#BABEYYYYY how did u know i wanted to yell about myself

[madhyanas]

My babe, light of my life, I’m here to ask about WIPs! Uhhh how about fight fight fight, grocery thing, and/or djarins arrive?? Also I’m a hoe for boba so the number of potential works brings me joy

aw YEAH babe thank u for fuelling my narcissism and hyperfixation here we GO

check under the cut if you’re interested in some shitty unfinished sNeAk PeAkS

aight so fight fight fight is part of the modern!au and it’s basically what it says on the tin - boba gets into a fight and there’s some tending to wounds at the end. there’s a lot of tension and pining and maybe angst because they argue a LOT these idiots

“What are you doing?” you hiss, not really caring for an answer but demanding one anyway. But Boba’s not even looking at you, glowering at the other man menacingly even with the helmet between. You bring your other palm to his chest and try to push him back, pull him to the side, anything to get him to leave this stupidity.

He doesn’t so much as sway on his feet, remaining firm and tall and angry as he shrugs your hold off. His hand — non-dominant, you realise later, the one you’re not standing next to — lashes out to strike the man viciously on the side of his head.

You see a flash of the other man flinching to the side, knocking […] to the floor tiles, his hand swinging up blindly before—

Thud.

A burst of pain shatters through your right temple.

grocery thing, also part of the modern!au, was meant to be an interlude of sorts. reader and boba aren’t exactly on speaking terms at this point even though they both want to be. yeah i will write the reader to be a stubborn fool it’s called projection babes 💋✨

You whirl round, just for the words to shrivel up and die in your mouth. There’s a pathetic choke that, you realise later, bubbles up from your throat.

Because looming over you is a sight you haven’t seen in weeks. You see your face distorted in a smooth glass T-visor, set in a weathered, god-awful green helmet.

“Boba.”

You say his name so dumbly that you cringe immediately after. How many times have you rehearsed what you’d say to him? Fancy seeing you here. Look what the cat dragged in. You moron.

I missed you.

He takes a step back, and it is only then that you realise how close he was before. Completely in your space as you leaned against the racks. A while ago, that would’ve bothered you. Hell — a while ago, you would have noticed. Why didn’t you now?

You give him a once-over, as if you’re checking for the same scrapes and bruises and split lip all over again. As if weeks haven’t gone by without so much as a breath in the other’s direction. He looks… the same. You can’t say good, because Boba’s never been one to care about appearances beyond ‘presentable’ and it shows in his day-to-day. The same olive-green bomber jacket. The same pair of braids, fastened to his shoulder. The same well-worn jeans. And of course, the same goddamn helmet — complete with its dent and intimidating glare.

He looks normal. Safe, healthy. Which is more than you can ask for, really. Since it’s none of your business.

While you fumble for words, scrambling for something, anything to say to him, Boba hold out a fist. Measured and firm, like all his movements are.

From his hand dangles the bag of limes.

and djarin’s arrive is from a paz x mando!reader thing i’ve been thinking about! au where the covert is FINE thank u very much. also big bratty sibling energy between the reader and din dfdkfdfhdf catch me writing better platonic relationships than romantic huh

You crack a smile at the barb. Din, resolutely not facing the taller man, grunts. You suspect he’ll be doing a lot of that while he’s here. From behind, Paz uses both gloved hands to press down on both your helmets with just enough force to be annoying. Such a child when he wants to be. Both of them, really.

A half-smile on your face, you swat at the pesky Infantry soldier’s arm, and the pressure from above vanishes before you feel a distinct plink on the back of your helm.

Flicking? Really?

Before you can turn around to give Paz a piece of your mind, you hear his voice. Right in your ear, had it been uncovered.

“Make sure he doesn’t blow anything up, baar’ur’ika,” he mutters, barely loud enough for your sensors to pick up yet resonating through your beskar, through your mind. You can hear the smirk in his voice. Maker, he didn’t even touch you — yet the remnants of that closeness lie heavy in your chest. By the time you recover from the low, rolling growl in your ear, Paz is gone.

Leaving you with Din. Who is suspiciously quiet.

“W-what?” 

“Hm?” Din’s helmet turns back to you, and it’s only then that you realise he wasn’t staring at all. Either you’re self-absorbed, or Din is oblivious. 

Must be the latter.

that’s all for now folks

come scream at me! i like talking to people :)