubbing off on you.

You move to get up when he doesn't say anything, now worried that you really have done something wrong, but Paz shakes his head and squashes your worries immediately.

"No--I mean, yes," He huffs and shakes his helmet a little harder when you stand up next to the bed to pull the thick fur away from the pillows it's tucked under while he moves to turn off the lights, "I'm fine, just a little tired, cyare."

You nod your understanding, feeling your own exhaustion creeping up on you, though today had been a relatively easy day in regards to treating scrapes and bruises. You’ve come to find that some of the younger, less trained Mandalorians aren’t exactly the most graceful on their feet, some tripping over their own capes while descending staircases, while others who are less skilled with blades or blasters manage to slip up and injure themselves. It’s definitely not the kind of injuries you’re used to tending--minor ones--but you find it much more pleasant and rewarding than your job in the village, especially when everyone here has treated you politely, for the most part.

You know that even while you had been accepted into the tribe, it doesn’t quite make you part of the family to some, especially to those who still felt as though you should swear the creed to be fully accepted. It was a big detail you had worried about quite a bit, whether or not you would have to swear the creed and wear a helmet just as the rest of them, but you think that perhaps it is a topic you should speak to the armorer about.

You slide underneath the heavy fur and exhale a content sigh, reminding yourself that such worries could wait until morning.

A yawn leaves you just as you hear the quiet hiss of Paz’s helmet being removed before he places it on his nightstand and a tired smile stretches your lips when you feel the mattress dip underneath the weight of the warrior’s body.

Before you can even turn to face him, his huge arm is wrapped around your waist and he’s carefully moving you closer to him; an intense warmth spreads throughout your cheeks when he holds you close, your back pressed firmly against his chest as he wastes no time in placing a kiss to the top of your damp hair. You can feel the heat from his bare chest already spreading throughout your entire body and you curl your legs back to press your feet against his bare ankles.

He lets out a small huff as he curls his fingers into the soft material of his shirt covering your abdomen and leans down to press a tender kiss to your cheek, “You are lucky I love you, or else I would not let you wear socks in our bed.”

The ‘our bed’ comment definitely doesn’t go over your head and you hold back a giggle when he sighs against your warm skin, his thumb stroking firm circles near your belly button, “I cannot help it that my feet are always cold.”

His chest rumbles with a soft laugh as he settles behind you, his hand moving a little lower to your hip, just underneath where your cauterized wound is still healing, and he gives you a gentle squeeze, “I told you that you’d do nothing to warm our bed up, mesh’la, I knew I was right. You’re always freezing.”

“If I recall correctly, you told me that you would not mind keeping me warm,” You remind him of what he had said the night he had told you his name, your cheeks growing hot when you feel his lips against the outer shell of your ear, “And you are doing no such thing, ori kebiin.”

“You are a funny woman,” Paz is still trying not to laugh as his hand comes up to cup your jaw, long fingers splayed widely against your burning cheeks, “You feel plenty warm to me, sweetheart.”

Realizing that there’s no way of beating the Mandalorian at his own game, you give up and simply shuffle your curled toes between his calves, making him grunt a little when he feels the blocks of ice that are your sock-clad feet through the material of his sleep pants. He cups your jaw and urges your head to the side a little, using his thumb that’s pressed to the corner of your lips to seek them out with his own.

This close intimacy is certainly another thing you’ve noticed since you forgave him after the fight--him wanting to kiss and touch you whenever it’s just the two of you. It’s definitely something you don’t mind, you realize as his tongue firmly swipes across your bottom lip, and you find yourself growing more comfortable and relaxed when it comes to accepting little touches from him. You can tell that it’s something he’s nervous about when you two are just laying in his bed, wide awake when sleep refuses to wrap itself around the two of you--that he’s worried something he does will set you off.

He always tries to keep his touches to your thighs and hips feather-light after politely asking if it’s okay for him to touch you there and a part of you wonders if he’s already concluded that you’re simply not used to people asking you for consent when it comes to certain things.

Even if it’s not the reason why, you’re still grateful he always asks and his consideration fills your heart with warmth whenever he seems so hellbent on making sure you’re comfortable when you two find yourself in these sort of intimate settings. It doesn’t necessarily feel like it’s him testing your boundaries, but more so him seeing what you like and what gets certain noises out of you, though you find your skin quite sensitive to every nip and lick he inflicts on you.

A part of you is grateful that he usually lies on his back when the two of you are holding one another, as the thought of being pinned underneath anyone again, even your blue warrior, lingers like a storm cloud in the back of your mind.

Currently, however, you focus on the way his fingers tentatively curl around your thigh, just below the hem of the shirt he had given you and your lashes flutter as he guides your head back a little so he has more access to your throat. He seems a little more eager tonight, you think, and as his fingers curl into the thick fabric at your thighs while he dutifully presses tender kisses to your sensitive skin, you start to slowly put the pieces together.

“Paz?” His name comes out in the form of a breathy whisper as he settles back to press a kiss into your damp hair.

He still seems slightly dazed as he brings his arm back to curl tightly around your waist, “Hm?”

“Earlier, when you were staring at me when you came out of the shower,” You grin a little when you feel the way his arms tense around your middle, “Was it… is it because I’m wearing your shirt?”

Paz huffs an amused noise and you’re certain you’ve left him flustered for once as he slowly shifts his body until he’s able to rest his chin against the slope of your neck, “I like the way you look in anything, cyare, but something about seeing you wearing my clothes--it does things to me. I can’t say that I am upset that your vulptex tore up your nightgown, not with how beautiful you look right now.”

“You can’t even see me right now, silly man.”

“I don’t need to,” He mumbles, his beard scratching your sensitive skin as he lazily tends to all the little marks he left behind with his lips and teeth the previous night, “I remember everything about you, ner cyare, like how your eyes always get big whenever you see me taking off my armor and my clothes. Perhaps my sweet little nurse isn’t as innocent as I thought.”

You nearly let out with a whimper when you feel his tongue on your skin, your cheeks burning furiously as his hand cautiously grazes up your thigh, “Is this okay?”

His tepid breath fanning along the column of your throat makes you shiver a little and your voice cracks a little when you speak, “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He repeats with a soft sigh, his hand moving past the little shorts you typically wear to bed and up to your bare hip, just underneath where your blaster wound is still tender, though not nearly causing you as much pain, “Stars, your skin is so damn soft and your hair smells good--just like those flowers you’re always wearing.”

You let your eyes close as he continues to explore your stomach with feather-like strokes, seeming content to simply warm you with his large hand and you feel your thighs clench together firmly when he rubs a sensitive spot just underneath your belly button. His hands are leaving a scorching blaze in their wake and you feel a deep shudder wrack your body upon feeling the wet, open-mouthed kisses he’s leaving just underneath your earlobe. 

Despite the ache between your thighs, you jump when his fingertips barely graze just above the hem of your shorts and he immediately freezes upon feeling the tension in your body.

“I’m sorry,” Your ears grow hot with shame and you think he must be frustrated with you for not feeling ready to be intimate on this kind of level yet, “I just--”

“Hey, don’t you dare ever apologize for knowing when you’re not ready,” He whispers, moving his lips away from your jaw and removing his hand from underneath the shirt he let you borrow, “I shouldn’t have done that--I should have asked first.”

“It’s okay,” You weakly reassure him, smiling softly when he politely fixes your shirt, dragging the hem back down your thighs, “I... I want to be with you like that and I thought I was ready but I... I don’t know.”

“You do not owe me an explanation. I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do,” Paz promises in a rushed tone as he moves to unlatch his arm from around you, though you are quick to stop him, “I am sorry if I was too forward, cyare. I want you to only ever feel comfortable around me and if I ever do or say anything that you don’t like, please tell me, okay? I’ll never be mad at you.”

“I love you, Paz.”

He relaxes against you and presses another tender kiss into the hair above the tip of your ear, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner cyare.”

You smile into the darkness at the warmth his words bring you, though you can’t help but to feel doubt towards yourself and you turn your head a little over your shoulder until his warm breath fans across the plane of your cheek. Even though you can’t see him in the slightest, you like to imagine his eyes scanning your face thoughtfully--curiously--and you hear him let out an inquisitive hum when you murmur his name.

“I haven’t been able to sleep the last couple of days,” You admit softly, placing your hand on top of the much larger one that’s resting just under your sternum, “I’m scared that every night here is going to be my last one--that someone isn’t going to want me here because I haven’t sworn to the creed and that I don’t wear a helmet or armor.”

Paz exhales softly and you close your eyes when his minty breath tickles your nostrils, “Our alor already knows that you were to be brought to the tribe to be our nurse, not a fighter. I made it clear to everyone that you would not have to wear our armor and if anyone has a problem with it, they can take it up with me or the armorer. You’re not going anywhere… not if you don’t want to.”

You detect the way his voice lowers into a much more sheepish, subdued tone upon whispering the last part and your suspicions from earlier are proved correct.

He’s afraid that you’re going to change your mind about staying with the tribe.

In an attempt to squash his own fears and insecurities, you wrap your fingers around his wrist and urge his arm up past your chest until you are able to lean your head down a little and kiss his calloused knuckles tenderly. He lets out a content sigh as you let him splay his fingers out widely against the swell of your breast, your heart pounding frantically against his palm while his thumb studies your firm pulse at the base of your neck.

“I just want to be wherever you are, Paz,” You murmur, your lips stretching into a smile when he tenderly kisses your cheek again.

“I feel the same way about you,” He sighs, finally relaxing completely as you keep his hand cradled to your chest, “Anything else you’re losing sleep over, cyare?”

For a moment it sounds like he’s teasing you, but something about the rawness and sincerity of his voice makes you think differently and you swallow the lump in your throat as you think of the little boy from the nursery--the one that had clung onto your leg and hugged you. Though a part of you wants to ask Paz more about how he was found and what happened to his parents, you think it best not to ask and shake your head a little bit.

It is none of your business.

“Try to get some rest,” Paz murmurs against your cheek, his beard scratching your sensitive skin, “I’ll make sure to wake you up if you have any nightmares.”

You murmur a tired ‘thank you’ and let your eyes slip shut, feeling reassured by his words and the feathery press of his lips against the tail of your brow, along with the way his thumb continues to rest atop your pulse point at the bottom of your neck.

For once, you sleep restfully--not necessarily dreaming of much, but not really having any nightmares either. You’re stuck in a strange limbo for the rest of the night and at one point, you feel Paz stroking your brow in an effort to calm you down upon feeling your body jolt when you wake from a strange dream that has you crying out.

As you fall back asleep underneath the comforting guidance of his hands and sweet whispers against the shell of your ear, you briefly wonder if the heavy-infantry warrior ever sleeps.

The next morning when you wake up and tiredly crack your eyes open, Paz is already fumbling around the little kitchenette, his helmet and underclothes now on and you prop yourself up on an elbow as you watch him set a wooden bowl down in front of your excited vulptex. The dish is filled with colorful fruit and chunks of meat and you think it must be the best meal she’s had since she was born, what with her dramatic reaction. She lets out long, happy little squeaks between bites and you think you hear something reminiscent of a laugh or a chuckle from Paz’s vocoder when he reaches out to graze a bare hand along her rocky spine.

“And here I thought you hated her,” You murmur with a yawn, stretching your arms above your head before gracelessly rolling out of bed, the room dimly lit as you make your way over to your beloved companions, “You and everyone else are always calling her a runt.”

Paz snorts and shakes his head a little, tilting his head a little as he hands you a bowl of fruit that has some yogurt underneath, “She is a runt, saviin--doesn’t mean I hate her for it. Besides, she tried to bite Djarin in the leg yesterday, so I guess she’s starting to grow on me.”

You huff a little at that as you savor the fresh berries, your taste buds still not used to such sweet food, and you shake your head at your Mandalorian, “You better not be training my sweet vulptex to attack others, Paz.”

“I would do no such thing,” Paz still sounds a little smug as he begins to put on all of his thick padding and heavy armor, “I’d only train her how to attack the bounty hunter.”

You roll your eyes and watch as he puts his armor on piece by piece, the same way he’s done it every morning for the last couple of days he’s been here. It must be a routine for him, you think as you watch him clip his pauldrons in place and work his way down his body; you find the whole process to be mesmerizing and you wonder if he’s been doing this every single day for nearly his entire life.

“I can feel you staring at me, cyare.”

You feel your cheeks warm up when you promptly turn your attention to the breakfast that Paz had kindly made for you, though you had insisted the previous mornings that you didn’t expect him to do this for you. Your heart warms when you remember how he had admitted that it made him happy to see you enjoy little basic necessities that you had been robbed of nearly your entire life and you stopped arguing after that.

Though it was only yogurt and fruit, you still felt like the most spoiled woman in the galaxy.

After completing your usual morning routine, along with braiding the top half of your hair around the crown of your head, you pick out your clothes for the day and scoop your needy little vulptex into the crook of your elbow, her favorite resting place, it seems.

“What am I going to do when she gets too big and I can’t carry her like this?”

Paz snorts as you wait for him to snap his gauntlets into place around his black, leather gloves, “If you didn’t spoil her so much and carry her around all the time, this wouldn’t be a problem, cyare.”

You pout a little at that, struggling not to smile when he gives your earlobe a playful tug once he’s finished with his big gauntlets, “Her leg is still sore--would you really be so heartless to make her walk around the covert?”

“She seemed to have no problem limping around until you showed up and started carrying her all over the place.”

Not having a solid rebuttal to the playful words, you simply shake your head and watch as he checks all the big pouches attached to his utility belt. Your eyes immediately land on the vibroblade sheathed at his hip and you let out a shaky sigh when you remember the Trandoshan, though Paz seems to notice the change in your attitude and shields that side of his body from you.

“C’mon cyare, we have a long day.”

Following close behind Paz, the two of you make your way out of his private quarters and down the tunnels where others are starting to trickle out of their rooms as well. You’ve come to find that with the exception of a few Mandos, the tribe tends to stick to a pretty strict routine of going to bed at a certain time and waking up earlier, though you find this to work out quite nicely for you. Whereas once you were getting two or three hours of sleep a night, along with maybe a thirty minute nap on your break, you now have the entire night to rest, even if you don’t always get the best sleep.

Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll get lost, even though you memorized the directions to your little office on the second day of being at the covert, but you allow Paz to guide you there anyways, grateful for his company when you know you won’t see him until tonight. Though you feel slightly sad upon making it to your destination, you’re somewhat anxious and eager to see what today brings you and who you might meet.

With a gentle kiss of his Beskar forehead against yours, you and the heavy-infantry warrior part ways for the day and you contentedly enter the little office that you had managed to clean up pretty well since your arrival. As you enter the little alcove, something feels off and you quickly detect the sounds of soft hums and discontented grunts. 

You freeze upon finding out that you are not the only one occupying the room and your brows shoot up at the strange spectacle taking place in front of you.

In front of your desk, where you had placed a small pot of violets that you’d taken from the room Paz and Ima had decorated for you, is an unarmored Mandalorian who’s currently inspecting something you wrote down on a little notepad the previous day. Though the Mando is wearing a light grey helmet with chipped away emeral trimmings around the visor and cheeks, you think they must be one of the elders in the tribe, what with their hunched over form, wavering hands, and the long staff they wield.

You don’t miss the sharp, pointed tip of the walking stick that is made from what you’re certain is Beskar and you make sure to approach slowly, not wanting to frighten the Mandalorian, though the thought of you startling a warrior is slightly amusing to you.

They’re humming something that you can barely make out through their modulator and your lips instantly stretch into a faint grin when you realize they’re reading the little list you had started of all the Mandalorians you had met in the tribe so far, along with the colors of their armor and their names to help you memorize the people who are supposed to be your new family. You watch with curiosity as the unarmored Mandalorian grabs one of your pens from the little cup next to your notepad, leaning down to try to scribble something down, though they seem to grow frustrated with how shaky their hands are.

You decide to step in when you hear a disgruntled voice uttering curse words under their breath that you’ve never even heard Paz say before and your cheeks grow warm.

“Hello, may I help you?”

Immediately, the Mandalorian whips around with a small gasp, making you jump as well and you hastily take a few steps backwards when they turn around to face you, their hand pressed tight to where their heart must be frantically pounding, just like yours currently is. Your eyes are wide, hands nervously clutched together as the Mandalorian tilts their faded, scuffed up helmet to the side while observing you closely. Though you think they must be elderly, they stand about only one or two inches taller than you and you’re finally grateful to meet someone who isn’t terrifyingly large or as tiny as one of the younglings.

“You cannot sneak up on me like that!” He lightly admonishes in a deep, gruff voice, still holding his bare, wrinkled hand over his heart, “I am not nearly as alert as I used to be, but it doesn’t mean I can’t deal out some damage still.”

He lifts the staff to show you the pointed, steel bottom of it and you immediately nod your understanding, bowing your head a little, “Of course, I am so sorry! I wasn’t sure if you were hurt or not and I just thought…”

You bite your bottom lip nervously--what were you even thinking?

“Ah, I see,” He seems to relax then, pulling out the chair in front of your desk and sinking down into it with a pained grunt while you continue to wring your fingers together in an anxious manner, “So you must be my replacement--the nurse Paz insisted on bringing to the tribe.”

Maker, did your Mandalorian actually tell the entire damn tribe about you?

Your leg bounces as soon as you take a seat at the end of the medical cot and you brush a few unruly hairs from your forehead before speaking to the elderly man, “I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a replacement, sir. I’m sure I could never be as good of a medic as you are for your people. I’m just here to help out as much as I can.”

He chuckles and shakes his helmet at your humbled statement, propping his steel cane against his thigh and you feel a twinge of sadness deep within your soul as he stares down at his trembling hands. You notice his right hand is trembling more than the left and you think that must be his dominant hand--the one he would typically use for certain medical procedures--and you remember what Paz had mentioned about the tribe’s medic growing too ill and shaky to actually help others.

‘No wonder why the office was so dusty and everything was unused,’ you think to yourself sorrowfully, your eyes taking in all the big dents and scuff marks on his gray and crimson helmet.

“Hey, don’t give me those sad eyes, little one,” He admonishes you again and though you don’t remember having any kind of grandparent in your life, you think being scolded by this man must be what it feels like to have one, “I was told by Paz that you are a tough one--a warrior, just like us.”

You offer him a wry smile, “I suppose he didn’t tell you that I tend to cry quite a bit as well?”

“Oh, he definitely mentioned that,” The Mandalorian chortles and you can’t help but to grin at that, immediately feeling better at how playful he sounds, “I was hoping he was messing around with me--our people aren’t exactly the best with tears and emotions, but I suppose it is not a bad thing. During times like these, the tribe could use a little more happiness and vulnerability.”

You contemplate his words deeply, thinking of the few times Paz had informed you that because of the Empire, his people were nearly extinct and you wonder how this stranger could so easily accept you into the tribe without really knowing you. Seeing how worn out and damaged his dented helmet is, you can’t help but to wonder what he’s been through and though he seems to be more of an eccentric member of the tribe, you’re certain he’s been through hell and back.

“If you do not mind me asking--” You offer him a fond gaze, your smile growing when he tilts his helmet dramatically to the side, his Beskar cheek nearly touching his shoulder, “May I have your name? I am trying to learn who everyone is, but the visors are all the same and sometimes the color of armor is similar and--”

“I get it,” The older man sounds like he’s amused and you briefly wonder if he was once an outsider like you, though you find it rude to ask, “I was about to write it in your little notebook, but I fear my hands are too unsteady for you to understand my writing, little one.”

You perk up and quickly stand up, making your way over to where he’s sitting before you crouch down in front of your desk and grab one of the several pens in the little cup near your notebook. The Mandalorian makes a funny noise as you give him an inquisitive glance, wordlessly asking for his name with a quirk of your brow and though he wears a typical Mandalorian helmet, you think he must be grinning underneath his Beskar guise.

“Ezir Ralas.”

You somehow manage to write down his name as fast as he spells it out for you and you grin at how demanding he sounds upon spelling every single letter out and how he describes the exact colors of his faded helmet. There’s something about his lighthearted tone that makes you think he’s not as intimidating as every other warrior you’ve encountered since being brought to the covert.

“Well, it is lovely to meet you, sir,” You beam at him as you make your way back to the medical cot to sit on while you wait for your first patient of the day, “Have you been the tribe’s nurse for very long?”

He chuckles again, long fingers curling against his knees, “Oh yes, I’ve been with the tribe since we were forced into hiding years ago. Before all of this, however, I was a field medic for my people on Mandalore, back during our civil war.”

“Oh, I um, I had no idea there was a civil war,” You frown at this new information, briefly wondering if Paz knows about this, though you think he must, “That must have been so scary to be out there on a battlefield, trying to save your own people.”

He lets out a small grunt as he leans forward to rest his forearms atop his thighs, “Even though I am a medic, I was also born and raised a fighter, little one. Though the things I have seen haunt me at night when I cannot sleep, I would not so willingly admit that I was ever afraid.”

You slowly nod and gaze down at the steel pendant that hangs between his collarbones and you recognize it as the one you often see around the covert, or in the morning when Paz tucks his own into the collar of his tunic. Seeming to recognize your curiosity towards the skull sigil, he unties the knot at his nape and holds out the necklace for you to inspect up close.

With great eagerness, you reach forward to accept the kind gesture, “Is it rude of me to ask what this is?”

“It is not rude,” Ezir sounds amused by your curiosity and your cheeks grow warm as you trace over the sharp horns protruding from the cheeks of the skull with your thumbs, “It is the skull of a beast that was once native to Mandalore--the mythosaur. They were these enormous monsters with teeth and horns sharper than a sword made of Beskar and when they tried to attack my ancestors, we either slayed them or conquered them and rode them as transportation.”

“How big were they?”

“Massive,” He flippantly waves a hand in the air, appearing far too nonchalant while speaking of terrifying beasts, “Well, I would imagine they’re the size of the village currently above us, little one.”

Your eyes grow wide and a chuckle escapes past his modulator at how incredulous you sound, “And you’re ancestors fought them?”

“Without hesitation,” He informs you and though the image of a monster so fearsome and enormous terrifies you, it also fills you with feelings of reverence and awe, “After the beasts went extinct, the mythosaur skull became a symbol of our people and all that we had overcome; it is a symbol of our history and culture.”

You hum quietly, barely noticing the way his tilted visor is trained on the way you tenderly trace all the curves and divots of the pendant with admiration, a smile tugging at your lips as you think of the symbolism behind the sigil. Suddenly, you understand why people have always murmured terrifying rumors of the Beskar-clad enigmas and you think it must be true that they’re the strongest warriors in the galaxy. You wonder what it must feel like to exude such power to the point where people fear you without even knowing who you are and though you still regret feeling so much terror upon initially meeting Paz, you’re suddenly grateful that you’d eventually let him into your heart.

“Perhaps one day, you will have one of your own,” Ezir concedes and your head snaps up to peer at him with shock; you hand the pendant back out for him to take, feeling undeserving to be holding something so precious to his people, “Oh, don’t give me that look. You may not wear our helmet or armor, but once I teach you some Mando’a and get a weapon in your hand, you’ll be a fearsome warrior.”

You think of what Paz had mentioned about the others in the tribe teaching you Mando’a, and while you’ve only known him for a few minutes, he seems to be a respectful man, albeit a little quirky.

“What does riduur mean?” You blurt out, your skin instantly growing warm when you see Ezir’s shoulders shaking as he laughs at the innocent question; suddenly, you fear that everyone has been saying something demeaning about you, “I just... everyone in the tribe keeps calling me ‘Paz’s riduur’ and I--it’s not an insult, right? They’re always laughing when they say it.”

He shakes his head as his laughter eventually ceases, “No, little one, it is quite the opposite of an insult, but rather a term of endearment. I do not think it is my place to tell you what it means and I am not sure if Paz has the guts to actually tell you, but I can say that I am certain you will find out for yourself one day when he calls you that himself.”

Your leg bounces anxiously as you watch him situate his mythosaur pendant between his collarbones and as you think of all the meanings that the word possibly possesses, one stands out to you the most.

“Is it something I would be allowed to say to him as well in the future?”

“Yes,” He reaches down to pet your vulptex that’s awkwardly making her way towards his boots, sounding utterly entertained by your inquiry, “Though I cannot promise you that his brain wouldn’t combust if he heard you call him that.”

“Then perhaps I would call him that as payback for all the times he’s teased me about certain things.”

Ezir guffaws at that, remaining diligent in petting the lazy vulptex that’s headbutting his calf in a needy manner, “I like you, little one. I almost didn’t believe Ima when she told me you had stopped the fight between Din and Paz, let alone when she informed me that you had stood up for yourself and the bounty hunter.”

You watch as the older man awkwardly scoops the little vulptex into his arms and you’re grateful that not many seem to mind her presence in the covert, as you’re not sure what you would have done had you been forced to get rid of her.

“I have been belittled by men all my life,” You shyly admit, staring at the little creature that’s reaching up in an attempt to bite his pendant, though Ezir doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest as you continue, “And for the longest time, I just learned to keep my mouth shut and deal with it because that’s just the way I was raised, I suppose. These last couple of days have taught me that it does not make me a bad person for only wanting to be treated with respect and my only regret is that I did not realize this sooner in life. Perhaps I’d be a stronger woman if I had realized my worth at a younger age.”

No longer is Ezir petting the vulptex, but instead, he now has his visor trained on you and in return, you offer him a small smile. He remains deathly silent for at least a minute before giving you a curt nod, as though he approves of either you or just your declaration in general.

“In our language, we have a word that I think perfectly describes you, little one,” His gruff, filtered voice drops to something softer as he watches you perk up with curiosity, “Ramikadyc--it means that you have the tenacity and determination of a Mandalorian, that you have our mindset.”

Your heart instantly swells with gratitude and you shyly cross your ankles together as you wring your fingers together on top of your lap, “I would hardly compare myself to your people. I do not think I would have the tenacity or determination to fight against one of those mythosaurs that your ancestors slayed.”

“Something tells me you and I are not too different,” Ezir informs you with what you think is mirth laced within his deep voice, “I do not think you would hesitate to put yourself in harm’s way if it meant protecting someone you care for or someone you do not wish to see to get hurt.”

You smile softly and give him a slight nod as you think of the bounty hunter that you had stood up for, despite him not deserving it, or even your little vulptex that you had taken a blaster shot for. If Ezir truly thinks that you have the heart of a warrior, then he must be saying it for a good reason and his words, along with Ima’s and Paz’s confidence in you, fills you with a little more hope in regards to your future with the tribe.

“Will you tell me more about you?”

“I am afraid my stories might bore you to the point of insanity,” Ezir chuckles, shifting in his seat a little so he can hold your vulptex in a more comfortable position, “But since you seem so curious, what is it you wish to know, little one?”

“Can you tell me more about Mandalore and the civil--?”

Before you can finish, a deep baritone from the entrance of your office interrupts your inquiry and both you and Ezir immediately turn around to find your blue Mandalorian standing tall behind another unarmored Mando, though this one is still taller than you and Ezir. The smaller Mando is holding their wrist protectively against their chest and it takes a few seconds for you to recognize the warrior as one of the younger ones that seems to have a knack for constantly getting hurt during training.

“Saviin’ika,” Paz greets politely with a slight nod, cocking his helmet to the side upon noticing who’s been keeping you company in the short amount of time you two have been apart, “Ezir.”

You raise your brows at the way your warrior tenses up a little upon seeing the elderly man, though you manage to get in a word before any of the Mandalorians can say anything, your attention focused on the injured boy.

“Is your wrist hurt?”

The unarmored Mando peers up at Paz with what you think must be a wary expression through his visor--something that your warrior immediately picks up on. With absolutely no hesitation, the heavy-infantry warrior murmurs something to the younger Mando in his native tongue and you raise your head with anticipation and a kind smile. As though that’s all the confirmation of the young teenager--Vhan--needs, he nods a little and you slide off the end of the cot so your first patient of the day can sit down.

You give the boy a small, encouraging smile as he takes his glove off and pushes up his sleeve to reveal a swollen wrist, “What happened?”

“It was my fault,” Paz says immediately, making you raise your brows in surprise at the thought of him somehow hurting someone so young, “He was sparring with his brother and I looked away for a minute. He fell and landed right on his wrist.”

You frown a little at the guilt in his voice, though judging by the exasperated sigh that wafts past Vhan’s modulator, you think this must be a common occurrence amongst the younger ones who get hurt on Paz’s watch.

“Well, it’s hard to tell for sure without x-rays,” You manage to rotate Vhan’s wrist in the slightest, a gesture that seems to cause minimal pain to the boy, “But it looks like it’s just a minor sprain, since there seems to be no crooked bones and you can still move it around a little. Nothing too serious and nothing to feel bad about.”

Paz lets out a relieved huff at the news, though you know your blue warrior enough to know he’s not going to let the guilt down so easily, especially not when it pertains to one of the younger members of the tribe. A knowing grin stretches your lips when Vhan groans, and now you’re certain this isn’t the first time Paz has been worried like a mother hen over the clumsy teen. Though the blue warrior has quite the reputation among all the adults in the covert, it seems he also has a completely different persona when he’s with the younger ones.

“See? I told you it’s fine. Can I go back to training now?” Vhan insists, moving to hop off of the cot, though you are quicker to stop him by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Uh uh,” You shake your head, earning another groan from the teen and what you’re sure are surprised expressions from the two other men occupying the room, “Just because it’s a sprain doesn’t mean you can go running off just to damage it even further. You should at least rest it for forty-eight hours and put some ice on it every thirty minutes for two hours until the pain goes away. Also try to keep it elevated as much as possible.”

“That’s so much work for a little sprain though!” Vhan argues and you let out a soft sigh as you begin to compress his wrist with a thick bandage, “Can’t I just--”

“Hey!” Ezir suddenly sounds annoyed, and you’re surprised when the boy tenses up a little, just as Paz had earlier, and something about their reactions has you growing even more curious to what kind of reputation the elder has among his family, “Listen to the nurse, di’kut. She only wants what’s best for you.”

“Yes sir,” Vhan mumbles, though you can tell he’s still not happy about it when he turns his visor to you, “S-Sorry, Saviin’ika.”

You blink your surprise at him calling you the familiar nickname, but eventually you give him a kind smile and stand up to retrieve your roll of ice wraps, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure it must be difficult for you to miss out on training, but it really is for your own good. I don’t have the resources here to fix your wrist if it was seriously broken, so it’s detrimental to make sure that the sprain heals properly before doing any serious training again. Perhaps there is… um, maybe something else you can do in the meantime that’s not too strenuous?”

He perks up a little and hope instantly flares in your chest as he gives you an eager nod before turning to look at Paz, “You told me the other day that you would show me how to take apart an assault rifle and put it back together--would that be okay?”

Paz glances at you and the boy’s eager tone makes it hard for you to say no, so you give your warrior a reluctant nod as you finish tying the ice wrap around his swollen wrist, “Just as long as you make sure to not move your wrist around too much and keep the ice wrap on, okay?”

“Alright!” He’s instantly hopping off the cot and you chuckle at his newfound excitement, “Thanks vod’ika!”

You huff a little, opening your mouth to stubbornly remind him that you’re far older than him, though he cuts you off with a quick headbutt to your forehead; while it’s not too harsh of a harsh gesture, it’s certainly not as gentle as all the times Paz has performed the same action. You rub your tender forehead as Paz turns to the side a little so Vhan can make his way, presumably, to the armory. Paz shakes his helmet in an exasperated manner as he steps toward you, most likely to get a look at your forehead, but Ezir’s small grunts as he slowly stands up has your full attention.

Instinctively, you move to help the elder up from your office chair, noticing his slight struggle to stand and you force yourself not to cringe at the numerous pops and cracks coming from his knees and back. After a lifetime of fighting and being a medic, you’re certain it’s taken a toll on him, though he simply chuckles a little and pats your back as you both make your way over to Paz.

“I suppose I should take this as my sign to leave you to your duties for the day, verd’ika,” You beam at the new nickname as he carefully grabs onto your elbow for better balance while you lead him to the entrance where Paz is still standing with a cocked helmet, “I’ll have to look for my old medical books and datapads for you to read.”

“Oh, thank you!” Happiness and warmth instantly blankets your heart at his consideration, gratitude filling your soul when you realize that he seems to approve of you being the tribe’s new nurse, “I would love that very much, if it’s not too much of a hassle.”

“Of course not,” He gives your hand a little pat before latching onto a grumpy Paz’s elbow instead, “I’ll just make this one help me later since he can reach the higher shelves.”

“I have other things to--”

Jutting a thumb out in your direction over his shoulder, Ezir sends a rough little whack! of his walking stick to Paz’s armored shin, “It is good she is here with the tribe now--perhaps she can teach you and everyone else some manners, you big brute.”

“Yeah, ori kebiin,” You giggle in a teasing manner, earning a small grunt from the blue warrior, “Would it really kill you to learn a few manners?”

Ezir lets out a loud laugh that has Paz shaking his helmet at you, and though you know you’ll soon regret it, you think it’s worth the delightful torment he’ll inflict on you later when the two of you are alone. Without another word, Paz reaches out to give your nape a tender squeeze before leaving you alone to your thoughts in your little office, though you think that seeing Ezir and helping Vhan has already given you a bright start to your day.

With a faint smile stretched along your lips, you add a few comments to your little notepad and take inventory of the supplies you have and what you need for the next time Paz goes on a supply run. For the most part, the day goes by slowly and uneventfully--something you are actually grateful for, what with being so used to the chaos that came as a result of working in a village full of crime and those with cruel hearts.

Needless to say, you don’t mind a calm day in the slightest and when Ima passes your office hours later to politely inform you that training and sparring lessons are done for the day, you’re grateful that no serious injuries were sustained. Packing up your things and making sure your office is in order, you turn off the lights and exit your office, eager to explore the covert a little more and go to the room that Paz and Ima had decorated for you.

After conversing with a few of the Mandalorians you had befriended in the short amount of time you’ve been at the covert, you happily make your way down the stairs that you know leads to everyone’s private quarters, as well as the nursery and your little flower alcove.

You hum a mindless tune to yourself as you stroll down the long tunnel, smiling when the atmosphere gets a little warmer when you pass the shielded alcove that leads into the nursery; your walking slows a little and you’re half tempted to go inside and say hi to the little ones, though you don’t want to cause any chaos again, especially so late in the day. Reluctantly, you continue past the nursery and make your way to the little room Paz and Ima had decorated with your flowers, your vulptex resting comfortably in your arms as you two seek out relaxation.

“I need to think of a name for you, little one,” You murmur, earning a soft gaze from her, crimson eyes slowly blinking up at you, “Maybe I should ask one of the younglings to come up with one. They must be far more creative than me.”

She simply answers you with a dramatic huff as you continue down the path that Paz had already taken you down a few times.

You’re completely oblivious to the little footsteps following you far behind.

Finally, you make it to your beloved sanctuary and let out a relieved sigh upon seeing all your growing flowers and the lights that hang above them. Placing your little vulptex on the center of the desk where you had placed a little pillow for her, you dutifully water the plants and flowers that look like they need it the most. It’s comforting to have a little place of your own, especially after dealing with so many of the boisterous warriors all day and while you feel as though you’re slowly getting used to their antics, you realize you truly had no idea what you were getting yourself into upon agreeing to be the tribe’s nurse.

A small smile quirks at the corners of your lips as you feel the tiniest ache in your temple where the younger Mandalorian had headbutted his gratitude a little too roughly earlier, though warmth fills your heart when you remember how he had referred to you as his sister.

You’re in the middle of checking on your little violets when your vulptex raises her head in a jolting manner; immediately, you turn around, expecting Paz or perhaps Ima needing you to tend to someone’s wound.

It is neither one of them, you realize with surprise.

You let out a little gasp upon seeing a pair of wide, fearful eyes poking from the tiny crack between the curtains and the doorway and you instantly recognize the sad, golden brown orbs from days ago in the nursery.

“Oh, it’s okay, little one!” You give him a warm smile that instantly seems to allay some of the despair in his big eyes, “You may come in, if you’d like.”

Hesitantly, he makes his way into the unfamiliar room, looking like a lost animal that’s experiencing a new environment for the first time and you think you know the feeling all too well; even after spending a few days at the covert, you still feel quite lost and you can’t possibly imagine what this child is going through.

You blink your surprise when he gets halfway across the room before spotting your lazy vulptex who is still curled up on your desk, staring at the boy curiously, though not unkindly in the slightest. Carefully, you make your way closer to the little who simply stares up at you with wide starry eyes, his hands clasped together politely in front of him and your heart melts at how nervous and scared he seems.

“It’s okay, little one,” You reassure him in a calm, hushed tone, reaching your hand out for him to take, “She loves younglings very much and would never hurt you, I promise.”

The curly-haired boy shifts his gaze between you and your rocky companion before ultimate latching onto your hand with his. Cautiously and without any force, you guide him closer to your desk where the vulptex is still observing the little boy with gentle eyes; you think that on top of being intelligent, her species must also be quite empathetic and can differentiate a kind soul from a dark one.

“Is it okay if I pick you up?” You question the boy softly, earning you a shy nod as an answer, and you carefully haul him up to the chair in front of your desk, keeping a hand pressed to the back of his shoulders to keep him steady, should he stumble, “If you want to hold your hand out to sniff it, it’ll be a sign that you want to be her friend.”

His eyes widen a little more and you can’t help but to grin as he holds a shaking hand out for the rocky vulpine to sniff eagerly, his other hand pressed shyly to his cheek in anticipation. A tiny, childish giggle meets your ears and warms your heart as the vulptex licks his palm, though he is quick to pull his damp hand back and wipe it on his beige tunic with a scrunched up expression. When he smiles up at you, you’re certain your heart is going to melt into a big puddle of goo in the pit of your stomach and you offer him one in return, smoothing his dark, unruly curls away from his forehead.

“See? She knows you’re brave and likes you now.”

He gives you a toothy grin and you feel a lovely warmth in your soul knowing that you were able to provide some emotional reprieve for the sweet child.

“Did you sneak away from the nursery, little one?” You ask him gently, not wanting him to think you’re upset with him at all; he simply drops his head in shame and you continue to stroke his curls in an attempt to comfort him, “It’s okay! You’re not in trouble, I promise. I just want to know why.”

For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to answer as he keeps his head lowered, but then he eventually peers up at you and whispers his response in a tiny, meek voice.

“Y-You were singing,” He explains quietly, and you realize he must have heard you humming and followed you all the way here, “‘M sorry.”

“Hey, no, none of that,” You crouch down in front of him so he’s taller than you while he stands on your chair and you give him a kind smile, “It’s okay, but how about next time you just ask the caretaker on duty, alright? They’ll come find me, wherever I may be.”

He gives you a shy nod, seeming thoughtful for a few moments as he presses a chubby index finger to his pouting lips, “Do I have to go back?”

You should say yes and you know it, but his eyes are all but pleading with you to say no and he looks so hopeful that you’ll let him keep you company. You think he must feel just as out of place as you do, not knowing who to talk to or who to trust, though you seem to be the one person he finds solace in.

How could you destroy that tiny amount of trust he already has in you?

You give him a tiny smile and shake your head, “You may stay for a little while, but I fear I do not make for the most exciting company, little one.”

The boy doesn’t say anything to that and you blink your surprise when he reaches out to clumsily touch the thick braid wrapped around your crown, along with the few flowers that you had strategically placed throughout the weaves that morning when Paz had been watching you. He seems curious by the vibrant flora, his eyes blinking and flickering with awe and you bow your head a little so he can get a better look at them.

“Do you like flowers?” You ask him quietly when he eventually ceases his exploration, and you look up to see him giving you a shy little nod, “What’s your favorite kind?”

You expect him to not know many, especially if he’s spent his few years of life on Nevarro, though he surprises you when he speaks in a barely there whisper, “I like roses--like the ones my ‘gramma used to paint.”

You’re desperately inclined to ask more about his grandmother--if he had any parents and what planet he had been saved from, but if he’s the covert’s newest foundling, the wounds on his heart and mind must still be so fresh and you do not wish to infect it further with your invasive questions. Instead, you force yourself to give him a warm, big smile and somehow manage to keep the tears out of your eyes when his chubby fingers find the little blue flower that Paz had tucked behind your ear earlier in the morning.

“Yeah? I bet they were beautiful,” You grin and he gives you a fervent little nod to confirm your thoughts, “What color roses did she paint?”

And what you thought was only going to be a ten or twenty minute interaction with the boy ends up to be more than an hour and a half long meeting where the two of you talk about harmless topics like flowers, favorite animals, different types of stars and constellations. Though for once, you do most of the talking and you are more than satisfied to describe the beautiful hot springs and caves that Paz had taken you to, sparing all the mushy details that you knew would probably gross out a child.

“He’s scary,” The boy murmurs as you tell him of the story, at least the clean version, of how Paz had stood up for you the night you first found your vulptex, “They all are--they don’t smile.”

“Well of course they do,” You inform the little one, curling a finger against his cheek and earning a tiny giggle, “Everyone smiles, you just can’t see it because they wear their helmets to honor their creed. It does not mean they are robots or incapable of feeling the same emotions we do.”

He’s perched on one of your thighs, seeming comfortable as he softly pets the sleeping vulptex and you smile down at him sympathetically upon realizing he’s still apprehensive of the armored warriors, “I was scared of Paz at first too, but he turned out to be one of the kindest, most honorable men I have ever met. These people are not cruel, but I understand why you are afraid, little one. I have only been here for three days and I am still learning how to fit in as well. Perhaps we can figure this out together.”

He gives you another toothy grin and nods, seeming comforted by your words as he leans back into you and your heart aches at the trust he shows in you; a part of you wonders if it’s because he can actually see your face. You’re not entirely sure of what to say as he continues to pet the sleepy animal, smiling whenever he hears the soft squeaks that the vulptex lets out every now and then.

“Do you have a name little one?” You ask kindly--tenderly--hoping that the question won’t overwhelm him as he tilts his head to stare up at you.

You truly don’t think he’s going to answer you, but then after a few moments of silence, he lowers his head a little, not looking you in the eyes.

“Odisian.”

“Odisian... what a lovely name,” You repeat it with a grin, earning a shy smile from him, “Is it okay if I call you Odi? Or do you prefer your full name?”

Suddenly, he beams up at you and kicks his legs a little, as if having a nickname makes him feel more at home, “I like Odi!”

Your cheeks nearly hurt from how big you’re smiling at him and you nod, deciding it’s best not to dwell too much on his own name or what nicknames he might have had before being brought to the covert. You straighten your spine a little and reach out to pet your little vulptex who keens under all the adoration and attention she’s suddenly receiving from you and the little one.

“Would you like to pick out a name for her?” You ask him softly, tilting your head to the side when he gives you an expression filled with awe and wonder, like he can’t believe you are asking him to do such a thing, “She needs one and I do not think I am creative enough to bestow her with such an honor.”

Odi swings his legs nervously and you can’t help but to grin as he seems to seriously contemplate this huge decision, his tiny hand squeezing his cheeks together in great concentration. You remain patient with him as he turns his head a little to stare at all the flowers on your desk and the colorful vines that are draping off the edge of the shelves attached to the wall with admiration.

“Rosie?”

He says it more as a question, like he’s nervous for your response, so you offer him a warm grin when you realize this sweet child wants to name your vulptex after his own favorite flower. You wonder if he somehow knows just how much your flowers mean to you, just as Paz does, or if the flower simply has some sort of deeper meaning to him and you playfully ruffle his curls, earning you a little giggle from him.

“That is far more lovely of a name than I could ever come up for her,” You inform him, your cheeks hurting from how big of a smile you’re wearing on your face and he perks up at your reassurance, no longer seeming quite as nervous, “Her eyes are red like roses too! Is red your favorite color?”

“I like yellow,” He bashfully admits, and you nearly chuckle at the way he pronounces his ‘L’s as ‘W’s, “It is a happy color.”

You agree with him as you begin to collect some flowers for the little boy, though a part of you lamely thinks he probably doesn’t even want them. You’re in the process of pointing out all the different flowers that Paz and Ima had been so kind to plant for you in anticipation of your arrival when the drapes to your alcove shuffle to the side a little.

You’re completely unaware of how long your blue warrior is standing in the entryway, simply observing you and the little one perched contently on top of your leg who seems utterly interested in what you have to tell him about the healing properties of violets and lavender.

“Oh! And then this one right here, if you just grind it up and add it into--”

“Cyare.”

Immediately, you and Odi both turn to face where Paz is standing just feet away in front of the rounded entrance, though the little one in your arms is quick to lower his head in fear of the massive warrior. Wanting the youngling to feel more comfortable, you simply smile up at Paz, who suddenly seems frozen to his spot as he stares at you with a cocked helmet, his shoulders tense as his pauldrons inch closer to the bottom of his helmet.

“Is something wrong, Paz?”

“No, it’s just--” His helmet slightly jolts to the side and he’s acting odd as you gently heave Odi off of your lap, offering him the little bundle of flowers so he won’t feel so lonely without you by his side, “It is time for the younglings to sleep and the caretaker on duty got scared because he was missing. I thought you might know where he is and it seems as though I was right.”

Odi is staring up at you with the saddest expression, as though he’s pleading with you to not return him back to the nursery and you gently cup the back of his curls, giving him a kind smile in return. Nervously, he fiddles with his hands as you stand up, easily scooping your vulptex into the crook of your elbow, all while the little one stares up at Paz with the most frightened expression you’ve ever witnessed, hiding behind your leg.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere and you’re more than welcome to visit me anytime,” You offer him a reassuring smile as he gazes down at the little bouquet of flowers and  he is quick to grab your outstretched hand with an eager expression, “C’mon, I’ll walk you back. Besides, he likes flowers too--I bet he would like it if you gave him one.”

You say the last sentence in a low whisper, as though you’re sharing some sort of gossip with him and you instantly notice the way he perks up as Paz holds the drapes to the side for you, his helmet still tilted to the side as he observes you two. Odi is still quiet and thoughtful as he stares down at the little bundle of colorful flowers you had gifted him, all while holding your hand as Paz slowly leads you through the dim tunnels.

Shyly, the child gazes up at Paz and warmth blooms in your heart and soul when he lowers his helmet to regard Odi with what you’re certain is the utmost kindness, most likely wanting nothing more than to earn the boy’s trust. Without saying anything, the little one holds up the colorful bouquet of flowers for Paz to see and you grin at the adorable interaction.

"Those are... pretty,” Paz comments in a softer voice and you can tell he’s trying to appear as placid as possible to the nervous boy, “Which one is your favorite?”

Odi lets go of your hand to press his index finger to his bottom lip in severe contemplation and you nearly chuckle at what must be a cute little habit that he does unknowingly when he’s thinking too hard. After a moment’s consideration, he points a chubby finger at one of the many violets that you had tucked in the center and you instantly grin.

“Those are my favorite too,” Paz says quietly, and you’re too focused on the way Odi is smiling down at the little bouquet to notice the Mandalorian’s visor trained on your face.

Odi seems conflicted as he gently tugs one of the violets from the middle of the colorful bundle and offers it to the huge warrior with a hopeful gaze, not saying a word throughout the entire exchange.

“What an honor,” Paz sounds like he's grinning as he accepts the little flower and Odi immediately seeks out your hand again, “Thank you.”

The youngling peers up at you with a cheerful glimmer in his eye, as though he’s proud of himself for showing such bravery and selflessness in the presence of a powerful warrior. Once you offer him a knowing smile and a gentle squeeze of his hand, Odi turns to gaze down at his colorful bouquet with a tiny grin on his face. 

Content upon realizing the little one no longer seems sad or fearful, you tilt your head up to beam happily at Paz, your heart still full of love and admiration towards both him and Odi; immediately the warrior lifts his hand to tenderly stroke your cheek. The cold bite of leather nearly makes you flinch and suddenly you’re remorseful that both of your hands are occupied by your littlest companions as you now long to touch the lighter blue in the hollows of his cheeks.

It’s not until you make it back to the nursery that Odi’s smile drops and his lips form into a little pout. Paz presses his gloved hand to the small of your back to guide you further into the nursery and through a short tunnel leading the four of you to where the younglings must sleep and take their naps.

“Hey,” You whisper after the four of you enter a dimly lit room with several beds lined up; you notice the tiny lumps curled up underneath the fuzzy blankets and smile as you crouch down in front of Odi, “Remember what I said, okay? You ever want to come see me, just ask one of the caretakers. I’ll always be here for you.”

He nods, and before you can even think about standing up, he steps forward to wrap his tiny arms around your neck and you’re quick to return the sweet gesture, your free hand coming up to gently cup the back of his head. You feel his chubby fingers curl into the hair you had left unbraided that morning and smile when he holds onto you a little tighter; you can tell he’s still afraid of you leaving as an idea pops into your head.

“Since Rosie seems to like you so much, why don’t I leave her here with you for the night?” Immediately, he pulls away from you, his starry eyes wide and filled with disbelief as you gently shuffle the lazy vulpine into his awaiting arms, “She may be small, but she’s a fierce little thing that will protect you from any nightmares you may have, I promise.”

He holds the animal closer to his chest, grinning when she lifts her head to lick at his cheek and Odi instantly giggles in response. He gives you one last shy smile before making his way to his little bed and you stand up to your full height as you watch him shuffle underneath his blankets, all while holding Rosie close to his chest. It’s not until you watch his eyes close that you let out a deep exhale and you wonder when you had stopped breathing; tears nearly escape your eyes when you watch Rosie curl herself closer to the child, head tucked underneath his chin as he smiles sleepily.

“Ner cyare,” Paz whispers and you jump a little, nearly forgetting that he had been standing there this whole time; you turn to face him and you give him a questioning look when he threads his fingers through the valleys between yours, “There is something I want to show you.”

You think when he says ‘something’, he most likely means ‘someone’, and your heart thrums wildly in anticipation as he leads you away from the younglings’ sleeping quarters. The alcove he’s leading you to is the one he had popped out of a few days ago after you confronted him after the fight, you realize, and you wonder what could possibly be in the room that he seems so excited to show you.

You blink owlishly at him as he politely holds the drapes to the side for you and you hesitantly enter the warm room; instantly, another Mandalorian with black and yellow armor turns to face you and Paz. Before you can offer the stranger an affable greeting, a soft whimper cuts you off and your heart instantly freezes over when you spot a wooden crib in the corner of the dim room.

An infant… 

There is an infant in the covert and the thought simultaneously terrifies you and breaks your heart.

Paz quietly says something in his mother tongue when the caretaker on duty tenses as you step forward to try to get a better look at the distressed infant, your heart now pounding so wildly that you hear it in your ears. Whatever Paz said to the caretaker immediately seems to calm them down and they simply watch as you observe the fussy baby that is kicking its little feet wildly and growing even more distressed. The infant is wearing tiny white socks and a long, dark brown tunic that falls to her ankles; her little head is adorned with a white beanie, but you see dark tufts of hair poking out from underneath.

“I… I cannot get her to stop crying,” The Mandalorian’s deep, filtered voice is coated with exhaustion and despite the tears burning your eyes, you fixate your attention on the defeated Mando, the vibrancy of the yellow stripes painted on his black armor nearly hurting your eyes, “What am I doing wrong?”

You wonder if he’s ever had to take care of an infant before, but judging by the way the black and yellow Mando shuffles around nervously makes you think it is not all too common of an occurrence in the tribe.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, shaking off your fears and insecurities as you remind yourself that you were brought here to take care of others, “O-Okay, how old is she?”

“I only found her a few weeks ago, cyare,” Paz informs you quietly, not wanting to disturb the baby even more, and you turn around to gaze up at him with wide, watery eyes; he must see the confusion etched on your features because he immediately explains himself, “I was walking back from seeing you one night and found her abandoned behind one of the vendors in the marketplace. I can’t… I can’t imagine what kind of monster does such a thing.”

You know all too well of the monsters that are capable of leaving a helpless creature behind to die, most likely feeling no guilt when they close their eyes at night.

You nod again and let out a shaky exhale as the caretaker turns his body to the side and allows you to lean over the crib, your chest aching something fierce as you carefully scoop up the tiny creature into your arms. Instantly, she lets out with a piercing, shrill scream and you heave a small sigh at how fussy of a little thing she is, though you think you already know what her problem is.

“What are you--?”

The strange Mandalorian jolts forward a little as you shuffle the crying baby around in your arms until her chest and stomach is resting against the inside of your forearm, her arms and chubby legs dangling lazily around in the air and her cheek tucked against the crook of your elbow. It takes a few moments of tenderly stroking her back to get her cries to soften into something less ear shattering, and you let out a relieved sigh when her whimpers turn into little coos and grunts.

“I think she might be colic,” You inform the caretaker with a shaky whisper, his helmet tilted to the side with what you think is either curiosity or shock as she dribbles, “I’ve uh, I’ve seen this before and read about it. Are you making sure to burp her after each feeding? Or perhaps she should be using a different formula if she has a sensitive tummy?”

“I--” He drops his helmet a little, staring at the cooing infant that you’re bouncing a little, “She wasn’t spitting anything up and I just thought… I wasn’t sure how to do it, how to burp her.”

You give the black and yellow Mando a sympathetic expression and nod, your eyes still burning with tears, “Babies can be pretty fussy sometimes, but once you find out how they like to be held and handled, it makes things a little bit easier. This tends to be a good trick at calming a lot of babies, but you need to make sure she gets burped after every feeding or else she’ll be really uncomfortable and even fussier than normal.”

“Thank you,” The caretaker nods his gratitude as you continue to stroke her back and you give him a weak smile in response, “Could you maybe get her to go to sleep? I should check on the others and I--”

‘Need a breather.’

He doesn’t say it out loud, but you hear it in the way his deep voice drops and his shoulders fall at the mere thought of having a few moments of peace and relaxation.

He fidgets when you hesitate, though Paz places a gentle hand on your nape and he must realize that something is wrong as he squeezes the warm skin there; it’s something he only does when he’s trying to comfort you. Afraid that your voice will fail you, you offer the caretaker a jittery nod and he wastes no time in leaving the nursery that’s dedicated to this tiny infant. 

You find it difficult to even look at Paz as you make your way over to the rocking chair that seems far too small for any Mandalorian and slowly sink down until you’re sitting comfortably with a cooing, sleepy baby tucked in your arms. A soft sigh escapes your lungs when you feel a little bit of drool soak through the material covering your elbow and you risk a glance at Paz when he gets down on a knee next to the rocking chair, his gloved hand moving to gently squeeze your bicep.

“What happened?” He questions as quietly as possible, warranting a tiny grunt from the irascible infant, “Why are you so sad all of a sudden?”

The way he asks such a question so softly instantly leaves you feeling painfully raw and vulnerable and you are quick to shoulder away a tear before he can wipe it away for you; you shake your head viciously, “It’s nothing.”

“Cyare--”

“I will explain later.”

The Mandalorian gives you a curt nod and retrieves a piece of cloth for you as you move the calmed baby to burp her against your shoulder. You can tell he wants to say something as you pat her between the shoulders, but he remains silent and tilts his helmet to the side upon hearing the infant gurgle and do her business against the cloth draped over your shoulder. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep once she’s burped up all the air and spit from her meal and you let out a grateful sigh when you watch her eyelids slowly droop, somewhat eager to get her out of your arms and into her crib.

Once she’s comfortable in her cradle and fast asleep, you are quick to exit the little alcove, Paz hot on your heels as you practically storm past the exhausted-looking caretaker who’s sitting on a stone ledge in the main play area.

“Hey thank you for--”

You’re out of the nursery before he can fully express his gratitude to you and you hear Paz mutter something to the caretaker before rushing after you. Halfway down the tunnel leading to his private quarters, Paz catches up to you and carefully wraps his leather-clad fingers around your bicep, turning you around to face him.

“Cyare! What’s going--?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” You don’t even realize you’re sobbing until you hear your own voice and Paz’s other hand comes to squeeze your shoulder in a comforting manner, “Wh-Why didn’t you tell me there was a baby and why would you make me…? I didn’t know and... Maker, she was so much like--”

Your chest is heaving, tears streaming from your cheeks like raging waterfalls and Paz gently pulls you to the side and covers you when another Mandalorian passes you two, giving you what you’re certain is a curious gaze. He cups a massive hand to the side of your neck and leans down as you continue to sob and babble incoherent pleas at him, wondering why he’d put you through this, though he truly had no idea what he had done to you.

“I-I am sorry, cyare,” He breathes, squeezing your bicep firmly with his other hand, “You seemed to love the little ones so much and I thought… I thought you would love to see the baby, but I didn’t think…” He shakes his helmet in a jolting manner as you viciously rub at your eyes and cheeks, “What happened? What did I do wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” You ignore his frantic questions as you try desperately to stop the tears escaping your eyes, along with the horrific memories from flooding your mind, “I didn’t mean to be so rude! I thought I was over it and I could forget, but seeing her...”

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” He hushes you in a kind manner, shielding you from any wandering eyes that might see your tears, “Why don’t… why don’t we go back to our room and you can tell me what’s going on? That’s what you said the other day, right? That we should talk about the things we feel?”

You nod your answer, not trusting your voice in that moment, and you try your hardest to force down the massive lump in your throat.

“Will you tell me why you are so broken up over seeing the baby?”

He’s quick to pull you in close, hunching over to hold you easier and you immediately stuff your face into the crook of his neck as you give him another jittery nod, “I fear you will hate me upon hearing what I’ve done in the past--how I have failed the ones I was supposed to take care of.”

“I… I could never feel such a thing towards you,” He promises with a deep exhale, sounding just as heartbroken as he reluctantly pulls away and leads you closer to his private quarters, keeping a firm hand on the small of your back, “Whatever it is, I could never hate you, I swear.”

Your chest aches more and more the closer you get to his private quarters and once you finally make it, he’s quick to sit you down on the foot of his bed, kneeling down as he collects your hands in his leather-clad ones.

“What is haunting you, ner cyare? What makes you cry so much when you sleep?”

You pray that once you tell him, the horrific memories won’t weigh heavy on your conscience any longer.

Translations:

Ner cyare=My beloved

Mesh’la=Beautiful

Ori Kebiin=Big blue

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum=I love you (lit. I know you forever)

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Verd’ika= Little soldier

Di’kut=Idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aerynwrites @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst​ @anakinsittinginsand​ @yes-music-is-my-religion​ @tangledlove27​ @justrunamok​ @peqchynero​ @haloangel391​ @awhiskeywithawinchester @aliciaxglasgow​ @bonesaldente​ @kawaiitimecharm​ @karaabove​ @clydesducktape​ @misssilvertongue​ @heartxheat​ @pazvizslasgirl4ever​ (Please let me know if I missed you or you’d like to be taken off!!)

Author’s note: As always, thank you all so much for being as patient and kind as ever <3 I don’t know why this chapter was such a struggle for me to finish, but I’m so glad eventually managed to get all the words I wanted down lol. I was worried it might seem like there’s a lot going on in this chapter, but I just wanted more interactions with our nurse getting more settled in with the tribe and meeting others, so hopefully this chapter doesn’t seem like it’s all over the place :( Anyways I love you all and thank you so much for all the support y’all continuously give me <33

[softthotanon-writings]

Night Talks

Published: 08.08.2021

Pairing: Clone X You

Words: 254

Warnings: rotten fluff 🤧🥰

Author’s note: inspired by this lovely drawing by @howie-ner-cyare. hope you don’t mind me trying to capture the feelings in your drawing... also, I still don’t feel like writing full on imagines. keeping it short and simple 💜 ALSO, I always refer to an unspecified clone as “Trooper” so you can insert any character you like.

My Masterlist

It is already late. The sun went down hours ago, and in its place, the moon is shining brightly tonight. The gentle glow creates playful shadows in your room. But not on them. Trooper is here with you. Close to you. You two have decided to go to bed facing and holding each other. Nothing could compare to this feeling. The whispers are only heard by you two. Question about how things were while the other was gone, some retellings of stories about the people in your lives, and other random things get passed between you. They take your hand into theirs and play with your fingers while listening to you. Gentle smiles,  laughs, and chuckles are shared. Happiness is starting to overwhelm you. You go in for a hug and squeeze them tightly before letting loose again, but not before having placed a kiss on their cheek. Trooper lets out another chuckle and places a kiss on your forehead as a thank you. 

Time seems to go by so slow like this. With just the two of you and the night, nothing can interrupt you. Except for one small evil. Tired sighs become more frequent. They look fondly at you struggling to keep your eyes open. It is becoming apparent how you are clinging to this moment. They don’t blame you tho. After all, the feeling is mutual. “Sleep now, cyar'ika. I’ll be here when you wake up.” and you know you can close your eyes now. Your trooper always keeps their word.

[mandoclan]

COURAGE // Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x F!Reader

A/N: I just really love Din, and this is possibly the easiest thing I’ve ever written. This is my take on a “5 times Din realized he loved me and the one time he did something about it.” Set about two months after saving the kid (middle of season 1). In my mind, it took over a year for Din to return Grogu to his kind.

Warnings: Mentions of violence and blood and a wound (you get shot), major fluff, conflicting feelings, marriage talk.

The first time Din realized he loved you, he froze. The sight of you with the sleeping kid strapped to your chest while you asked a trader in the market questions about your cooking arrangements on the Razor Crest warmed him. He overheard you asking about ingredients and cooking methods and snacks for the kid and even for him and his heart almost burst.

“Thank the maker for this helmet,” Din muttered as he watched you. He’d just settled the bill with another trader for some extra blankets and clothing for you, knowing you’d been nicking his tunics when you thought he wasn’t looking. He knew you didn’t have much from the planet he picked you up on, and hoped this would be helpful even if he couldn’t deny that the sight of you in his well-worn clothes was something he could get used to.

“Mando!” You called, breaking him from his concentration. “Are you ready to go? I got the supplies you asked for, but they’re a bit heavy and I don’t want to squash him.” You gestured to the kid, asleep and drooling on your shirt. You didn’t seem to mind though, and Mando found himself smiling at the sight, fingers gently rubbing the kid’s big, green ears. He babbled a bit in his sleep and you smiled down at his adopted son.

“I’ll grab the crate. Meet me back on the ship, okay?”

“Perfect. Thank you!” you pressed a kiss to his helmet where his cheek should be and walked away, murmuring to the kid as you did.

“Your dad’s gonna get the big heavy crate and then you can have some cookies later, you silly little womp rat. Your buir spoils you.”

He couldn’t deny it, he loved when you spoke mando’a, or at least the few words he’d taught you. Din shook his head, his cheeks heated as he picked up the crate and followed along behind you.

The second time Din realized he loved you, he smiled.

He’d been on a hunt for three days, one of his quarries giving him more trouble than he had expected. He’d come back to the ship to find you’d cleaned everything, put the kid to sleep, and even made up his sleeping area. He suspected you’d been cooking too, judging by the smell.

He’d caught a whiff of it when he came in, but hadn’t expected to find a plate with the food still hot up in the cockpit. You were up there as well, trying to put the silver ball the kid always liked stealing back on the controls.

“I made you a plate.” You smiled at him once you noticed him standing behind you, flustered as you tried replacing the ball. It wouldn’t attach, and Din placed his hand on yours to still you. You moved your hand.

“Sorry,” you stuttered, not making eye contact, “he took it again. I wanted to have it back on before you came up here.”

“It’s okay. He can keep it.” Din gave the ball back, and you smiled nervously. “Really, it’s okay.”

“Okay,” you murmured, heading towards the hatch. “Don’t let your food get cold.”

Once you’d left the room, he locked the hatch door and removed his helmet. Din had originally planned to move on to Nevarro immediately to hand over his bounties, but the food was enticing and won him over. After all, you’d said not to let it get cold and it smelled amazing after the ration bars he’d been eating on his hunt.

He took a bite and was a goner. “Maker, I don’t know what I did to deserve her.”

The third time Din realized he loved you, he hid.

He’d been coming back inside from cleaning his blasters to find you in one of his shirts again, singing softly to the kid.

Din didn’t recognize the song, it being in your mother tongue and not in the basic you usually spoke, but it was nice coming from your lips. From the look of things, the kid liked it too as he cooed up at you, his clawed fingers reaching for your cheeks.

You smiled down at the kid in between lines of the lullaby and he laughed when you tickled his little sides.

Din stayed where he was by the blast doors, just watching you both interact. He was struck with the thought that if this was family, his aliit, he wanted to keep it forever. But did you feel the same?

He frowned at himself, disappointed in his lack of courage. You placed the now sleeping kid in his hammock above Din’s bed and murmured goodnight before closing the door.

Din kept himself hidden outside until after you’d climbed up to the cockpit before replacing his weaponry in the hold. He didn’t want to interrupt you before, but now he missed your warm presence. He sighed, wishing he’d been able to hold you as you sang.

The fourth time Din realized he loved you, he sat there in disbelief.

He looked at his spare tunics and pants, then at one of his capes, and then his spare duraweave flight suit. All of them had previously been riddled with hastily sewn up holes (Din had never been very good at sewing). But now—now they were fixed. In fact, you could hardly tell they’d been damaged at all (except for that one cape he’d worn with a particularly nasty bounty who’d ripped huge holes in the cape. That one, you’d put patches in).

“Cyare!” Din called from where he stood at the edge of his quarters.

“Yes, Mando?” you looked up from your cooking to see him staring over at you. You didn’t know what the word meant, the name he kept calling you, but you figured it probably meant nanny or mechanic. After all, isn’t that what you were.

“Did you fix my clothes?” he asked pointedly as he lifted his cloak.

You smiled down at the soup you had simmering down on the stove range and nodded, not making anymore eye contact with the helmet’s dark visor.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” Din smiled under his helmet, but you shrugged.

“I didn’t want you to get sick from all the holes in your clothing. You should really be more careful, big guy. We need you here.”

Din didn’t know what to say, but he managed a curt nod and attached the cape to his shoulders.

“I’m going out,” Din told you and you looked up at him once more. “I should be back in a few hours, but I’ll use the comm link if something goes wrong.”

“Be safe.” you murmured as he disappeared down the ramp. You didn’t realize how much he loved those words.

The fifth time Din realized he loved you, he was holding his hand to a nasty wound on your thigh and cursing in Mando’a.

“Mando, please.” You whimpered in pain. It hurt like hell, but it burned at the same time.

“Hold on, cyare, it’s going to be okay.” He worked swiftly to stop the bleeding and sprayed some of his emergency bacta spray on the sizzling wound.

Din blamed himself completely. You’d asked to go to the pond near the landing zone for the Razor Crest before he’d set out for the new bounty so you could wash the clothes you’d all been wearing for weeks. His quarry was supposed to be peaceful, whatever the species, but it hadn’t been. It knew he was coming and it aimed for the both of you. In the process of you turning to shield his son from being hit, you caught a nasty blaster shot to the thigh.

“Just a little more.” He said, removing his fingers from the spot and holding you closer as the spray started to heal your leg. You cried out, struggling against his beskar. He knew from experience that the wound didn’t really hurt anymore, but the healing was uncomfortable.

“I’m almost done. You’re going to be okay, cyar’ika. You’re okay.” he said just loud enough to be heard with the vocoder as he shushed you.

The pain and desperation you’d been dealing with to keep the child safe had exhausted you, and Din soon realized you’d slumped unconscious against him. He sighed, struggling slightly to pick you up and set you in his quarters instead of your own. If you asked when you woke up, he’d just argue that his bed was closer.

While he blamed himself for your pain, he was overcome with how much he loved you. You would willingly have sacrificed your life for his foundling, and you were injured in the process, but maker did he love you. You were protective and so caring, and you’d won him over.

Din watched you sleeping for a moment, fingertips brushing your sweaty hair from your face. He sighed, wishing he had the courage to tell you how he felt. You didn’t even know his name, despite you traveling together for an entire cycle by now. Din closed his quarters’ door and stepped away, knowing if he spent any more time there that he might be willing to do anything for you, including giving up everything he knows. What would that feel like?

Two days later, you watched Din as he moved about the ship in hyperspace. He hadn’t said a word to you since you’d been shot, and you feared the worst. You were afraid he saw you as a nuisance now, not having been able to take care of keeping the child safe as well as yourself even though the kid was fine and you’d been the one who’d gotten hurt. Did he want you to leave?

“Mando,” you asked nervously, waiting for him to even acknowledge you.

He hesitated before answering. “Yes?”

“What’s going on with you? You haven’t spoken to me since, well—“ You cut yourself off and twiddled your fingers in your lap, unsure of his response. You heard a crackling through the vocoder and looked up to see him walking closer to where you sat on a few supply crates in the hold.

“It’s my fault,” he started, “that you got hurt. It’s my fault. You’re my—“ He stopped just as suddenly as he’d started.

“Your what, Mando?” you asked softly. He stood beside you, taking your hands in his gloved ones.

“Gar ner aliit.” He answered finally. “You’re my family, my clan. I love you.”

“Really?” you gasped, tears brimming your eyes. He shocked you with this confession, but in a very good way.

“I would never lie to you, mesh’la. I love you. The way you have cared for me and my foundling, and chosen me over and over again has won me over, cyar’ika.”

“Oh Mando—“

“Din. My name, it’s Din Djarin. You should know it.”

“You have a beautiful name.” Your voice was quiet as you continued, “All those things you said I do, I do it because I love you. I care for no one else in this whole galaxy more than I care for you.”

Din brought his helmeted head down to lean against your forehead in a keldabe kiss. Your eyes closed briefly and he brought your hands up to where his mouth would be beneath the beskar.

“If you would have me, I intend to make you my riduur, my wife.” Din said, the vocoder catching on his words. “And when I do, I will bare all for you as you have already bared my soul.”

Your voice shook as you breathed out a “yes” and surged up to hug him. He wasn’t expecting the movement and nearly stumbled from the force of it, but he smiled beneath his helmet and laughed happily. He would always be grateful for the courage he had to bare his soul to you and for you to take it and keep it safe inside your heart.

Taglist: @bestintheparsec @softpedropascal @sanchosammy @scribbledghost @clan-djarin

[soft-din]

home (is wherever i’m with you)

summary: A love letter from Din confessing how he feels about you.

pairing: Din Djarin x reader

warnings: Nope :)

word count: 451

ao3 | masterlist

Cyar’ika, 

I’m writing this letter so I can attempt to put into words how much you mean to me. You already must know that you mean something, but I need to tell you more. I need to tell you about the feelings I have, and have had for some time now.

When you joined my crew so long ago to help with the kid, I never expected you to steal into my heart the way you did. But then I would watch you rock that womp rat to sleep or your eyes would get bright when I came back from a tough job, and I realized that I cared for you. Maybe I shouldn’t have started hoping that you cared for me too, but I did. That hope stayed with me, and is why I’m writing this right now. Because even if you don’t feel the same way, you should at least know how honored I would be if you do.

But then I had to give up the kid, and it didn’t matter so much if you saw my face. He meant more, and so do you, ner kar’ta. Now that our foundling, the very thing that connected us, is gone, I don’t expect you to stay. I have nothing to offer you, except for one thing - the thing I hope you reciprocate.

Despite all that, however, I at least want you to know how special you are. You’re so strong, clever, and beautiful. Kovid, mirdala, mesh’la. And you mean more to me then I can even say. 

I guess what I’m trying to get at is...I love you. So much so that the sound of it must echo throughout the galaxy.

Home has always been a strange concept to me. How could a man who is always running have a place to call his own? But then I found Grogu, and then I found you, and now I know that home isn’t a place at all. It’s a person. It’s you, cyare. I know that everything ends and nothing lasts forever, especially after losing the kid. But if I had forever to give, I would give it to you without hesitation.

As you’re reading this, I hope you’re smiling. I hope your eyes are lit up with that familiar warmth, and that you’ll reread it again and again to remind you how I feel about you. I know I’m not the best with words, but I think these are some of the most important I’ve ever said (or in this case written), because they are some of the truest.

So thank you. Thank you for giving me home, and giving me hope.

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.

Always,

Din

[the-lady-of-stars]

A Helping Hand

Requested by: Anon

Crosshair x Mechanic!Reader

Summary: The reader wants to learn how to use a blaster so enlists the Bad Batch’s resident sniper.

Since the attack on the base a few weeks ago, all mechanics had been given standard issue blasters for if they ever needed to defend themselves. The only problem was, you had never needed to use one, therefore didn’t know how. So, naturally, you went to ask the best marksman you knew if he could teach you.

You found him perched on a rock in the forest located a bit outside the base, somewhere he would normally visit to think, or just for a bit of quiet time. He had brought you there with him before, let you sit in his lap as he stargazed, subconsciously comforted by your presence. 

Crosshair had asked you to be his girlfriend about six months ago now, and he spent every second he could around you when he wasn’t off on some dangerous planet with his brothers. You were the Bad Batch’s assigned mechanic, meaning it was your job to fix up the Marauder whenever they returned, the thing which had first allowed you to get close to the boys. 

“Cross?” you spoke gently so as not to startle him. 

Crosshair turned to look at you, a peaceful smile pulling at his lips. 

“Hello, Ad’ika. You off duty now?” He scooted back on the rock, enough to let you shuffle in beside him. You climbed up and settled at his side, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you. You sighed contently, earning a light laugh from Cross. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” 

Then he noticed a new addition poking out the side of your work satchel.

“A blaster? When’d you get that?”

“We all got given one this morning. We were kind of vulnerable the other week when the Separatists got into the base because none of us had blasters so we all got given one in case it happens again.”

“You know how to use it?”

“Not in the slightest!” you smirked against his neck, feeling his chest shake in laughter. 

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we, ner cyare?”

You hummed a no against his skin, tiredness overcoming you.

“Was hopin’ you’d teach me,” you muttered. 

“Well what kinda man would I be if I didn’t?” he teased, pulling you closer to him then scooping you up into a bridal carry, starting to walk to the shooting range. 

You groaned, making him laugh yet again. 

“Cross!” you whined. “I want to go to sleep! You can teach me tomorrow.”

“Oh no, Y/N. It’s gonna happen right now. I’m not taking you to bed until you hit a target at least once.”

“Oh c’mon, really? I’m tired!”

“Great! In that case all you’ve got to do is hit the target with your blaster one time then you can sleep. Besides, you’ve got the best teacher in the galaxy. You’ll be knockin’ down seppies in no time.”

You could practically feel the grin he was sending you. 

“The way you’re going I’m gonna make sure that you’re my first target,” you grumbled, much to the amusement of your boyfriend. 

“Oh, maker help me, I’m terrified,” he replied, voice swimming with sarcasm and mirth. 

“You should be. Maybe I’m a natural and we just don’t know it yet. Scared I’ll be competition? It’s okay, Baby, I’ll go easy on you.”

Crosshair, still carrying you in his arms, threatened “you are aware that I could just drop you at any second, yes?”

He watched your eyes widen, suddenly more awake and focused on his own. 

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Hmm,” he feigned thought, furrowing his eyebrows together and looking up. “Wouldn’t I?”

And with that, Crosshair pretended to drop you, dipping you down in his arms. You screeched, grasping his collar for dear life as he convulsed with laughter, raising you back up to his chest.

“That’s it! You’re sleeping on the floor for a month!” you exclaimed. 

“Aww, Ad’ika, I’m sorry. Did I scare you?” he cooed teasingly. 

“Not kidding.”

“Like you wouldn’t miss me.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“Mmhmm.”

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

When you finally arrived at the shooting range, you two were the only ones there seeing as everyone else had either gone to bed or out into the city to party. Crosshair set you down on your feet, reached into your satchel and pulled out the blaster. 

“Okay, c’mere, mesh’la.”

Cross handed you the blaster then stood behind you, his chest against your back helping to position you. 

“That’s it. Straighten your arm a little more- there you go.”

You tried to avoid him seeing you get flustered at the contact but the smug grin he shone you told you that you’d been unsuccessful. 

“Now, when you’re ready, just pull the trigger. Easy as that.” And with a supportive pat on your shoulder, he stepped back to watch. 

Squinting slightly you pulled the trigger and- BANG! You hit the target right in the centre.

“I did it, Crosshair! Crosshair, did you see that?” you turned to him proudly, the beaming smile on your face infectious to Cross. 

“Well done, verd’ika. I’m impressed. Maybe you are a natural, after all!”

You hummed flirtatiously, “Mmm? Maybe I had the best teacher around?”

This time it was Crosshair’s turn to blush, something you didn’t take for granted, as you placed both hands on his chest and pressed a slow kiss to his jaw beneath his ear. 

“Come on, you,” he spoke, voice full of love. “Promised you I’d let you go to bed if you hit the target, didn’t I?”

“You’re still sleeping on the floor.”

[missinashkin]

Foxiyo Week 2020 - Agony

@foxiyoweek

TW: Vomiting, mentions of death, gore, blood, survivor’s guilt, and trauma. Please don’t read this if your head is in a bad place at the moment!

Wow this was exhilarating to write! I always wanted to know Riyo’s immediate reaction after the events of Orto Plutonia, so I kinda did it myself!

Please be aware of the triggers!!!

Riyo walked into the guest quarters aboard the Resolute, where she had stayed on the venture to Orto Plutonia and what would remain to be her room until they arrive in Coruscant.

The room she was occupying was simple. Not that she had really expected anything else, she was aboard a military cruiser after all. She was surprised at the existence of spare rooms more than anything, though her surprise was somewhat muted.

Laying her headdress on the white dresser next to the door, Riyo has a flashback of white armor in white snow stained with red. She shook her head and attempted to dispel the visions accosting her mind. 

Entering the ‘fresher, she pauses at the mirror and stares at herself for a moment.

Riyo knew she was fairly pretty. Her lilac hair was shiny and held shape well, her golden eyes were framed with dark lashes, and her delicate nose was the last addition her slight figure needed to present herself as a meek, delicate woman. The only thing that hinted at her exhaustion was the dark circles beginning to form under her eyes.

Their mission hadn’t even taken a full day, and yet it felt like she had aged years. 

The clones - the men - that had escorted and protected Chairman Cho… the ones that were dead… she couldn’t get them out of her head. And there she was, standing in front of a mirror while innocent soldiers were frozen on the planet below.

At that moment she kind of wanted to punch her reflection. 

What made her so special that she was allowed to live while they were not?

What made Chairman Cho so special that he had had the authority to command and ensure the deaths of dozens of people? If she hadn’t been able to contact the Speaker of the Assembly he likely would have made sure that dozens, if not hundreds more troopers died for such a needless cause, not to mention ensure the extinction of the Talz. 

He wanted to be remembered as a hero of Pantora, but instead, it was likely that he would always be known as a foolish man, too prideful, too self-centered.

If only she had fought Cho more, Riyo thought furiously, if only she had contacted the Speaker of the Assembly earlier, if only she had been quicker, faster, stronger, braver- all of a sudden the fury and anger melted into sorrow and anguish. Because for a moment she could imagine the Coruscant Guard troopers she had gotten so close to over the past few months in the 501st’s place.

She saw Jek, Rys, and Thire’s bodies close together, protecting each other even in death. She could see Hound and Grizzer’s corpses in place of the Talz rider and his narglatch. 

She saw the bodies she walked past to negotiate peace with Thi-Sen… she’d wanted to stop and mourn for them but had ignored them because she needed to focus on the mission. For the greater good. And then she left.

Would she have done that if it was Fox?

She could clearly envision the commander she had grown so close to over the past few months on his stomach, sprawled out on the snow-covered ground, a spear in his back, eyes glassy in death. Lips she has kissed are red with blood and legs that have been intertwined with her own are bent unnaturally, as if he had been trampled.

Suddenly, she felt sick and rushed to the toilet before vomiting up what little was in her stomach. She couldn’t stop envisioning the faces of the men - of Fox, her heart - rather than the protective helmets they wore.

Tears ran down her cheeks as the acid burned her throat and reality broke her heart. Riyo rested her forehead against the basin seat, shaky breaths and quiet sobs causing her slight frame to tremble.

Riyo didn’t know how long she sat there, but she was beginning to notice the taste of vomit in her mouth, so she picked herself up and brushed her teeth. 

Glancing once more at her reflection, she wrapped her arms around herself and made her way to the bed. 

Maybe if she could get some sleep, maybe she would feel better. Maybe she would stop seeing Fox’s dead eyes whenever she closed hers.

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

Riyo bolted up in bed, awoken by the sound of screams. It took a few panicked breaths before she realized that the screams she woke up to were her own. It took the same breaths to realize she couldn’t stop seeing dead clones killed yesterday behind her eyes. 

Except…

It wasn’t the 501st she was seeing, it was the bodies of the friends she had made in the Guard.

Fox’s body.

Riyo let out a sob. And then another. And then she couldn’t stop crying. 

She had never felt more like a child in her adult life than at that moment, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

In complete honesty, she wanted nothing more than to comm her mother. But she was asleep at this time, and Riyo worked hard to make sure her family knew as little about the dangers and negatives that came with her career.

Even as she was in emotional agony, Riyo didn’t want her family to know anything. She resigned herself to a sleepless night, but before she could pull herself together (but. She thought scornfully, maybe she wanted to let herself be broken, if only for tonight) her comm started flashing with an incoming message.

She stared blankly at the communicator before registering that someone was trying to contact her. 

She took a deep breath and answered the call, belatedly realizing she hadn’t checked who was contacting her. “This is Senator Chuchi speaking,” She was very proud of how her voice didn’t waver.

“Riyo?” The tinny voice questioned, and Riyo’s heart nearly stopped. A clone’s voice…? But there was only one clone that had both her personal comm code and felt comfortable calling her by her first name.

“Fox,” she gasped out and nearly broke then and there. The cool and collected senator she had mustered for the comm call was suddenly gone, and all that was left was a broken young woman. 

“Riyo? Riyo, what’s wrong?” Fox’s voice was full of concern and Riyo couldn’t stop a sob from escaping her lips. Her dreams and the events from the day before came rushing back to her and her heart was in agony all over again. Sudden;y, she was crying and mourning and tormented by memories all over again.

“Fox,” she sobbed, “Fox, I’m so sorry, I left them, it’s my fault, I wasn’t fast enough-” 

“Hey, hey,” he soothed. “Calm down for just a minute Ri’ka, What’s going on?”

“I left them, and they died and I left them and I can’t stop imagining you instead of them.”

“Oh ner kar’ta..”

Fox must have realized that he wouldn’t be able to get any information out of her so he resorted to murmuring sweet nothings in her ear and assurances that he was still alive and not going anywhere. 

“Cyare, can you help me? I want to make this a holocall so I can see you. Can you do that for me, darling?” 

Riyo nodded before remembering that he couldn’t see her yet and voiced a shaky affirmative.

The comm call transferred to her handheld holoprojector and seeing Fox’s face helped assure Riyo that he was real and not dead as in her dreams.

His expression was full of worry and concern and she felt a flash of guilt for worrying him so. Though, when his gaze rested on her figure his eyes softened, and he spoke gently.

“Ri’ka, please tell me what happened. Why are you so upset?”

So Riyo confided in him about the mission. About the dead clones in the base. About the Talz, about the Chairman and everything he did wrong. She stumbled over her words when it came to the battle and recalled all the men that had left to protect the chairman and the number of men still alive by the time she and the Jedi had arrived. 

“Fox, it was awful,” she buried her face in her hands and tried to stop the tears from running down her cheeks again. “So much death, and it was all needless. I-I’m so angry and frustrated and I feel so much guilt for just walking past their bodies. I wanted to bury every single one of them right then and there, but I had to make peace, and then I couldn’t think and I got on a gunship and-”

“Cyare, hold on,” Fox interrupted her, not unkindly. “Take a deep breath.”

Riyo did as he instructed and took several shaky breaths. When she felt calmer, she lifted her eyes to the person she trusted most out of everyone in the galaxy. His eyes were kind, but sharp as a tack as always, even through the haze of the holo. 

“Riyo,” he spoke gently, but firmly, “what happened was not your fault. From what you told me it was completely on Chairman Cho, and you were vital in stopping any more bloodshed from happening.”

“So many men died for nothing,” she protested weakly, her eyes mournful and glassy with unshed tears. “And I didn’t even stay to help.”

Fox’s hand twitched, as though he was about to move his hand to cup her face as he had done many times before. “I know, darling, but that is war. Sometimes battles are unnecessary but they happen anyway. Good people die for nothing. But we move on.”

“How?” She begs, “Fox, I don’t know how to stop seeing bodies every time I close my eyes, It’s not fair, why do people like me get to live when your brothers deserve so much more?”

Fox’s shoulders slump “It’s what we were created for Riyo,” and she flinches at his use of her name. In a single moment, something clicks, or snaps, or finds its place inside her, and she uncharacteristically snarls, shocking the commander. 

“I swear to you Fox,” her voice trembles, but not with sobs, rather with rage and conviction. “I swear,” she repeats, “I will find a way to end this war and stop your brothers from dying needless deaths. I will fight for this if it’s the last thing I do.”

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

On Coruscant, Fox watches his runi fall into a righteous rage over the deaths of clones, and feels both incredible love for her and an immense fear, aware that if she plays her cards wrong, this cause will burn her up from the inside. 

“Riyo,” he speaks cautiously, “just… don’t forget to be careful. You’re no use to us dead.” He takes a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you to this.”

Riyo’s expression loses the fury it had held and slumped over in her bed, appearing more exhausted than anything. If he looks closely he can still see the fire in her eyes, but there is also mourning and love and a great deal of other emotions he can’t quite grasp the names of. 

“Of course, my moea,” she speaks quietly, “I promise, I’ll be careful.”

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

After half an hour of speaking of better things, Riyo and Fox bid each other their goodnights.

As Riyo settled back into bed, (seeing as it was only two in the morning, she could still get some sleep before needing to be up,) her eyelashes fluttering shut, she promised herself one thing. 

As long as I still have breath in my body, I will fight to ensure no one goes through the agony of needless death in this war ever again.

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

ner kar’ta - my heart - mando’a

cyare - beloved - mando’a

moea - soul in southern sotho, one of the official languages of South Africa, (pantorans have south african accents and I wanted to have Riyo call Fox by an endearment in Pantoran, but I didn’t want to make it up, so here you go!)

runi - soul in mando’a

[stubbychaos]

Let These Words Set You Free

Chapter 6 of Saviin’ika

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: After finding it impossible to break off your relationship with the Mandalorian, you let him claw his way deeper into your heart as you two spend the night together after he tends to your wounds. Deep conversations ensue and the Mandalorian gives you not one, but two gifts to cheer you up.

Rating: T 

Word Count: 7,900

Warnings: There’s really not a whole lot of warnings for this chapter to be honest. Mostly non-descriptive mentions of abuse, tending to wounds, and Saviin’ika struggling with self-deprecating thoughts because of how horribly she’s been manipulated.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the kind words on the last chapter and I absolutely can’t believe that it has over 200 notes?? Like, you guys are all amazing and keep inspiring me to write more and I absolutely love reading all your replies/reblogs/messages/and even the tags!! <3

You’re certain that you must be the most selfish woman in all of Nevarro--in all of the entire galaxy.

Instead of listening to your father’s grave threat against your life, against your Mandalorian’s life, you find yourself letting your fearless warrior stay with you throughout the entire night so he can hold you close to him after a traumatizing week. At one point, he removes his cuirass and the padding that covers his stomach so you can rest your head more comfortably and your heart swells that he’s willing to shed something so precious, just for the sake of your neck not aching, come morning.

You’re half asleep and unaware of how much time has passed since dozing off when you feel him slowly shifting your sore body against him, turning you until your cheek is pressed against his softly defined belly and you bring a hand up to curl into the warm fabric covering his side. You find it slightly amusing that the last time he’d been lying on the medical cot with your hands on his ribs, you’d been absolutely terrified of him and now--

Well, now you’re letting him hold you in such an intimate, vulnerable way and you’ve never felt safer.

As he tenderly caresses your face and hair while you rest your eyes, his cloak wrapped tightly around your pliant form, you realize you’ve never trusted anyone the same way you trust this massive warrior of a man. You’re in an extremely vulnerable position, too lethargic and drained to fight back against anyone who would want to harm you in that moment, but he’s proved to you, time and time again that he couldn’t even bear the thought of causing you such pain. 

You’d witnessed it in the way he continuously went out of his way to brighten up your day by showering you with sweet, simple gestures, or how he held no reservations in taking care of you and your injuries. He hadn’t believed you to be a foolish woman for wanting to fiercely protect the sweet crystalline fox that still comfortably sleeps on the flat pillow you had surrendered earlier, nor had he admonished you for being reckless enough to go anywhere near that dirty cantina where the Trandoshan had discovered you. 

The faith and confidence he has in you to simply be nothing more than yourself is overwhelming and breathtaking in the most beautiful way, as you’ve never had anyone show you such interest in all the little quirks and personality traits that he believed made you unique, compared to anyone else he’s encountered before.

Your heart soars when you think of the pride that had been prevalent in his praises upon finding out that you had kicked your attacker hard enough to get yourself out of a bad situation. You want to learn how to become stronger, for both yourself and him, but the weight of your father’s threats press down harshly on your thin shoulders and you fear that it is such a weight that not even your heavy-infantry warrior would be able to relieve you of.

You ponder if he thinks you’re fully asleep as he gently removes the metal cuffs from the tail of your braids, skilled fingers working at the tangled locks that your father had angrily dragged you by just a day prior to your reunion with your Mandalorian. The stark contrast leaves your lungs bereft of all air as he takes his time to unwind your long braids, taking great care to not tug at them or cause you any discomfort while you get some much needed rest, and you marvel at how someone who possessed so much strength and such a terrifying reputation can touch you so sweetly, so tenderly.

“You are so pretty--so beautiful,” He murmurs with a soft, dreamy sigh as he tenderly rubs your sore scalp with the utmost precision, “I promise I’ll take you away from this awful place soon--just hang in there, ner cyare. ’M gonna take care of this whole situation you’re in.”

You think you must have simply dreamed the excruciatingly sweet sentiment because of the way he utters the promise with complete devotion, his thumb moving to tenderly stroke your bottom lip. It makes you feel like you’re trapped in a lovely fantasy, rather than the nightmares that typically prevent you from getting a good night of sleep.

You let out with a little hum when you feel him shift a little, fearing that he’s going to leave you, but his hand hastily moves to the spot between your shoulder blades and reassuringly rubs up and down the length of your spine.

“I’ve got you, cyar’ika,” He whispers so lowly that you only hear it from underneath his blue helm, “Always.”

Underneath the care and skill of his hands, you eventually fall into a peaceful sleep, letting the Mandalorian comfort you in the only way he knows how. Before you let exhaustion completely take over, you briefly wonder what cyar’ika means and if it will replace the other names he’s gifted you with.

Only hours pass when you feel fingers tenderly squeezing your nape and you slowly wake with a big yawn against his stomach, your fingers curling into the thick fabric covering his ribs as he coaxes you from your restful slumber. Despite being a little tired and there being a dull throbbing aches in the back of your skull from being concussed, you think it’s the most peaceful sleep you’ve ever had.

“I am sorry for waking you, mesh’la,” The Mandalorian’s voice pulls you completely out of your dreamy state and you groan a little as you rub the sleep from the corners of your eyes, “I was not sure when your father would be back and did not want to cause you anymore trouble with him.”

You ignore how nauseous you suddenly feel from both his words and the promise you had broken to your father, “Wh--What time is it?”

He hums a little, his hand easily sliding down your spine like it’s only natural for him, “About an hour before sunrise.”

“We do not have much longer then,” You reluctantly sit up, letting out another soft groan as you stretch out your arms high above your head, cringing when your hear several bones in your back and joints in your shoulders crack. You hear the Mandalorian sigh behind you as you roll your stiff neck and you both understand that you aren’t sore from the position you slept in, but more so the grueling shifts you’ve been working the past two weeks.

Your Mandalorian voices his concern as you begin to part your hair so you can braid it, “This job takes a toll on you, does it not, mesh’la?”

“Yes, but it is worth it to me,” You murmur, shivering a little when his cape falls from your shoulders, “I wish the people were kinder, but sometimes I get someone who is grateful. Yesterday one of my patients was a little girl who had scraped her knees pretty badly--she was the cutest thing, just a little Togruta, no older than six. She was so upset because apparently her older brother told her that I was going to amputate her legs. I had to reassure her for nearly half an hour I would not be cutting off her legs because of scraped knees.”

The Mandalorian laughs, tilting his helmet as he watches you gracefully style your hair and brush it away from your face, “You like children?”

Something about casually talking about children, all while sitting between his thighs on the cot you two had shared the previous night makes your cheeks viciously flush and you’re grateful your back is facing him. You’re not sure how to change the topic and choose your next words carefully.

“Yes, Mandalorian. I think they are... precious and I admire their curiosity and innocence. It is not often my patients are younglings though.”

“Someone like you must be good with little ones,” He voices his thoughts out loud and you think he sounds amused as he grazes his thumb along the outer shell of your warm ear.

For some reason, an intense pang throbs in your chest and you lower your head a little when unpleasant memories surface to the forefront of your mind, causing hot tears to brim your eyes and you quickly squeeze them shut.

“I could only wish to be better.”

His hand falters at the shakiness in your sad whisper of a voice and instead of teasing your ear, his hand moves to your nape and squeezes in an attempt to comfort you. He doesn’t ask what or who’s haunting you and you’re grateful, for you fear you do not have the strength to confide such horrific thoughts and memories to the massive Mandalorian without crumbling to pieces.

It’s silent for a few moments and you hate that you’ve completely ruined the comfortable atmosphere, so you miserably continue to braid your hair with now shaking fingers.

The Mandalorian, however, is determined not let you feel such dejection and speaks as softly as his helmet will allow him to.

"I wish I could watch you do this every morning."

“I am only braiding my hair, Mandalorian,” You smile weakly, forcing yourself to forget about the topic of children as you lift your elbows high above your head, deftly parting three separate locks of thick hair on the right half of your scalp, “It is nothing special.”

“Yet you make it look like art,” He hums, reaching out to softly stroke the half of your hair that you’re currently not braiding; for a moment, you think he’s going to attempt to style it for you, though he simply continues to trail his hand down your back, “I haven’t really touched someone else’s hair in a long time--I enjoy touching yours.”

“How long has it been?”

His hand freezes against the small of your back and before you can even begin to fear that you’ve asked a terrible question, he answers you in a much softer tone, “At least twenty years, mesh’la. My mother used to let me try to style her hair much like how you do yours, but I was never as good as she was and I would usually give up. She would always tell me that she felt bad for any future grandchildren I would give her because of how terrible I am when it comes to such things.”

The thought of this intimidating warrior being a child, attempting to braid his exasperated mother’s hair makes you smile fondly as you keep forcing yourself to not let your mind wander to a dark place that cause you unnecessary pain.

He sounds utterly nostalgic and you marvel at the images his words conjure in your imaginative mind, “Her hair was a lot more stubborn and curlier than yours, but she always made it seem so easy to braid it--you both make it seem so easy.”

“Then it would be good for you to learn as well, Mandalorian,” You quietly inform him, turning your head slightly to regard him with quirked eyebrows as he reaches out to stroke the thick plait with admiration before finishing it off for you with one of the metal cuffs he had dutifully held onto all night.

He sounds utterly amused when he speaks up again, mirth evident in his modulated voice as he continues to thumb the soft weaves and crevices of your graceful work, “Why would I need to learn such things when braiding someone else’s hair has never been a part of my studies in the tribe? What could hair styling possibly come in handy for if I am in the middle of a battle, little nurse?”

‘Braiding the hair of the future grandchildren your mother spoke of.’

You nearly say the words out loud, though you think them to be too personal and you do not wish to cause the Mandalorian any sadness upon bringing up old memories of a different time.

“I am sure the little ones in your tribe would not mind having their hair out of their faces,” You hum as you cross thick locks of hair underneath one another and gently tug to make sure they are tight enough where stubborn pieces won’t escape; you frown at the way his hand falters against your nape and you think you’ve made a mistake in your words, “Unless there are no little ones that don’t wear helmets? I j-just figured--I did not mean to disrespect your tribe or--”

“It’s okay, you are not being disrespectful,” He chuckles, shaking his head a little as he continues to watch your fingers work at your smooth locks, “I just… I was not expecting you to say that--you never ask about our helmets.”

“It is something sacred and none of my business,” You refuse to meet the emotionless gaze of his visor as you hastily bring your braid over your shoulder to continue the lower you get, cheeks burning as you lower your voice into a sheepish whisper; you feel shameful for bringing up something so personal, “I would never--I don’t ever want to--”

“Saviin’ika--you are far too sweet and precious for your own good,” His chuckles dissolve into laughter at how flushed and shy you’ve suddenly become at something that truly does not seem to be a big deal to him, his fingers squeezing your nape in a comforting way, “Yes, we do have young children in the tribe that have not yet sworn to the creed and we have some that put on the helmet as early as their sixth birthday. It is something that they choose whenever they are ready, not something that is forced upon them.”

You awkwardly shuffle your body around until you’re facing him, his thighs still splayed wide and feet dangling off either side of the cot as he lazily reaches forward to grab the loose tail of your braid. He seems utterly focused as he skillfully wraps the silver cuff around the bottom of your plait, fingers lightly stroking the ends of your hair that aren’t weaved together. You think there must be some sort of comfort and reassurance the warrior gains from helping you tame your own unruly locks and you smile warmly at him when he continues to stroke the soft tip of your braids with great reverence.

Curiosity gets the better of you and despite your better judgment, you find yourself speaking a question that’s plagued you since he first opened up about his tribe during one of your first meetings when he finally began to trust you more.

“Are there people who simply do not wear the helmet at all?”

He makes a small humming noise as you shyly lift your gaze to peer up at him through a thick abundance of eyelashes, “Sometimes uh, people who would not be considered to be foundlings are brought to the tribe, but it is rare that they are accepted by everyone. It is a long process that goes into permanently bringing in an outsider and very rarely are they accepted. It usually ends in an intense fight of some sort.”

“M-May I ask why?”

His helmet tilts to the side and his bare hand comes up to gently caress your healing cheek as he easily quells your curiosity in that comforting baritone that must intimidate so many others, “Because, saviin’ika, we need to make sure that whoever is deemed worthy of joining our tribe is able to provide for us in one way or another--no matter how little or big the job may be. We need to be sure that they will not turn their backs on us or do something that will draw attention to the tribe. It is a very delicate and difficult process, but it is for our own protection since our numbers are now so low.”

“I think it is honorable,” You murmur as you sheepishly tuck your hands between your thighs and gaze up at his emotionless visor, “That you value your people so dearly that there is a long process that goes into joining the tribe. It shows that you have respect and love for one another--it’s admirable.”

He hums, his thick fingers twitching against your healing cheek as he heaves a grave sigh and brings his other hand to tenderly cradle your head between his big hands. He cocks his scuffed up helmet to the side as he curiously strokes your skin and you certainly notice the strange shift in the atmosphere when his chest heaves a little and he simply holds your head up between warm palms.

You nervously fidget with the tail of your braid as he remains deathly still and silent, almost making you think he’s fallen asleep or passed out underneath that blue bucket.

He eventually shakes his helmet a little and clears his throat as he reluctantly releases the gentle hold he has on you, your skin now warmed and tinged pink, "I don't think I will ever truly be able to understand you, mesh'la."

You frown a little, confusion pinching your brows together with worry, "Did I say something wrong?"

He chuckles a little when you move to carefully climb over his thigh to slowly slide off the cot, his hands hastily moving to your hips so he can steady you when you nearly fall face first into the floor.

"No, you just--" He makes a funny noise as he moves so his thick legs are dangling off the side of the cot and you're caged between them; you smile when he brings you closer without having to use much guidance. You think the Mandalorian could guide you through your darkest, scariest nightmares and you would still trust him not to let any harm reign down on you--that he would be able to lay waste to anyone or anything that attempted to cause you pain or discomfort, all while holding your hand.

"I'm just daydreaming, like you always do."

You smile at the slightly wistful tone he manages through his crackly modulator.

"About what?"

He lets out a deep exhale when you bring your hands up to tentatively cup the sides of his clothed neck to hold him in place, though he could easily shake you off if he desired.

 "I’m daydreaming about you, mesh'la--always about you."

Your breath catches in your throat when he wraps his arms around the back of your thighs and drops his helmet against your stomach, resting it there as if it's the softest pillow he's ever owned. A small, desperate groan has you nearly giggling and you hesitantly choose to firmly massage the tense muscles in his broad shoulders and the back of his neck. He gently squeezes the back of your legs with gratitude and pulls you impossibly close; you remember with burning cheeks what he had admitted to you last night.

"The things you do to me… The things I would do for you."

You're not used to feeling wanted in any way shape or form, but something about the way he strokes the back of your covered thighs and melts into you makes you think he’s not toying around or jesting with you. Despite never trusting anyone enough to want to pursue some sort of physical intimacy with them, you find that you're absolutely flushed at the sound of every little groan and grunt he lets out as your fingers work at his tense muscles. You’re unfamiliar with the dull ache that’s burning something fierce in the pit of your stomach, but you find that it’s not an unpleasant sensation. 

You’re absolutely certain it has nothing to do with your healing injuries, but more so with the way one of his hands finds the small of your back and gently squeezes.

It’s not until your fingers manage to curl underneath the bunched up material that covers his neck that he lets out with a groan so loud and a shuddery breath that you nearly yank yourself away from him, fearing that you’ve somehow managed to harm your Mandalorian.

“You’re good--fuck, you’re good,” He reassures you before you can remove your hand from his warm skin and you fear that your skin will actually be set ablaze, “Feels really nice, is all.”

You glue yourself to that spot and continue to provide him with any relief he’s willing to accept from you. Happiness and dread burns hotter than coals in the pit of your belly when you realize that you are somehow able to reduce the huge warrior to this kind of state. Something about him displaying such vulnerability is humbling and satisfying, but you realize just how accurate your father was when he spoke of being able to hurt the Mandalorian in other ways. Judging by how upset he had been the previous night upon first noticing your injuries, you are certain that your father would wish to cause him pain through your own suffering.

“If he ever hurt you to the point where you could not be healed, I would not hesitate to act so cruelly and I would not let anyone stop me.”

You remember the Mandalorian’s grave promise and lower your head in shame--fear and sadness suddenly threatening to drown you underneath its massive tidal wave. You do not wish to be the reason for your Mandalorian displaying such acts of violence and you realize that the soft words he had spoken in your sleepy state about taking you away from the village was only part of a silly dream.

“It seems as though you need rest as well,” You whisper, hating that your voice shakes from excitement and fear, “I’m sure your own bed is far more comfortable than this dinky little cot. You should go back to your tribe and get some sleep since you didn’t seem to get any last night.”

“I’m sure my bed is comfier than yours as well,” The Mandalorian huffs, completely disregarding the last sentence, and you feel the blood rush to your cheeks and your heart leap at his next words, “Perhaps you would like to test it out sometime?”

Your chest heaves a little at his boldness and you struggle to shrug it off, “I think you just want a body to keep your bed warm at night and I am not that kind of woman.”

“And I am not that kind of man.”

“Yet you would still invite me to sleep in your bed?”

“Did we not sleep together last night?” His shoulders are shaking from what you think is him trying not to laugh and you roll your eyes, though a warm smile stretches across your lips.

“Besides, your skin is always freezing--I doubt you would be doing much to warm my bed, though I don’t think that’s a bad thing, mesh’la,” His voice drops into a deep, low rasp as he slides his hand up the base of your spine, fingers splayed wide against nearly the entirety of your lower back, “I would not mind warming you up every night, especially in my bed.”

“You cannot say these things to me, Mandalorian,” You huff at the tenderness and intimacy of his words and his impossibly tight embrace, “I am not--I’m not used to others wanting me the way you seem to want me.”

“Has nobody--” He seems to struggle with his next words as his hand tenderly squeezes your hip, “Has no one ever told you how beautiful you are? Or how pretty your eyes are? How soft your hair is and how nice it looks when you wear flowers in your braids?”

Your breath hitches at the utter conviction in his modulated voice and you loathe how shaky your voice is when you speak, “I cannot say anyone has said such things to me before, nor do I feel deserving of those kinds of compliments. I know I am nothing special.”

“Is that what he tells you?”

You look away from the warrior shamefully, even when he sits up a little straighter, his visor piercing your soul as you answer him, “It is what I know.”

The tips of his warm fingers curl firmly into the back of your thighs as he moves his helmet backwards to gaze up at you and you think that this kind of skin contact must be so rare for him that it brings more pleasure than anything else. He seems so vulnerable like this--sitting on the medical cot where the two of you had just spent the night together, his helmet pressed against your ribs that had been intensely bruised and aching only hours ago. Though there’s still a small amount of pain that lingers, it is now significantly milder after he used your bacta salve to heal the worst of your bruising.

“Don’t speak lies about yourself, cyar’ika--it hurts me too,” He almost sounds like he’s in pain as he holds you so close to him, “You are by far the most beautiful person I have ever encountered in Nevarro--in the entirety of this galaxy. You are deserving of so much more than my words and I would never stop trying to convince you otherwise.”

“You are too sweet to me,” You murmur, voice still shaking with intense emotions that you’re not used to feeling, “I wish there was more I could give you in return.”

With little hesitation, you curiously burrow your fingers deeper underneath the thick fabric of his tunic as you massage the soft, pillowy muscles of his tense shoulders, enjoying the way he groans and pushes himself closer to you when you rub at a particularly tender spot.

“Being able to hold you is all I could ever ask from you, but having your hands on me like this is a nice bonus,” His voice is deliciously hoarse and low, even through the guise of his modulator and he practically keens when your fingers squeeze the tension away from just underneath his nape, where he carries stress the most between his shoulder blades, “Vor entye--thank you, cyar’ika.”

You’re well aware of the way his hands barely move an inch up the back of your thighs as you reluctantly remove your hand from the heat of his cowl, finding purchase on the hollows of his cold Beskar cheeks instead. He makes a small humming noise when you urge his helmet backwards a little to properly gaze up at you and you can’t stop yourself from smiling from the comfort that the shine of his visor bestows upon you. His hands move to cover yours and you beam when he places them on top of your much smaller ones, carefully squeezing your fingers.

“One day--” He sighs and cocks his helmet to the side as his voice drops, “One day I will feel your hands on my cheeks--on my skin.”

“But your helmet--your creed?”

“There are ways, cyare,” He informs you, his modulated voice crackling a little, “I will show you some day.”

You smile weakly and barely nod at him, deciding it was probably one of those traditions sacred to his people.

A few stray beams of crimson sunlight infiltrate your tiny office through the cracks of the blinds and you reluctantly pull away from one another; you feel the pull he has on your heart, as if beckoning you to remain close to him. You fear him leaving to go back to his tribe will unravel you completely, though you remind yourself that if you rely on him like this, it will only cause more pain when all is said and done.

He stands tall above you, still observing you as you make your way over to the vulptex that is barely starting to wake up, her eyes narrowed in the Mandalorian’s direction. 

After checking the state of her minor wounds and hand-feeding her some dried meat--much to her utter dismay--the beautiful creature seems to be in better spirits as she allows you to tenderly pet her rocky coat. You can’t help but to grin and giggle a little when she squeaks happily, letting you tenderly scratch her rocky little chin with admiration.

“What are you going to do about her?” Your Mandalorian questions when you eventually face him, watching with interest as he easily adorns his chest with that scuffed up cuirass before turning to his much larger equipment, “Would he not be angry about you taking in a stray? It’s just a weak runt, saviin’ika, are you sure she’s worth all this?”

“Do not speak of her like that,” You frown, turning to the tiny vulptex that is staring up at the two of you with curiosity, “Of course she is worth it.”

The Mandalorian sighs and shakes his head as your crystal companion clumsily rises from her pillow and quickly hobbles over to you for comfort; you’re quick to reach down to scratch just behind one of her large ears. Her crimson eyes blink slowly at you with adoration and you wonder how anyone could possibly have the desire to harm or kill a creature so beautiful and sweet. You think it must be difficult for your Mandalorian to be able to relate to having feelings of helplessness, what with being a trained warrior and you wonder what it must feel like to be a feared man in a village like this.

You can’t even begin to imagine not feeling like an easy target.

“What if he--?”

“I’ve been able to hide my smaller patients before,” You inform him, grabbing his large hand in both of yours before he can put his glove on; his helmet cocks to the side and you think he must be amused, “I’m sure she will not be difficult to keep hidden.”

“She is not the first stray you’ve taken in?”

You raise your brows at the blue warrior who seems utterly content to let you explore the coarse, calloused skin of his knuckles, “You’re still here, aren’t you, Mandalorian?”

“Funny,” He huffs in an incredulous manner, shaking his helmet at your teasing voice, “I’m being serious though, please be careful. I would rather you not be bruised and broken the next time I see you because of you having such a soft heart.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod slowly, dread creeping through you as you whisper your next words, “When will I see you again?”

“I--” He watches you as you lower your head, not wanting him to see the fear and despair in your eyes that he seems to find so expressive, though he still seems to have an easy read on you as he speaks with anguish evident in his crackly voice, “I am not sure, but I promise it won’t be more than a few days this time. It is for the well-being of the tribe, something that will benefit us.”

“Then that is good,” You murmur, though the ache in your chest still burns painfully and you force a meek smile, one that he easily sees through “They are your biggest priority.”

You wonder what it must feel like to have that kind of intense love for your family--that willingness to walk through flames and the most dangerous of situations, all to protect the ones you love. You find it absolutely beautiful--the dedication that Mandalorians have to their tribe--and you briefly ponder if you’d ever get to meet any of the warriors from his tribe, if he would ever trust you enough to even entertain the thought.

“You both are my biggest priority, mesh’la,” You absolutely loathe how vulnerable and scared you feel as you keep your tear-filled eyes away from his visor and you hear the heavy-infantry warrior grunt a little, stepping closer to you, “Please don’t cry. Stars, I’m not worth your tears.”

“You are worth every single one of them,” You inform him in the form of a breathy whisper, quickly shouldering away a tear that manages to slip from the corner of your eye, “I will wait for you, I just fear that you would not come back for me. I have--I have been abandoned far too many times, Mandalorian. I am afraid.”

“I will always come back for you,” His back straightens and his helmet jolts to the side a little, as though the thought of not returning to you has him feeling distraught, “That is a promise, ner cyar’ika, and I never break my fucking promises to those I care for.”

Your breath hitches at the utter devotion that’s apparent in his deep baritone and you can’t stop yourself from bringing his massive hand up to your face, barely aware of the way he grunts and shifts when your lips find the rough callouses that cover his knuckles. You’re used to dealing with tough criminals and bounty hunters that have no reluctance in displaying their dominance or strength, but as you gently kiss the rough marks and scars that he’s willingly exposed, you think it’s the first time a man has ever been utterly relaxed and pliant under your touch.

“What are you doing--? Saviin’ika are you--?”

He chokes a little when you maneuver his hand until his palm is facing upwards and he’s gently grasping your lightly bruised cheeks, not quite as tenderly as the previous night, but still making sure not to cause you any pain. You think the bruises must linger on your skin like some sort of beacon, judging by how tenderly he squeezes the supple flesh. 

A part of you gains satisfaction in the way the massive warrior groans loudly when you firmly press your lips into the warm, bare skin of his rough palm and you’re stunned and lightheaded at the thought of having this kind of power over such a fearless man.

“You said last night that you wished you could kiss me,” You remind him and you swear he shudders against the light hold you have on him, as though you somehow have the same effect he has on you whenever he decides to grow bold around you, “This is the only way I know how to give you one.”

His chest heaves a little upon feeling that warmth of your lips in the valley of his thumb and index finger, “I wish I could give you more. I wish I could show you how precious you are to me--so fucking precious to me, saviin’ika.”

You feel your eyes brim with hot tears at the utter conviction in his raspy crackle of a voice and you want to tell him that he’s already done plenty to make you believe his affection and intentions with you are completely genuine. His shoulders drop as you tend to a rough callous on the heel of his palm with your lips and you think you feel his fingers tremble against your cheek. It is then that you realize just how much you two have in common, both of you not used to the tender touch of another soul and you marvel at the thought of someone so much more powerful and far larger than you being just as touch-starved and vulnerable.

“You took care of me last night and helped with my wounds. You saved me from that cruel criminal and held me all night to keep me away from my nightmares,” You remind the aloof Mandalorian, peering up at him with a soft, kind gaze that seems to only unravel him further, “I have… I’ve never been someone else’s patient before--at least not since before my mother cared for me--but what you did for me was the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me and I could not ask for more from you. You have given me more happiness and hope in the last decade than anyone else."

“I want to give you more,” He pleads, almost sounding helpless underneath all that armor, a thought so ridiculous and shocking to you, “Cyar’ika, I would give you anything you wanted if it meant you blessed me with that pretty smile of yours.”

He seems hellbent on giving you some sort of gift and you wrack your brain for anything within reason your blue warrior could possibly conjure up for you.

For some reason, you think of all the nicknames he’s affectionately gifted you with, along with knowing your real name, and your cheeks flush when you realize the only name you have for him is ‘Mandalorian’. It feels too formal for your liking and you wonder if he feels the same way--if he longs for you to murmur his real name when you’re whispering soft praises underneath the tender care of his hands whenever he’s softly caressing your bare skin.

You don’t know enough about Mandalorian customs or traditions when it comes to their real names and you think that perhaps it’s taboo for him to share his name with outsiders. The last thing you want is to cause any offense or disrespect to his people that he evidently cherishes and you let out a soft sigh against his palm.

“Always thinking so much and never saying what’s on your mind,” He observes thoughtfully, not seeming upset by your quiet reluctance, “Your thoughts are safe with me, always.”

“I would not wish to offend you for what I want from you,” Another gentle press of your lips against the center of his palm has the huge warrior grunting once again and pushing himself further against you, “It would be selfish of me.”

“I would give you anything you wished for--” He breathes as your lips graze across his rough fingertips, “And knowing you, it is something that is not selfish.”

“How could you possibly know that, Mandalorian?”

“Because I know you are not a selfish woman,” He chuckles as your soft lips continue to praise his warm skin with great tenderness, though every time you think of the promise you made to your father and how easily you broke it, you feel like the most selfish woman in the galaxy, “Tell me what it is you wish for, cyar’ika, and I will give it to you in a heartbeat.”

His hand tenderly moves to cup your cheek and you know that he must feel how hot it burns for him--for the promise that his deep baritone carries and you fear that your heart will actually fail its main purpose.

“Even your name?”

“Anything for you, cyar’ika--anything.”

The way he doesn’t hesitate in the slightest almost leaves you in tears and steals the air from your lungs.

You smile at the way he grunts, as though he doesn’t know how to respond and you relish in the way you are able to reduce him to a state of being speechless when you’re certain that there aren’t many who had such an effect on him. For what you think must be the hundredth time in the last few hours, he leans down to gently nudge his forehead against yours and you shiver when he pulls you in close. Something about the way he holds you this close or how he softly rubs his scuffed up helmet against your head makes you think that these gentle headbutts hold more meaning and sentiment than you originally thought.

His hands find their home on your hips and you loathe that his cuirass and all the padding and equipment he wears prevents you from melting into him as he simply holds you close. Carefully, he drops his helmet into the curve of your neck and you hear the way he inhales deeply before releasing it and you think you feel some of his warm breath tickling your exposed skin. You remember him admitting how he oftentimes swore he could smell your hair--your flowers--and you wonder if that's what he's currently trying to do, even though you lack your usual violets.

“Paz.”

His voice utters a single syllable and your heart leaps high into your throat, threatening to choke you with the intense emotions you’re currently feeling.

Immediately, you grin when he reluctantly lifts his helmet to observe you, as though he's nervous of your reaction and you decide you don't mind seeing the Mandalorian act as sheepish as he often makes you feel.

"Paz," You repeat the three-lettered name out loud with a sheepish grin, your voice sounding so soft and quiet compared to the way he says it in that deep baritone; you say it again, a little louder and more sure of yourself,  "Paz. I… think it suits you."

He hums, shaking his scuffed up helmet at you and you think he must feel embarrassed, for whatever reason, "What's that supposed to mean?"

You force yourself not to giggle at the terseness in his crackly voice, “It is sweet and sharp, kind of piercing, just like you. It is gentle, but also rough--just one syllable and so short, but no less meaningful. It suits you and I… I love it.”

“My name?” He chuckles, and you almost loathe how amused he sounds as he hunches over to press his forehead against yours, "You love it?”

Your cheeks burn something fierce as you nod a little against his helmet, "Yes, but I also wonder, do you have a last name as well?”

“Yes, cyar’ika,” He hums, his deep baritone rumbling like roaring thunder against your eardrums, “Perhaps one day I will give it to you.”

Your frantic heart instantly falters and your eyes widen as he gently grazes the apple of your cheek with his knuckles that you had previously been praising with your lips. You realize you must be overthinking his words, judging by how calm and cool he sounds as he murmurs soft words in his native tongue that barely make it past his vocoder. Though you've only known the Mandalorian for a few months, the thought of having such a future with him fills your belly with an intense heat and you don’t say anything out of fear of your voice shaking.

Suddenly, he pulls his helmet away and you frown at how frantic he suddenly seems to grow, immediately fearing the worst.

“Shit--I almost forgot after everything that happened last night.”

You watch with utter curiosity as he pulls away from you and makes his way over to where he had left his utility belt on your desk, carefully shuffling through one of the pouches with great intent and precision, “When I was traveling the last few days I saw something and it reminded me of you. I want you to have it.”

Your brows pinch together in confusion and you frantically shake your head when he turns around with a white cloth that’s wrapped around your unexpected gift, “You...? You just gave me something so precious--I couldn’t possibly--”

“It is nothing special,” He chuckles as he begins to unwrap the object, shaking his helmet at your anxious tone, “It didn’t cost me anything other than my pride when everyone in the tribe found out.”

Your eyes widen and you gasp when Paz reveals a beautiful white flower that’s the size of your palm, it’s long petals wispy and curled around the ends. You don’t even realize your eyes are brimming with tears and you can’t remember the last time someone has made you cry out of happiness, your cheeks aching from how big you’re smiling.

“I’m not sure what kind of flower it is,” He explains sheepishly when you don’t say anything, “Underneath the moonlight, the tips of the petals turn blue. I thought it might...”

He turns his visor away from your face when you grin up at him, “You thought what, Paz?”

“That it might look pretty behind your ear.”

“You--” Instead of saying anything else, you launch yourself at him and you’re surprised when he actually stumbles backwards the tiniest amount as you squeeze your arms around his broad shoulders. He chuckles and easily holds you close, his arms wrapped around your waist and you’re too distracted by the beautiful gift to feel any discomfort from his gauntlets digging into your back.

“No one has ever given me a flower before,” You press your face into the crook of his neck and listen to the way he sighs your name when you kiss the bunched up fabric, “Th-Thank you.”

Paz reluctantly lets go of you when you move to tuck the flower safely behind your ear where he thought it would look prettiest and you give him an inquisitive expression, as if silently asking him to confirm his suspicions. 

“You are so beautiful,” He reaches out for you and for a moment, you think he’s going to touch your ear or stroke the big flower, but instead, his hand cradles your cheek in a way that steals your breath, “I... I don’t want to leave.”

“You must,” You remind him with a sympathetic smile, understanding his pain all too well, “We both have important jobs to do. I could walk with you as far as you would let me?”

He huffs, the thought of you walking with him no doubt an amusing one, but he nods as you carefully scoop up the vulptex in one arm and grab his elbow with the other, letting him lead the way. You notice that he walks slower, visor dutifully scanning his surroundings and you wonder if he’s always this cognizant of his surroundings or if it’s because of your presence. There’s a slight chill in the air, but not enough to make you shiver and you smile a little when the sun continues to slowly rise and warm you with it’s early-morning rays.

You close your eyes for just a few seconds, pretending you’re elsewhere with your Mandalorian, somewhere far more beautiful, and you’re certainly not aware of the way he stares down at you as he leads you further from the infirmary.

“I could not let you go any further,” Paz finally speaks about twenty minutes later, just outside the marketplace, and you turn to face him with a soft little smile, “Someone else from the tribe has been taking jobs in the village for the past few weeks and it is not safe for more than one of us to be above ground for too long.”

“There is no need to explain--I understand,” You reassure him, giving his elbow a firm squeeze and your heart soars when he taps his helmet to your forehead one last time, “Then I will see you soon again?”

“Yes,” He sighs gravely when you two reluctantly pull away from each other, “I mean it this time too. I am hoping the next time I see you, I will have good news, cyar’ika.”

You beam and cradle the vulptex securely to your chest with both arms. Though you don’t know exactly what kind of news he could possibly have that will affect you in any way, shape or form, you’re still excited to hear more about his tribe--his people--and you give him a frantic nod. After saying your goodbyes and blushing when he gives your chin a little tap and a reminder to keep your head up, you make your way back to the infirmary, a bittersweet sensation lingering like a dark cloud over your heart.

“It’s okay, little one,” You gently shush the vulptex when she lets out with a sharp whine, as though your downtrodden disposition is affecting her also, “At least we have each other, right?”

You give her a soft smile when her eyes slowly blink up at you and even though you should feel ridiculous for talking to an animal, it doesn’t stop you and you continue to tell her of your hopes and dreams for the future--your wants and desires pertaining to your blue Mandalorian. A part of you realizes there’s something cathartic about speaking to someone or something that doesn’t actually know what your saying, perhaps because you know that your crystalline companion won’t judge you.

Before you can tell her that you long to run away from all this, you freeze when you look away from your confidante to check your surroundings, only to be met with the sight of a figure storming towards you with a blaster trained on your vulptex.

You’re not sure what fills you with more fear--

The fact that you’re already going to lose your precious companion, or the familiarity of the t-shaped visor that’s pointed directly at you.

Ner= My, mine

Mesh’la=Beautiful

Saviin=Violet

Cyar’ika=Darling, sweetheart

Cyare=Beloved, loved, popular

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