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mandos-sluts · 4 years ago

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The Ambiguous Bet

The Mandolorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, mentions of sex work

Summary: Mando doesn’t think you could handle being a sex worker and you set out to prove him wrong

A/N: This is our first time writing any sort of fan fiction (much more to come) so we would really appreciate reblogging/reposting! We would LOVE feedback as well!

You’ve been working on the Razor Crest for about six months ever since the Mandalorian hired you to be his live-on mechanic. With everything the Crest has been through, Mando knew he had to hire you once he observed your mastery mechanical skills…you being drop dead gorgeous had nothing to do with it, Mando told himself.

Of course, Mando’s attraction was not one sided. You had watched him take down ruthless criminals with no problem at all. It didn’t matter that you had never seen his face. His strength, composure, and confidence (perhaps cockiness) made him incredibly attractive. Not to mention his rock-hard body. Every night you would lay on your cot and wish that he would just storm in and fuck you sensless. Alsa he never did, so you defaulted to pleasuring yourself and imagining that scenario.

Mando would never act on his desire for you, however. In fact, he often went out of his way to give you more than enough space or make the conversation more than appropriate. But this was becoming harder and harder for him to do. Before hiring you, Mando would relieve his stress and sexual tension at the local brothels on whatever planet he was hunting a bounty on. But once you came aboard, he stopped this practice as he could never find the time or excuse to leave the ship without you for enough time. Since you had started accompanying him on his bounty hunts to assist him in whatever he may need.

***********************

You were pleading with Mando. The two of you were walking back to the ship after acquiring a new puck, and you were starving and there was no food back on the Crest.

“Fine.” Mando snapped with his low modulated voice. “We can stop quickly at the cantina and grab something to eat.”

The two of you walked through the door. “Alright, hurry up–” Mando said, turning to you.

But before he could even finish his sentence, you were running up to a random group of girls, none of whom he recognized.

“OMG hiiiiii‼!” One of them screeched.

“Y/n what are you doing here?!?” Another one exclaimed.

Mando just stood a few feet away watching you excitedly greet the four girls.

***********************

They were old friends of yours. It turns out, they all worked at the brothel down the road. While catching up with them, they told how fun and effortless their jobs were. They made great money having great sex for a living. It was a high-end brothel, and it was completely safe and clean; clients had to pass health and background tests before purchasing services. Your friends made thousands of credits and spent them travelling the galaxy, going out to fancy clubs, and buying luxury goods.

After getting a drink with them, you walked back to the ship. Mando had already returned. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t want to join you and your loud friends for a drink.

You step into the Crest. You take in the filthy floors and musty smell and can only think about the flashy and cushy lifestyle that your old friends are living as sex workers. You honestly love working with Mando and travelling with him as a mechanic/assistant. But a lot of the excitement of the job revolved around your flirtatious relationship with Mando, and you couldn’t help wonder how much longer that would last. You let out a deep sign, and climb the ladder to the cockpit.

“Finally.” Mando says standing up and facing you. You stood in the doorway. “You need to rewire the calcinator before we take off. Get to it.” He said shortly.

You stand there, and simply stare at Mando.

“...What?” Mando says with his modulated voice.

“Ohhhhhh nothing.” You sign crossing your arms and slouching. “I’m just thinking about how much more glamerous my life would be if I were a sex worker instead of a rouge Mandalorian’s mechanic.”

Mando scoffs. “That’s funny.”

You tilt your head as you stare into his visor.

“You would never last as a sex worker. Trust me, y/n, you’re much better suited being my mechanic.”

“What?!” you say, feeling slightly offended. “Excuse me, but I would be an amazing sex worker. Trust me, Mando.”

“Yeah…definitely not.” Mando says.

“And why is that?” You shoot back.

“You’re too stuborn to be a sex worker.” Mando says nonchalantly, leaning back into his chair. “You have to put up a lot of shit. You basically have to do whatever your client wants you to do. You have to let creepy guys fuck you any way they want.” Mando says.

“Creepy guys like you?” You say with a smirk, staring directly into his visor.

“Exactly.” Mando expresses, maintaining “eye” contact with you.

You take in a breath. “Alright, Mando, I’m bored, and our next bounty isn’t due for three days.” You say stepping closer to the chair he’s sitting on.

“I’m going to work at the brothel tomorrow and prove that I can be a great sex worker.”

“Ha, I bet you won’t last a day.” Mando spits, crossing his arms.

“You’re on.”

***********************

The terms of your bet were unclear or nonexistent? But it didn’t matter to you, and apparently not to Mando either.

You weren’t a registered sex worker, but your friends pulled some strings and you were able to work at the brothel for the day under the pretence that you were “shadowing” one of your friends to see how the job worked.

Inside the brothel, you sat in the area where the girls hung out. This was a lavish, very expensive brothel. The procedure was simple: the sex workers all lounged around this beautiful gold hotel loby. Clients who didn’t already know which sex worker they wanted would enter and observe the sex workers, speak to some of them, and choose one (or more).

You sat comfortably in a big velvet chair. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous. But the deal was that you only had to make it through a day. Maybe you wouldn’t get any clients at all! There were a considerable number of sex workers, and perhaps no one would choose you. Just as you were starting to feel better at that thought, the manager called your name.

“Y/n! You have a client. Head up to room 279, they’ll be up there shortly.”

Your heart starts beating fast. Okay, so you have a client within the first five minutes of starting your day, no big deal!

You head up to the room with your heart still racing. It’s a really nice room. It’s gold pleated and there’s a lounge area, a bar, and a huge bed. You walk over to a large mirror and examine yourself. You’re wearing a red silk and lace two-piece set. You look super hot, this is definitely the hottest you’ve looked since taking the job on the Crest. You take your hair clip out to redo it when the door swings open.

Your heart drops and your head swings around to see who your client is. To your surprise, Mando stands at the door. He stands tall and confident, legs a little further than shoulder width apart.

“Mando! What are you doing here?” You say in confusion.

He doesn’t say a word, but takes one step into the room.

Your confusion is written on your face.

“Mando, you have to get out of here. I have a client on the way.”

He still says nothing

“Seriously! They’ll be here any moment, you really need to go!” You say with urgence.

His silence continues as he slowly creeps forward, slamming the door behind him.

“Why would I leave?” He purrs. “I paid for this.”

“Wait, you're my client!?” You ask.

Mando stops just a few in front of you. In a slow, deep voice, Mando says “Y/n, you can quit now, admit you were wrong... and we’ll head back to the ship.” You can tell he has a devilish smirk under his helmet.

You pause for a moment. “Ha…..no way, Mando. I’m not backing down.” You say nervously.

“Are you sure about that, pretty girl?” He says, taking another step closer to you. He looks down on you, staring directly into your eyes. Your “gulp” is audible. Your pussy starts to pulse as you take in everything that’s happening.

Towering over you, he puts his fingers under your chin and lightly tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “Because I won’t hold back.” He asserts. “I’ll be as rough with you as I am with every other whore I’ve fucked.” He says, pulling off his gloves.

“Good.” You say. “Don’t hold back.”

With that, he steps forward grabbing your neck, shoving you into the wall. You whimper loudly and he grinds his rock hard cock onto your crotch before turning you around and pushing you harder into the wall, and rolling his cock against your ass. You could tell he was big, very big. He quickly pulls back and shoves your shorts down with a grunt, exposing your bare ass. You gasp and he rubs the soft skin on your butt before slapping it hard. You let out a yelp as your mouth falls open. He aggressively slaps your ass several more times.

He chuckles lightly. “You said you could take this, so show me how good of a slut for me you can be, little girl.” He says. Your pussy throbs at the filthy language he’s using.

He drags you to the bed and bends you over. One finger enters you as you moan. “I spent a lot of credits on this, it better be worth it.” He says as he pumps his finger in you repeatedly. You cry out.

“Damn this pussy is fucking tight!” Mando says through his modulator. You moan loudly as his thumb starts circling your clit.

Still bent over the bed, and his free hand moves up your body and roughly grabs and kneads your tits. He aggressively rips off your shirt. You can feel your pussy dripping on Mando’s hand as your arousal pulses through. He continues to tease you as he circles your clit. “Fuck, this pussy is wetter and tighter than I imagined. Why you so wet, little girl, you like it rough?” Mando says.

All you can respond with are light, breathy moans. And then, Mando pulls his fingers out and lightly slaps your pussy. You let out a yelp. “Answer me.” Mando commands.

“Ye– Yes. Fuck, I like it rough Mando.” You respond.

“Good. Let’s see your skills, my little whore” he says as he kicks your feet apart to spread your legs. You feel his finger flick your clit and you whine loudly.

Without warning you feel his thick long cock enter your pussy. The pain was so pleasurable that you see stars. He sets a brutal pace. He continues to rail into you as you scream his name. “Mando! Fuck Mando, ahh!” You hear his heavy breathing through his modulator.

“Fuck.” Mando spits out. “This is the tightest pussy I’ve ever fucked.”

“You– you ha– have the biggest cock– cock that has ever fuc– fucked me.” You return. Your pussy starts to throb. Without warning you cum and release a rush of fluid onto his cock as your entire body shakes.

“Ahhh, what a good girl, cuming around my cock” Mando says as he pulls out of you.

Your leg muscles give in, you sink forward into the bed. Mando flips you over so you’re lying down facing up toward him. “What a desperate little thing you are.” He growls. Mando takes a moment and admires your completely naked body all spread out for him. You are so small underneath him. Your doe-eyes are wide, your mouth still agape, panting for breath, and your pussy glistening from your cum.

Mando then grabs you by your waist. “On your knees.” He orders as he shoves you to your knees. He takes his length in his hand and strokes his cock in front of your face a few times.

You quickly gather your composure and take a second to admire his enormous member. You bite your lip and look up to him. Mando puts his hand on the back of your head and takes a fist full of your hair. You stick your tongue out and lick his cock up and down a few times before putting the tip in your mouth. You try your best to tease him, but before long, Mando pushes your head further down his cock. You start bobbing your head up and down, trying each time to take more of him in your mouth. Mando remains still at first, just using his hand to guide your head up and down his shaft. You start moaning and move your eyes up to his helmet, with this Mando begins thrusting into your mouth. His cock hits the back of your throat. “Fuuuucckkk.” Mando lets out while face fucking you. You hear his little moans in between your gagging. “I love the sound of you gagging on my cock.” Mando asserts. “And you look so pretty on your knees with it shoved down your throat.”

Doing your best to breathe through your nose, you can feel his length tensing in your mouth. “Mm gonna fill that pretty mouth of yours up with my cum.” You let out a moan and can feel his hot liquid shooting into your mouth. Mando pulls out of you and puts himself back in his pants. You’re now naked kneeling in front of him while he towers over you fully clothed and armored. You’ve never been so turned on in your life.

You pant and look up at him. Your face is covered in spit and cum and your hair is a mess. He bends down and runs his thumb across your bottom lip before putting it in your mouth. You suck his thumb. “Good girl.” Mando purrs.

Mando pulls his thumb out of your mouth, stands up, and takes a few steps back. You slowly rise up and take a deep breath, trying to comprehend everything that just happened. You turn around to reach for your clothes.

“Thanks for destroying my new work clothes, Mando.” You say picking up the ripped pieces of the tiny top he tore off of you.

“You won’t need them anymore, you’re only working here for a day.” You grab a short white silk robe hanging on the wall, and put it on. “And what if I have other clients today?” You say mockingly.

“You won’t.” Mando says. “I purchased you for the entire day.” He says walking to the door. You stand there feeling a mixture of astonishment and arousal at the knowledge that Mando paid a ship load so that only he would be able to fuck you.

Mando opens the door. “After you.”

“You realize that this means I win the bet, right? You understand that you paid me in order for you to lose the bet?”

“Sure, sweetheart. Congratulations. Now, we need to get back to the ship, and you need to rewire the calcinator.”

***************************************

Masterlist

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars smut #mando x reader #pedro pascal smut #mandalorian smut #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader

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ckret2 · 4 years ago

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Alright let’s talk GVK spoilers!!!

My reactions as best I can remember them!

- love how Kong is humanized from the very first scene, like every time he shows up he’s humanized so much more than other titans are. If that was at the expense of other titans being made likable I wouldn’t enjoy it so much, but like, Godzilla is made pretty lovable over the course of Monsterverse, Mothra is too, and all the titans featured for long are given recognizable emotions that let us see them as more intelligent and feeling than “just” animals; so all of them are made understandable/likable/sympathetic. But of them all, Kong is the only one really humanized. Which makes sense, because like, big monkey! Basically our distant cousin!

- And they kept playing, like, normal songs for him, which cracked me up.

- I really appreciated how you could SEE the titans in this movie. After all the weather effects to hide the titans in KOTM, there was such a clear difference in this one from the very start. Kong in the daylight! Godzilla makes his first attack at night, and even then you can see him much more clearly than you can for most of KOTM! Nice!

- after the Iwi were portrayed as silent stoic witnesses in Skull Island, I really appreciated that they took an Iwi character, made her a main character, and gave her dialogue and a real role to play in the story while also keeping her deaf/mute. I think that was a good way to improve on the way that the Iwi got got sidelined in the last movie while still maintaining the worldbuilding!

- I didn’t appreciate so much that, y’know, they murdered the rest of her people off-screen in order to do it. Couldn’t they have gone “her parents died so she got adopted by a Monarch agent that was close to her family, but like, the rest of her tribe is fine”? Or at the very least “their island got fucked up so they had to be evacuated but like they’re settling in somewhere else”? “They’re living under this island dome with Kong and they know what’s up and Monarch’s keeping them in the loop and they decided they’re chill with their new dome home, but this one girl likes to go on adventures with Monarch”? Something? Did we have to kill them all off? Y’all make up an entire fictional indigenous culture and then murder them off-screen when you don’t need them? Just let them live.

- a few minutes in I was like “hold on, we’ve got two characters that speak sign language, we’ve got a giant gorilla, gorillas learn sign language, is there any reason they can’t teach Kong?” and then later I was like “OOOOOH!!” Humans and titans learning how to communicate with each other has been one of my favorite themes to explore in Monsterverse fanfic so I was absolutely tickled to see it getting explored in canon, too.

- That said I think it’s hilarious that the girl managed to teach Kong to sign without, like... anybody seeing. Kong’s hands are above the tree line and there are cameras everywhere, how did NOBODY with Monarch see him signing.

- Bernie’s weaponized being an annoying coworker to such a degree it can only be called an art, and I really appreciated it.

- Godzilla’s extra chonky in this movie and I dig it. Roomie noted he was extra crocodilian and I dig that too.

- “There’s been no confirmed titan sightings in three years” I don’t buy that for a minute. They’re BIG. Rodan NESTS IN VOLCANOES. They found a MOTHRA EGG. Humans have A SCARILY WELL-FUNDED ORGANIZATION DEDICATED SOLELY TO FOLLOWING TITANS AROUND. Like, most of the lore in GVK that I don’t personally like, I can be like “eh... I can tweak it just a little bit with headcanons to make it work for me...” but NO confirmed titan sightings? You expect me to believe ALL of them moved underground when we’d previously seen them all prefer to live above ground? You expect me to believe that now that they’re all AWAKE, they learned how to HIDE?? Uh-uh. And at the end of KOTM there was stuff in the credits about using titan droppings as biofuel, obviously they’re still walking around up top! Can’t take that from me. Nope.

- Who the FUCK is Ren Serizawa and how is he related to Ishiro Serizawa? IS he related? Maybe they just dropped the surname as another “yeah this is a Godzilla movie for Godzilla fans” easter egg but I have a hard time believing that he can’t be somehow related to the other character with the Very Important Last Name who was so important in the last two Godzilla movies. If he is related I’m sure it’s been explained in a tie-in comic or the novelization or something, I’ll look it up later.

- I had to look up how much weight huge battleships can carry while writing a KOTM fic where Ghidorah hitches a ride on one, and y’all, I had to pull weird gravity-negating magic to get him to ride on that boat. Godzilla and Kong woulda sunk that boat like a rock. All I could think during that scene is “this wouldn’t work and I know that because I DID THE RESEARCH and I wasn’t even getting PAID.” I’ll choose to believe that Monarch gets special heavy duty ships designed to carry titans but nobody mentioned it because it wasn’t relevant to Kong’s journey.

- The bit where they could see where Godzilla was swimming because he’d got half a ship hooked to him that was bobbing around on the surface, didn’t Jaws do something like that with a buoy? It’s been ages since I’ve seen Jaws. Anyway good reference.

- Insert “they’re gonna need a bigger boat” joke

- I LOVED the part where they shut down all the ships to get Godzilla to leave. Both because, one, it’s a spectacular callback to KOTM’s “turn off all the guns so he knows we’re not a threat” that makes it seem like now that’s just what Monarch knows what to do to get G to chill out, and two... we know that Godzilla backs off either when he’s killed his enemy or when his enemy has yielded to him. At the end of KOTM—and the end of GVK—the act of yielding is presented as very ceremonial and uniform across species: everyone lowers anything they’ve got that could be dangerous (claws, fangs, beaks, axes) and bows to show Godzilla they’re not gonna fight. Battleships, obviously, can’t bow, but even without being inducted into whatever secret titan cultural intricacies might be going on, humans have figured out their own way to “bow” to Godzilla: cut all the power, so their ships can’t move and can’t use weapons. I know the movie presented it as “playing dead,” but c’mon, if Godzilla could hear MechaG power up from halfway around the planet then he could hear that Kong’s heart was still beating, and he’s been around enough boats to know humans can turn them off and on when they want. The humans bowed to Godzilla. He accepted that they yielded and left.

- Mark Russell looked like such a dad in this movie, like he’s retired 100% from being a rugged action hero and now he’s just Pure Dad. I like him better when he’s a dad, it’s a good development for him. He got like 3 lines and I’m like “I appreciate this character development.”

- Despite all my qualms about how conspiracy theories and extremist groups are handled in Monsterverse (and WHICH conspiracy theories they decide to reference), I really love Madison and Bernie’s dynamic. The adult man who’s the excitable wide-eyed believer in every BS conspiracy you can possibly imagine; and then the serious, severe Teenage Girl On A Mission who’s hypercompetent because she was raised for five years by a friggin doomsday cult militia; and despite having wildly different personalities they’re just, in total agreement about everything. Handled just a BIT differently (like, leaving out the more gross IRL conspiracies) they would be a wildly fun comedic duo—especially with Josh the Only Sane Man coming along as the hapless sidekick. And they all play off of each other so well! Both in a comedic sense, and in more serious moments—when Bernie talked about his wife, there was a real moment of empathy between him and Madison with very little said. I’d watch an entire movie just about the three of them. I’d watch a TV show.

- On the one hand I wasn’t too much of a fan of KOTM’s “all titans... are inherently In Tune With Nature... nature has a Balance, because that’s a Real Thing and not an anthropocentric concept to describe how we like nature to act, and they automatically restore it... because they’re like, some kinda borderline divinities or something... we should probably be worshipping them...” thing; but, now that it was totally absent in GVK, I sorta miss it. Like I feel like there needs to be a balance, a few humans who are like “i lowkey worship these dudes?” and a few others who are like “they’re cool but like, that’s a lil extreme” and that neither side be presented as Right in how they regard titans’ relationship with nature.

- “All titans come from THE HOLLOW EARTH” nah I don’t buy that it’s silly. Basically, what I object to is the idea that all titans have some sort of intrinsic similarity (they all come from the same hitherto-unknown location; they all are part of the same pack that has the same alpha; they all are fueled/fed by the same energy source; etc) rather than letting them be SEPARATE species whose only unifying traits are “they’re all big enough to fuck everything up everywhere they go” and “they’re big enough that the typically-insurmountable barriers between different biomes (mountain ranges, valleys, long distances with terrible weather) aren’t insurmountable for them, so even if they’re specialized in different environments they still all have to deal with each other pretty often.” I’ll make some exceptions for convergent evolution (i.e., claiming multiple titans developed similar traits that are relatively easy to spontaneously evolve and a prerequisite for a creature to survive at such a large size). But I can’t buy “this big gorilla has more biologically in common with this big crocodile-iguana than he does with, say, gorillas,” or most of the other “all these titans have THIS IN COMMON” claims that Monsterverse makes, including “everyone’s from hollow earth.” So I’m tossing that out the window and substituting my own headcanons. Some might’ve evolved there but some evolved on the surface. Maybe a majority of them like ducking in and out of the hollow earth like some kind of titan shortcut system. Kong’s species, I can buy, IS native to hollow earth, considering that they built a whole-ass society down there with tools and architecture.

- I’m SO curious about the little underground Kong home, the Godzilla motif in the floor, and the axe that appeared to be made with a Godzilla scute. What’s the story there??? We know Godzilla’s species and Kong’s species are ancient rivals. Is it because Kong’s species hunted Godzilla’s to steal their scutes to make weapons, seeing them as a valuable resource the way, like, early humans considered woolly mammoths a valuable resource—thus making that Godzilla on the floor equivalent to cave art of mammoths made by people who hunted them—until the Godzillas got pissed and started fighting back en masse? Or were Godzillas and Kongs already enemies when Kongs decided to start making weapons out of their corpses? Did they use to be allies, fighting together, with Godzillas voluntarily offering shed scutes and/or bones of their deceased members to Kongs, and that place used to be a shared home until they started fighting?

- What about that power source, is it something that was already there that both Kongs and Godzillas started to deliberately harvest for technology/atomic breath? Or did Godzillas automatically channel that stuff and Kongs exploited/borrowed/traded with Godzillas to utilize it too? Or is the power from Godzillas who collaboratively poured a bunch of power into the place thus that Kongs were able to use it too? I doubt Godzilla’s species CREATED all that weird energy but the question remains of whether, like, they channel it FROM underground, or naturally produce the same thing in their own bodies, or what.

- Godzilla using his atomic breath to dig a hole STRAIGHT TO KONG just to KICK HIS ASS is hilarious. How lucky that Hong Kong just HAPPENS to be straight over Kong’s house! Were all the tunnels to the hollow earth made by pissed off Godzillas who wanted to kick monkey ass??

- I loved the aesthetic of the battle scene in Hong Kong, with the brightly colored neon building outlines, VERY cool look. The choreography of the battle scene was great too, especially

- we literally broke into applause when Kong shoved the axe handle in Godzilla’s mouth. Love it, perfect callback, that was the ONE thing from the original King Kong Vs Godzilla I was hoping to see referenced and there it was.

- You could really see a difference in how Kong and Godzilla fought—Kong doing a better job at using tools and the environment, Godzilla fighting more like a reptile. They seemed to emphasize Godzilla’s more animalistic behaviors in this movie to accomplish that contrast—he was down on all fours and moving like a crocodile more often, he was clawing at Kong’s chest—but even though it seemed a bit different of a combat technique it also didn’t seem out of place compared to how he fought in prior movies. And we’ve already seen that if Godzilla’s involved in a fight and one of the combatants knows how to use the environment, it’s typically not gonna be Godzilla. (See: Ghidorah using the reflection in a building’s windows to see what’s behind him, and recognizing a nearby power source and biting it to juice himself up.)

- So many of Godzilla’s enemies seem to have specialized in negating his atomic breath in order to combat him! The MUTOs directly suppress his ability to use it—and it makes sense that that’s an inborn ability they have, since they evolved to use Godzilla’s species as prey. Kong has a weapon that both acts as a shield to absorb the breath and turn it back against Godzilla’s species—they didn’t evolve to counter Godzilla, but they developed tools once a rivalry happened. Ghidorah’s the exception—which makes sense, since he came from space—but even at that we see him using tactics specifically to take into account Godzilla’s most powerful weapon (such as keeping one head on lookout for when he starts glowing so that they know when they need to dodge).

- LOVED the reveal that MechaG was based off of Ghidorah’s brain, it has vibes of both the Kiryu Saga and the way that Heisei MechaG is based off of Mecha-King Ghidorah. Not the most surprising plot twist, since we’d theorized that they might use San to make MechaG, but I wasn’t 100% sure they were gonna go with it until they finally did. Even when I was going “huh, the mecha pilot’s chamber looks weirdly organic” I didn’t make the connection to WHY until the reveal, lol.

- “Ghidorah’s necks are so long that the heads have to communicate with each other telepathically” that’s COMPLETELY WILD but I love it, it follows very well from their prior portrayal as telepathic empaths in Heisei, it lines up with their emphasis on electricity (because BRAINWAVES AND ELECTRICITY, hey ho movie monster pseudo science!), and it very much compliments my own private headcanon that they’ve got some psychic/mind control abilities.

- The movie ended with both “Godzilla won, technically” but also “since they teamed up as equals, the ending doesn’t FEEL like ‘Godzilla wins, Kong loses’ but rather ‘they both won against a common foe’” and since I’m on both Team Godzilla and Team They Should Be Friends, I’m happy with this outcome. Plus since the last time they fought, the Japanese movie company graciously let the American monster win, so it’s only polite that the American movie company graciously let the Japanese monster win.

- There were just a few too many humans in this movie. I was intrigued by Ren but we didn’t get much out of him, but like I guess somebody had to be in the pilot’s seat other than the Apex CEO. Didn’t care for the author of the hollow earth book, I feel like his role was superfluous. Didn’t need the Apex CEO’s daughter there at all, coulda done without her. How about this, combine all three roles. Instead of having a whole-ass author who knows about the hollow earth, just casually reference that Rick from KOTM wrote a book about it since he was the expert, and (since he wasn’t in this movie) say that he tragically died going to explore the hollow earth himself, and that way we’ve got the book with the “titans are from there” theory AND an excuse to share the “humans die when they go underground” info. Now, have Ren be working for Apex as a pilot for Mechagodzilla, but have him be MechaG’s pilot because he’s also a good pilot in general, and can fly those HEAV things. Have Apex send him to Monarch to be like “hey, you guys trust me right, since I’m Ishiro Serizawa’s relative? We at Apex have heard all about your failed hollow earth expedition, and due to Ishiro I’ve got some past ties to Monarch so I’ve got high clearance with y’all, so I could bring over this useful Apex tech that’d let you go underground and use what I know about hollow earth from my past time at Monarch to help guide things.” Once they’ve got the little chunk of energy stuff and go topside, he hustles it straight to Apex and straps into his seat to run MechaG. Bam, you’ve combined “person who knows enough about hollow earth to help the expedition,” “person who represents Apex’s interests and gets the energy,” and “person who pilots MechaG” into one character, in a way that takes three flat/underdeveloped characters and turns them into a single interesting character with a lot going on and some intriguing ties to the rest of the cast.

I think that’s everything?? Hoo.

#gvk #godzilla vs kong #gvk spoilers #godzilla vs kong spoilers #godzilla #meta

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 4 years ago

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What if...

For the record, I blame @phrenic-a and @mountevey for this one... I, uh, think maybe three parts? Four? And just posting it here, not on AO3, as I DON’T DO AUS! ...except for this one, it seems. *sigh*

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if...

Part 1

Rated T for a slight touch of gloom before the fluff can start

It has been three months since they left Seswenna. Three months since she told Macero she was bringing Corin along to scout for some new outfits and her husband barely bothering to pay attention to the end of the sentence.

They couldn’t stay on Seswenna any longer. Corin is turning five soon and Macero had been hinting heavily at how was time for the boy to start his training and that it was way overdue for her to produce another child. Macero has plans and a schedule to keep.

But as neither scenario was an option for Dulsissia, she found a ship going to the most distant, dark corner of the Galaxy, scraped together some credits that Macero didn’t know about and bought two tickets.

She and Corin left that very day.

As there was no way for her to bring lots of credits without alerting Macero, Dulsissia brought as much jewellery as she dared, hoping that would be enough to last them a good while, but she had no idea that decent living quarters, servants and proper food were so expensive. And while she’d been aware of that she’d have to find some way to earn a living for her and her son, Dulsissia quickly learned that none of her skills were something that someone one this foreign, gritty and vulgar planet were willing to pay for. Here credits went to food and booze, not fashion and beauty. Here there was nothing but concrete on the ground and thick, suffocating smoke in the sky.

It hadn’t taken long before they were running out of funds and this is why they now no longer have a roof over their heads and why the food has been so scarce the last couple of days.

Her sweet, sweet boy has been so good these months. Hardly asking any questions, never complaining, simply following her like a baby-Porg with blind trust and love. Dulsissia’s heart is breaking over the fact that she’s going to fail him.

They can’t go on like this. She refuses to let him starve. They will go back and she will face Macero’s wrath before she lets her child end up like one of the unfortunate souls they see scuttling around in the alleyways here.

Lost in her misery, she doesn’t notice the danger until it is too late. An arm goes around her waist and she’s yanked away from her son. Corin calls out for her, his thin voice filled with panic, but she can’t reply as a dirty hand covers her mouth and she is fighting to free herself.

It’s a human man drawling all kinds of horrible things into her ear, clearly drunk and unwilling to pay for female company. A second voice joins in. Two of them.

Dulsissia panics, just like her son, but no matter how she fights; they are too strong and she can’t break free.

The sound of a blaster being fired is frightfully loud, but as the man lets go of Dulsissia; she’s too busy breaking free and running forward to drop to her knees and cradle Corin protectively against herself to care. The boy clings to her with desperation.

A second shot. Someone nearby falls to the ground. Dulsissia tries to cover Corin’s ears and closes her eyes while hot tears trail down her face.

She never should have left. She should have found a different way. She should have never brought Corin here. Even Macero was better than this. She would have found a way to shield Corin from his wrath. She never should have left…

“Are you two okay?” A slightly robotic voice asks.

Tensing up, Dulsissia hesitates, wondering what new horror will follow what she’s just been through, then slowly looks up at the towering shape standing there.

It is a humanoid looking being, but it is wearing blue armor and a blue helmet concealing their face. They holster a massive blaster and the helmet tilts a little in what could almost look like concern.

Dulsissia nods. She keeps Corin close, shielded from the stranger. “Thank you.” She says in a half-whisper as her throat hurts from trying to scream earlier. She hopes good manners might keep the stranger, who looks like a male, in a benign mood and that he’d not simply take over where the others had left off.

“This area is not safe. Where are you going?” The stranger asks.

Dulsissia hesitates, reluctant to tell him anything but scared she might provoke him if she doesn’t. She’s very aware of the two bodies still twitching on the ground. She says the first thing that comes to her mind. “The marked.”

A moment of silence, then the helmet nods. “I’ll escort you two there.”

There is another jab of reluctance, but Dulsissia doesn’t dare decline. Also, if they are around others, he might not dare to do anything… unseemly. She slowly straightens, keeping one hand on Corin’s head as he shifts to cling to her leg instead of her torso. “That would be very kind of you.”

The stranger turns and takes a couple of steps before he stops and looks back at her.

Dulsissia takes a deep breath, strokes Corin’s hair and then the two follow this armored stranger.

Their mysterious saviour doesn’t speak again until he comes to a halt at the outskirts of the busy marketplace filled with all kinds of shouting merchants and odd smells. “Will you be okay here?”

Dulsissia nods again, eager to be rid of him.

“Mommy…” Corin tugs at her skirts. “I’m hungry…”

“I know, baby.” Dulsissia replies, stroking his hair and feeling the urge to cry again. She wants to crouch down, look him in the eyes and explain things, but she doesn’t dare take her eyes of the stranger.

He’s looking at Corin.

“Can we eat here, Mommy?” Corin asks with hope in his voice.

“Later, baby.” Dulsissia replies and hopes with all her heart that she isn’t lying.

The helmet shifts its attention up to her, the t-shaped visor feels like it is burrowing under her skin, and the stranger stares at her for several long seconds. “Let me buy you some food.”

Dulsissia swallows hard. “That is very kind of you, but you’ve already done enough…”

A glance down at Corin again and then back at her, and the stranger nods towards the food stalls. “Come. The boy can choose. Anything he wants.”

Corin tugs eagerly at her skirt and she dares a glance down at her son. His eyes are filled with excitement instead of worries for the first time since they’d been forced to leave their apartment. His little face is dirty, she notes with a jab of disappointment in herself. Forcing herself to smile, she nods to Corin and makes herself look at the stranger’s visor. “If you insist.”

The stranger gestures for them to take the lead and they do.

Not long after that, they are seated by a table, Dulsissia and Corin on one side, the stranger sitting at the opposite side, and the boy is inhaling the huge plate of deep fried ‘something’ in front of him. Dulsissia uses the opportunity to wipe off some of the dirt on Corin’s face before shifting more food from her plate over to his.

The silent stranger watches her and while she can’t see his eyes, she can feel them. Strangely enough it doesn’t feel like he’s ogling her like those men had. Dulsissia gets the feeling that he’s trying to figure her out. Like she’s some puzzle to him.

Like he wasn’t the mysterious one? Appearing out of the shadows to save her from horrors? Offering to buy food for her child? Declining to get anything to eat for himself but insisting she get food too.

Dulsissia looks directly at his visor, sees the helmet move a little as he shifts his gaze away, if she didn’t know better she’d say a little embarrassed after getting caught looking at her. “What is your name?” She asks.

“I’m Davarax.” He replies. “May I ask for yours?”

“Dul-” Oh, old habit, she wasn’t supposed to use her real name, “-cy. I’m Dulcy. And this..” Dulsissia places her hand on Corin’s head to introduce him, but the boy beats her to it.

“I’m Corin!” He grins, mouth filled with food.

Dulsissia closes her eyes for a second. So much for not using their real names. She glues on a smile and looks over at Davarax again. “Dulcy and Corin.”

“Why are you wearing a helmet?” Corin asks and she prods his shoulder, reminding him not to speak with his mouth full and to stop asking questions. He closes his mouth and chews.

“I am a Mandalorian.” Davarax replies, as if he didn’t mind answering. (Macero would always get annoyed when Corin asked about anything.) “My Creed tells me to always wear it.”

“Always?” Corin’s eyes go huge again. “How do you eat?”

Davarax exhales what sounds like a little laugh. “I can take it off when I’m alone.”

Dulsissia frowns a little. She’s heard about Mandalorians, has she not? Mercenaries? It would certainly explain why he was so efficient in shooting those two men and seem completely unfazed by the situation. It would also explain why he’s so… muscular.

“My turn to ask a question.” Davarax says and turns his attention to her. “Do you have a weapon?”

Suddenly all the anxiousness that had been starting to seep away rushes back into her and Dulsissia tenses up. She tries to keep a blank expression. She shakes her head.

Sighing, Davarax nods. “Thought as much.” He reaches down his side. “On this planet, looking like you do and with a kid to keep safe, you’re going to need a weapon to protect yourself and him with.” Pulling up a fierce looking vibro-blade, Davarax doesn’t activate it, merely flips it over to hold the blade while offering her the hilt. “Here. Take it.”

She hesitates, but eventually Dulsissia cautiously reaches out and takes the weapon. It feels cold and heavy in her hand. For the third time in a short time, Corin’s eyes grow huge.

“Don’t hesitate.” Davarax tells her. “If someone comes after you, deal with them. Swift and hard. No regret. Understand?”

Looking from the blade and over to him, to the emotionless t-visor, Dulsissia manages a faint nod.

It’s the first time she’s ever held a weapon of any kind. Not counting cutlery. Or gossip. An actual weapon. And she’s not entirely sure she likes the feeling. It’s intimidating.

But she pulls the blade close and decides to keep it. While she might not like the feel of a weapon, she will use it to protect her son. That’s not even a hard choice to make. “Thank you.”

Davarax nods, pleased at her accepting it.

“Why are you helping us?” Dulsissia asks, shame burning in her cheeks at having to accept pity from strangers.

“Because you needed help.” Davarax replies. “Because no real Mandalorian will turn their back on a child in distress.”

Suddenly curious, Dulsissia asks before she can stop herself. “Do you have children?”

“Four. Four amazing little ones.” Davarax replies with badly hidden pride. His shoulders even pull back a little in a preening move that he’s definitely not aware of as he follows it up with an awkward shrug right after. “I mean… Technically they’re not mine. I’m their teacher.”

Dulsissia can’t help but to smile, charmed by his reply, and she remembers how she’d wished her tutor had been her real father. “Lucky them.”

Davarax shrugs again and to her amusement, the mighty warrior does appear a little awkward. He probably did not mean to reveal so much about himself. She hides a smile by daintily picking up a piece of food and nibbling on it while moving the rest over onto Corin’s plate.

“Should I get some more?” Davarax asks. “You should eat some too, you know.”

Dulsissia shakes her head, despite the hunger gnawing in her belly. As long as her son is full, she’s fine. And while Davarax did not hesitate to buy whatever food Corin had pointed at and has given her what looks to be a valuable vibroblade, she’s not blind to the worn down look of his armor and clothing. He might be generous, but he’s not rich.

After stuffing himself beyond what he probably should by cleaning the plate yet again, Corin makes a faint sound of pain and moves over to lean against her. “My tummy aches….”

“I’m not surprised,” Dulsissia replies with a smile, leaning down and kissing his hair, “you ate like a Rancor.”

Corin laughs a little but remains leaning against her and it doesn’t take long before he’s drowsing.

Sighing, Dulsissia strokes his dark hair and feels the guilt suffocating her again. Her poor boy is finally full, but now the exhaustion from barely any sleep over these last couple of nights is setting in and she needs to find out where to seek shelter for the night without any credits to pay for it.

Either Davarax reads her mind or he just picks up on Corin’s exhaustion, but he once again looks at the boy and then her and asks his question. “Where are you staying tonight?”

Dulssisia clenches her jaw and looks away. The humiliation burns.

A second pass, then two, and finally it seems like he understands. “Oh.” Silence follows and if not for how Corin is more of less asleep on her arm, Dulsissia would have walked away.

“Listen,” Davarax says, shifting his weight a little, “don’t take this the wrong way, but you two could join me in my room. This place is even less safe at night.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I would rent you your own room, but, well, they’re really-”

“Expensive, I know.” Dulsissia cuts him off. Her face is burning even hotter now, both with the continued humiliation of being broke and what sharing a room with a strange man might include.

“I give you my word you’ll be safe.” Davarax says with firm conviction. “Both of you.”

Dulsissia knows she shouldn’t. She knows it could be a trap. But she also knows she needs to find a place her son can sleep without fear or danger hanging over his head. “Tell me the names of your children.” She asks.

“Paz, Barthor, Raga and little Din.” Davarax replies no hesitation, but with a touch of confusion. “Why?”

Dulsissia smiles and shakes her head. “No reason. Just curious.” So he wasn’t lying about the children. He knew their names by heart. A teacher. She decides to risk it.

Corin is fast asleep by the time they decide to head to the inn. Dulsissia hoists him up and grunts with the effort. He’s still her baby boy, but he is definitely getting bigger. Arms and legs hanging down, dangling with the apathy only a sleeping child can produce, Corin burrows his face to her neck and sleeps on.

Seeing her struggle, Davarax reaches out. “Here. I’ll take him.”

“No.” Dulsissia’s answers is short and hard, and she turns to shield her son from the Mandalorian.

No one is taking her son away from her.

Davarax lifts his hands in a sign of backing off and nods. He then gestures to one of the large buildings looming behind the others. “This way.”

Dulsissia tries to focus on Davarax as they walk to avoid thinking about the weight of Corin. (He must be extra heavy from all the food.) The Mandalorian is tall. Dulsissia had some height on most women on Seswenna, but he is so tall he makes her seem short. And while the armor might make him seem even bigger, there is enough of him without the blue plates so she can tell that, yes, there is definitely muscle there. He walks with the grace of a predator.

Dulsissia feels a prickle of fear and is actually grateful for the reassuring weight of the vibroblade in her pocket.

They enter a grey tower of a building, head up to the third floor, passing by one rowdy soul after another, before entering the safety of their temporary refuge. The relief of being inside is quickly snuffed out by Dulsissia seeing, with rising despair, that there is only one bed in the room.

She clutches the sleeping Corin close, but doesn’t get the chance to panic or run for the door before Davarax walks over to the transparisteel and flips the switch to block the sound and light from outside and says; “Don’t worry. You two take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s okay, it’s what I usually do on missions anyway. Few places I travel to have inns.”

Dulsissia hesitates. It feels wrong that the man who had paid for the room was now forced to sleep on the floor, but… She looks at the sleeping boy in her arms and her heart breaks again. Her pride dictates that they’ve accepted far too much charity from this stranger as it is, but her maternal heart doesn’t care. Her boy can sleep in a bed tonight.

Gently easing Corin down on the bed, a wistful smile appears on her face when he makes a happy sound at the soft mattress and Dulsissia tucks him in. Once that is done, she turns to look over at where Davarax has settled on the floor next to the wall with the transparisteel.

He lies on his back, hands folded on his stomach, his blaster on the floor next to him, and his visor staring up at the ceiling. His helmet. He can’t even remove his helmet as long as they’re there. He hasn’t eaten either, only provided food to them.

Dulsissia swallows hard, reaches out and takes one of the two pillows on the bed, the one Corin is not using, before cautiously making her way over to Davarax. She holds it out to him.

He shakes his head. “I don’t need it. I’m used to this and the helmet has padding. It’s fine.”

“Please.” Dulsissia says. Her final fragment of pride giving up. She can’t pay him back, but… she can give him her pillow.

He looks over at her, watches her for a couple of seconds, then he slowly reaches out and takes the pillow. “Thanks.”

Dulsissia nods, turns away and walks back towards the bed and her sleeping son. She’s almost there when she hears Davarax speak.

“Are you two running away from something?”

With her back towards the Mandalorian, Dulsissia stands by the bed and looks at Corin. He looks peaceful and content. It takes so very little to make that boy happy. “Yes.” After everything this man has done for them, she can’t lie.

“Is there someone out there hunting you?”

Dulsissia closes her eyes. She sees Macero’s face. She knows he was probably beyond livid when he discovered what she’d done; taken their son and disappeared. Left him. She knows his pride will never give up and that he is searching for them this very moment. “Yes.”

Davarax doesn’t ask any more questions so she climbs into bed and curls herself around her son. She has no idea what to do tomorrow, but Dulsissia is so very, very tired… and soon she’s asleep.

A gentle grip on her shoulder wakes her the next morning and she opens her eyes with a violent start that also wakes her son and has him go from relaxed to frightened within a second.

“Sorry.” Davarax says, pulling his hand away. “I tried to call your name. Neither of you responded. I was starting to worry there was something wrong.”

Dulsissia sits up and automatically pulls Corin close, wrapping her arms protectively around him despite how he calmed the second he saw the Mandalorian. “No, I’m sorry. I guess I was more tired than I…” She sees the small table to the left has several small containers with what her nose tells her is food. Davarax can’t eat his breakfast before they’re gone. “...than I was aware of.” She lamely finishes and dreads the second Corin smells it too. How is she to explain to him that she has no breakfast for him? “We’ll be out of your room in a minute.”

Davarax gestures to the table. “Eat. Please.”

Corin’s head snaps up and he scouts around the room. “Breakfast?” He starts pushing his mother away, trying to free himself. “So hungry!”

“Baby, no.” Dulsissia says, holding him back. “That’s Davarax’ food.”

“I ate earlier.” Davarax says, walking over to flip the switch that will make the tansparisteel let light and sound in again. “This is for you two.”

Letting Corin go in another wave of defeat, feeling like an utter failure, Dulsissia just sits on the bed while her son eats. Corin happily digs into the containers and pulls out treats with glee.

“Dulcy…” Davarax says, and his voice is suddenly so very soft and gentle. Like he isn’t some random stranger they just met, who has done more for her son than she’s been able to do in days. Like he is someone who cares. “You have to eat.”

Nodding, she’s used to doing what she’s told, Dulsissia gets up and walks over to the table. The first mouthfuls are difficult, she’s struggling not to spit it back out, but then Corin looks over at her and gives her a wide, happy grin. He lost a tooth last week. Her sweet baby boy.

Okay, enough self-pity. Keep going, girl. For Corin.

Dulsissia eats.

By the time they leave the room, Corin is both filled up with food and sleep and is once again the energetic child she’d seen during the first weeks of their freedom. He’s running around, exploring and darting back to her and Davarax when things get too scary, and Dulsissia smiles. She has a moment of fear when Corin decides to jump up and grab a hold of Davarax’ arm and use him as a rope-swing, but instead of getting angry, the Mandalorian merely sways him back and forth. He even answers every single one of Corin’s billion questions until Dulsissia orders her son to stop pestering the man.

The sun is almost strong enough to break through the heavy smoke in the sky today. Corin is watching a couple of teenage Zabraks play some game with a leatherball in an empty parking area while Dulsissia and Davarax sit on a fallen tree nearby.

“Your children,” Dulsissia says, happy to pretend this is just a normal day, “what are they like?”

Davarax hums and there is a smile in that sound. “Paz was my first. He’s a handful. He’s as tall and broad-shouldered as kids five years older than him and he loves to pick fights. But once you get under that tough surface, that boy is a giant softie who thinks it is his job to look after everyone. Barthor, my second one, is the most clever creature I’ve ever met. His intelligence is off the charts. He gets frustrated because the rest of us take so long to catch up to what he already knows, poor soul. Now, my third, Raga…” Davarax sighs and looks over at her. “She’s the scary one. Paz more or less persuaded me to train her because no one else wanted her. Her temper, teeth and absolute lack of fear has made her quite infamous at the Covert. It’s a shame so few get to see her sweet side, because she does have one.” The Mandalorian turns his attention over to Corin. “And then there is little Din. Your boy reminds me of him. I found Din shortly after his parents were killed. He was adopted by some friends of mine, but I get the feeling it’s not going too well…”

Mesmerized, Dulsissia cannot imagine for a second that Macero would be this caring about any of his children that he’d end up having. “They are lucky to have you.”

Davarax shrugs. “I feel like I’m the lucky one. Children are a blessing to Mandalorians.”

Smiling, Dulsissia looks over at Corin as well and they sit in silence for a while.

“I have to leave soon.” Davarax says, blurting it out as if he’s been holding it in for a while.

The words act like a fist clenching around Dulsissia’s stomach. She’d known this was just a temporary break in the nightmare that is her life these days, a brief respite, but she still hates that it has to end already. “Oh.” Corin is going to be devastated too.

“I finished my mission this morning when I got the food.” Davarax says. “I have to go back to the Covert. Report in. Check on my kids. Do some repairs on my ship.”

Dulsissia nods, but can’t look over at him. “I understand.” She forces herself to smile again. She’s good at that. “Well, thank you for everything you’ve done for us. For saving me, but most of all for the kindness you’ve shown Corin. He hasn’t had much of that in his life…”

Davarax doesn’t answer right away and she worries that her words hadn’t been grateful enough. She’s just distracted by how she can feel despair snapping at her heels at the thought of what lies ahead of her. She will fight a way to feed and house her son, but she knows it won’t be easy. And it scares her how close she’d been to going back to Macero…

“You could come with me?” Davarax says the words with the amount of caution you’d use for a skittish dewback. “You and Corin, you could come stay at the Covert for a while. You would be safe from alley creepers and no one would find you there.”

Dulsissia stares at him. “But… I’m not a Mandalorian. Neither is Corin.”

“The leader of our Tribe will let you two stay if I ask her.” Davarax sounds certain in his words. “I promise you, there will be a place for you there. We can teach you how to fight, how to protect yourself and your son. We can help you keep him safe.”

Dulsissia considers it, looks over at her son and knows what he would say, but the boy is too trusting. Corin still thinks his father is a good man at heart. “If he found out, he would destroy your Covert. I can’t repay your kindness by bringing evil to your door.”

“I can promise you,” Davarax leans closer, “that if this fool tries to challenge my Tribe, we won’t be the ones to be destroyed.”

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Baby Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU #I SWORE I WOULDN'T WRITE THIS

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xjoonchildx · 4 years ago

Text

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter six: no one but you

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you. now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, smut

rating: 18+

word count: 5.6K

A/N: i sincerely hope you guys like the way this ends, it’s always so nerve-wracking to end a story! the epilogue to this story is posted as well and linked. thank you to every single person who sent sweet messages of support it means the world to me. SMUT WARNINGS APPLY IN THIS CHAPTER: oral (m/f), unprotected sex (only in fiction y’all) and hoseok thirst.

of course, i cannot post this story without shouting out some of the most supportive, killer people on this site. you guys truly mean the world to me @ladyartemesia @ppersonna @taetaewonderland @hobi-gif

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*********************

There are perks to being the boss.

For Namjoon, it means calling the shots on the streets from his office in the sky. Rarely does he leave the climate-controlled comfort of his pristine headquarters to get his hands dirty in the day-to-day business of the organization he runs.

Tonight, he’s making an exception.

Yoongi drives. Like a bat out of hell, as always.

It’s a thirty-minute ride from downtown Seoul to Incheon Port without traffic but Yoongi is on pace to finish it in just twenty. Hoseok watches the lights on the expressway speed by from the backseat. He tries hard to focus on the information Namjoon shares, the details he’ll need in order to ensure he doesn’t put himself or anyone else in danger tonight.

But fuck, it’s so hard to concentrate with the taste of you still on his lips.

He scrubs a hand down his face and takes a deep breath. He forces himself to push the memory of your body in his hands and your skin in his mouth and your voice in his ear to the corner of his mind.

Then he goes over the information again.

Namjoon wants to be in place at least ten minutes before the scheduled meet so he can figure out what’s going on before the Ssijog knows he’s there with his men.

He wants guns to stay holstered unless he gives the signal.

He wants --

“You must have really scared the shit out of that guy, Jung,” Namjoon murmurs from the front seat. Hoseok snaps back into focus to search for his boss’s reflection in the side mirror and finds Namjoon already looking at him. “He’s been blowing up his contact since last night, begging for personal protection.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t do worse,” Hoseok shrugs. “I certainly could have.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” Namjoon agrees. “Someday you’ll have to tell me the story of how you managed to be outside of his apartment when his handler picked him up. Here I was, under the impression you had the night off.”

Hoseok swallows thickly.

“Just doing my job.”

There’s a twist to Namjoon’s mouth that Hoseok can’t read and it puts him on edge.

“Well, I must thank you for your dedication to your job,” Namjoon continues. “You’ve really gone above and beyond the call of duty for this assignment.”

Hoseok looks away from the mirror. “Yeah, sure,” he says quietly.

The car falls into an uncomfortable silence.

Yoongi clears his throat.

“So anyway --” he announces loudly, “-- Jimin and Tae were able to track Kang’s texts through some internet bullshit they mess around with. Apparently dude flipped out after you left his place and wouldn’t let up until his handlers agreed to meet him tonight.”

“At Incheon Port?” Hoseok asks, glad for the redirect. “That’s a hell of a drive for a chat.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Namjoon says under his breath.

The car falls silent once again.

**********************

Mun Kiwoo has a reputation for being messy.

The man at the top sets the tone for the organization, and Mun is no exception. His men are known for their brutality, his deals often go south, and by most accounts his syndicate is hanging on by a thread.

But it’s still hanging on.

Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi watch quietly from their vantage point behind a shipping container as Mun waits in the dark, cigarette in hand. He looks like an unmade bed -- shirt rumpled and half-tucked into his wrinkled dress pants. He lights one cigarette off of another as he answers a series of calls on his cell.

His agitation seems to rise each time it rings again.

Hoseok takes stock of the two guards Mun has at his side tonight. They’re bulky men with huge arms and round bodies -- the kind of guys who look dangerous due to sheer size, but would be slow to respond in a physical fight. Namjoon holds up two fingers to confirm they’re the only men with Mun and Hoseok nods.

Headlights bounce off the pavement after a few more minutes of waiting.

A black car pulls up close to the water’s edge and Mun Kiwoo ends his call just as he lights another cigarette.

Kang Donghyuk is the first out of the car, followed closely by his Ssijog handler. Kang is dragging his ass and even from a distance, Hoseok can make out the bandage over the side of his face.

Hope it hurts, motherfucker.

“Mr. Kang,” Mun Kiwoo’s voice is clear now, loud enough for all three men to hear. “You have been rather insistent about this meeting. I’m a busy guy. What do you want?”

All three men strain to listen to Donghyuk’s response, but it’s too muffled to catch. Yoongi brings his hands to his throat to make a choking gesture. Can’t hear shit, he mouths. You choked him too hard.

Hoseok rolls his eyes.

“That sounds like your problem,” Mun laughs in response to whatever Kang has said. “Not mine.”

Donghyuk gestures wildly as he tries to make his case, likely pleading for the protection of the Ssijog. Mun Kiwoo looks unmoved.

“I’m not interested in causing any more trouble with the Gajog, Mr. Kang. This entire situation has been a means to an end. Stirring more shit with Kim Namjoon is not in my best interest.”

Namjoon signals to Yoongi and Hoseok that it’s time to move. All three men step out from their cover behind the shipping container, hands in front of their bodies to demonstrate none are holding their weapons.

“Fucking hell,” Mun Kiwoo groans when he spots them. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

His guards bow up at his side, both men reaching for their guns. Mun has the good sense to raise a hand and stop them from pulling their firearms -- which keeps Yoongi and Hoseok from doing the same. All of the men face off in silence for a moment, each side waiting to see if the other will do something to break the fragile peace.

Kang Donghyuk whines under his breath and Hoseok shoots a warning glare at him. He drops his gaze to the ground and shuts his mouth.

“You say you don’t want trouble with me, Mun and yet --” Namjoon snarls, “-- you have this piece of shit working my sister. Explain.”

“You know how these rich boys are, Kim,” Mun chuckles. “They develop a bad habit -- or in this idiot’s case, two -- and daddy’s money isn’t enough anymore. They’re easy to buy.”

Donghyuk looks from Namjoon to Mun, panic in his wide eyes.

“They’re trying to kill me,” he rasps.

“So what?” Mun laughs. He smiles wide to reveal a mouth like an abandoned graveyard, teeth broken and scattered. “This guy thinks we’re friends,” he jeers, jerking a thumb in Donghyuk’s direction. “He’s too stupid to figure out that he served a purpose and now he doesn’t anymore. Simple as that.”

Namjoon sucks in a breath with obvious irritation.

“I’m still waiting to hear what any of this shit has to do with my sister.”

“Ah, yes,” Mun says, stubbing out his cigarette and getting back to the task at hand. “Listen, I don’t have anything against your sister personally, okay? Lim Joowon is my son and I want him back. He can’t spend the next 15 years behind bars. You understand that, right? Doing whatever it takes for your family?”

Namjoon utters a curse under his breath.

“I’ll give your sister some credit, though -- she’s tenacious. I thought she’d give up after we took her digital files,” Mun admits. “Instead she’s cost me a hell of a lot more money. I’ve had to start cutting a lot more checks to ensure this shit goes away.”

“She’s not the type to roll over and play dead, Mun,” Namjoon growls through gritted teeth.

“The pigheaded gene runs in the family, huh?” Mun grins. “Look, let me level with you Kim, man to man. I don’t even need your sister at this point. I’ve paid enough people to fuck this case from the inside out. But I won’t lie, she is my insurance. If any of the higher-ups start asking questions about why this case fell apart -- who better to point the finger at than the sweet young prosecutor with the dirty family connections, hmm?”

Namjoon tenses, hand reaching for the gun at his side. Yoongi stops him with a muttered warning.

“None of us give a fuck about what happens to your son, Mun,” Namjoon says. “What I have a problem with is you sending that piece of shit --” he points at the trembling Kang Donghyuk, “ -- into her fucking home. Invading her space. You crossed a line.”

“You’re right,” Mun agrees lightly. “It was rude. Uncalled for. I’m gonna apologize for it right now.”

He pulls his pistol from his side and the sound of clinking metal bounces off the shipping containers as everyone pulls their guns. Hoseok trains his pistol directly at the shaking Kang Donghyuk and silently prays for the chance to pull the trigger. Mun Kiwoo’s gun is pointed at Namjoon and Namjoon’s is pointed right back.

Then Mun’s face lights up with a bizarre smile. He swings the point of his pistol in the direction of Donghyuk and pulls the trigger twice.

Donghyuk sputters as he falls to the floor.

Hoseok and Yoongi exchange looks.

Namjoon stares at Mun incredulously.

“What?” Mun’s nonchalance is comical. “You wanted to do that too, right? Besides, that guy owes everyone in the city money. I promise you, his own mother won’t even miss him.”

“Jesus,” Yoongi mutters under his breath. “This guy is fucking nuts.”

Mun puts his pistol away and his men follow suit. Namjoon signals for Yoongi and Hoseok to do the same.

“Consider that a goodwill gesture,” Mun says breezily. “An official apology from me, to you. And please pass along my consideration to your sister. Please assure her that none of this is personal. But I will make sure my son stays out of prison. And like it or not, she’s going to play some kind of role in that.”

Namjoon stares off into the water.

“I can’t control my sister, Mun. She makes her own choices,” he says after a moment. “But let me be clear, this is the first and last polite discourse we’re going to have about this situation. I don’t want you, your goons or any --” he glances at the bleeding pile of Kang Donghyuk on the floor, “-- paid help going near her. Not in her office, not in her home. Nowhere. Are we clear?”

Mun Kiwoo lights another cigarette and smiles wide, the space in his teeth prominent against the gleaming ember hanging from his mouth.

“Crystal.”

On the way back to the car, Hoseok hears the heavy splash of Kang Donghyuk’s body hitting the water down below.

He shuts his eyes against the rush of pleasure he feels as he climbs into the backseat.

************************

YOU

Something isn’t right.

You stare at the empty seat across the conference table -- the one where Hyejin normally sits -- and something twists in your gut. She’s out sick today. You can’t even remember the last time she took a sick day.

All morning, you’ve tried to convince yourself that it’s no big deal. That you’re working yourself up for nothing.

But Donghyuk is out today, too.

Vaguely, you register the sound of your boss’s voice at the front of the room. Any minute now, you’ll be asked to brief the team on the status of your case, but you can’t think straight. You can’t focus on anything but the feeling in the pit of your stomach that something is wrong.

Your thoughts race back to last night, back to your brother taking his men away for business in the middle of the night.

Back to Hoseok.

You try not to think about what it felt like to have his warm body pressed against yours. The way he smelled like fresh laundry and spice. The way you unraveled the moment he touched you.

Your phone pulses with an incoming text.

namjoon: i’ve asked jungkook to bring you to the office tonight after work [ 1:25 PM ]

namjoon: a lot to discuss [ 1:26 PM ]

Your brain grinds to a halt as you stare at the messages.

It’s like everything is wrong and everything is right, all at the same time.

“Miss. Kim?”

You look up to see your boss staring at you, one expectant eyebrow raised. You take a deep breath, line up your papers and stand to take your place at the front of the room.

****************************

The sense of déjà vu that hits you as you make the long walk across your brother’s office is nearly overwhelming. This is exactly how this entire mess began weeks ago -- with you summoned to see Namjoon after hours, with Yoongi and Hoseok flanking him on either side.

But there is one thing different about tonight.

When you briefly lock gazes with Hoseok as you make your way to Namjoon’s plush chair, there is a warmth behind his dark eyes you can see from a distance. It’s a complete contrast to the first time you ever saw him, when you thought you could freeze to death from the ice in his glare.

You look away before anyone can catch the flush working its way up your neck.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you brother begins evenly. “I finally have some answers for you about what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m ready to hear them,” you exhale, taking a seat. Your eyes drift over the papers strewn scattered across his desk.

“We’ve learned that the reason the Ssijog want your case against Lim Joowon to fold is because Lim is Mun Kiwoo’s son.”

You raise a brow.

“That’s news to me. I didn’t even know Mun Kiwoo had a son.”

“Neither did we,” Namjoon admits. “Apparently this is his only son and the man he intends to pass control of the Ssijog down to. So it makes sense that he’s so hell-bent on seeing this case fall apart.”

He picks one of the papers off his desk.

“This is the more problematic piece of the puzzle,” Namjoon says quietly. Your chest tightens in response to the expression on his face. “Jimin and Taehyung tracked a Ssijog account making payouts. Payouts to people in your office.”

He holds the piece of paper out to you.

“There are six names on that list.”

You take a deep breath before taking the sheet from his hands.

Your eyes scan down the document, taking in the blows, one by one. Two receptionists. One paralegal.

Lee Hyejin.

Kang Donghyuk.

Park Soo.

You say nothing as you stare at the list, taking in the names again.

Someone you called a friend. Someone you’d allowed into your bed. The boss you’d bent over backwards trying to impress. You stare at the black-and-white evidence of betrayal in your hands, reading the words over and over -- expecting to feel sadness or rage or humiliation or something.

Nothing comes.

“Give us a moment, would you please?”

Yoongi and Hoseok file out of the room quietly at Namjoon’s command. The second the heavy door to the office clicks shut, he clears his throat. “There is something else we need to discuss, Amsaja,” your brother continues quietly. “Kang Donghyuk is dead.”

“Good.”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide at the quick, calm delivery of your response.

You stand to walk to his sideboard to pour a drink. You have no idea what’s inside the decanter, only that whatever it is promises a burn you want to feel right now. You pour a glass and take a sip, leaning against the heavy wooden piece.

“Did you kill him?”

“No. The Ssijog beat us to it,” Namjoon admits. “But Hoseok paid Donghyuk a personal visit at home to convey our -- displeasure -- at his involvement in this mess. He damned near choked that man to death hours before Mun Kiwoo put two bullets in him.”

“I’m sorry anyone has ever tried you because I promise you they are going to pay.”

The words Hoseok spoke in your kitchen surface in your mind.

They’d sent a bolt of pleasure through you at the time -- triggering a kind of primitive response you’d be embarrassed to admit out loud.

And somehow that response pales in comparison to what you’re feeling right now.

A normal woman wouldn’t find satisfaction in the idea of Donghyuk cowering in fear inside his apartment. A normal woman wouldn’t feel warmth spread through her entire body at the mental image of Hoseok wrapping his hands around Donghyuk’s throat. You slip a finger under the collar of your blouse and search for your scar -- closing your eyes at the familiar feel of the raised skin.

You remind yourself that you are not a normal woman.

“Hoseok uncovered Kang’s involvement with the Ssijog even before we found the payouts.” Your brother pauses, a wry twist to his mouth as he continues. “He can be a very determined man when something is important to him.”

Namjoon holds your gaze for just a beat too long after delivering that statement. You look away and walk to his office window.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now, Amsaja,” you brother says. You can hear the sound of him pouring his own drink behind you. “Your silence has me concerned.”

You’re thinking about every time Hyejin feigned concern for you and tried to get you to open up. The days Donghyuk insisted he take you to lunch or to dinner when you insisted you were too swamped. The bullshit little speech Park Soo gave you the night of the charity dinner about keeping Seoul from falling into the hands of criminals.

You’re thinking about what a joke they all are -- dressing up and looking down their noses at the criminal element they claim to despise. Wearing their fake piety like a badge of honor and paying for their fine things with dirty money.

You’re thinking that you’d rather choose a hundred street thugs over any one of their kind. At least your brother has the balls to wear his sins on his sleeve.

Namjoon joins you at the window, glass in hand.

“What I’m thinking, Jaegyueo,” you say calmly, “Is that a lot of things are starting to make sense for me. I haven’t felt this clear in a very long time. So, thank you.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your brother’s mouth and you return it.

You clink your glasses together in a toast.

***********************

You are two whiskeys deep when you leave Namjoon’s office.

Hoseok is waiting in a chair in the hallway. He stands to his feet when you appear from behind the heavy wooden door.

You suck in a breath as you take him in -- the sharp beauty of his face and the soft curve of his mouth and the way his suit hugs the lines of his lean body. You realize, with more than a little embarrassment, that you are staring.

“I’ve got the car warming downstairs,” Hoseok says carefully. “If you’re ready to go, that is.”

“Yes. Hoseok, I --” you swallow thickly, “-- I never apologized for what I said to you. I didn’t mean those things. I’m so sorry.”

Hoseok steps close and reaches one hand out to tuck your hair behind your ear. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch and inhaling his scent.

“You’ve had a hell of a night,” he murmurs. “We can talk about that some other time. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You open your eyes to look up at him just as Yoongi rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks.

“Glad this isn’t awkward,” he mutters, before turning to walk back the same way he came.

**********************

The air in Hoseok’s car is thick with tension on the ride home.

You’ve stopped pretending to not stare, eyes fixed on Hoseok while his eyes stay glued to the road. He guides the car through a sharp turn and you catch the way he winces as his hand grips the steering wheel.

A throb of guilt hits you square in the chest.

“You’re hurt.”

“Nah,” Hoseok deflects quickly. “Just a little sore.”

He won’t look at you. Why won’t he look at you?

“Namjoon told me you nearly choked Donghyuk to death,” you say quietly, studying his face for any reaction. He slows the car to a stop at a red light and rubs his fingers across his mouth, stares out of his window.

“I wanted to kill him,” he admits. He takes his aching hand off the steering wheel and flexes his fingers as if reliving the memory of that night. “I almost did.”

That embarrassing reaction flares inside of you again. This time it slides down your back and pools low between your legs and you have to squeeze your thighs together in response. You shiver as you remember the promises he made while pressing his body to yours.

“Tell me what you want. I swear to God, I’ll give it to you.”

You’ve never wanted anything as badly as you do Jung Hoseok right now.

*************************

You force yourself to wait for the elevator doors to shut.

The second they do, you crush your body and your mouth to Hoseok’s. If you catch him off-guard, there’s no way to tell -- not with the way he immediately backs you into the elevator wall, slotting one knee between your thighs.

“No one gets to hurt you anymore,” he groans the words into the shell of your ear, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Just like no one gets to touch you anymore. No one but me.”

The strangled sigh that escapes you is the closest thing Hoseok is going to get to a thank you right now. You whimper in agreement, gasping when his fingers grip your ass to pull you flush against him. The swollen outline of his cock brushes against your stomach and you shudder.

The elevator ride is too long and too short, all at the same time. Hoseok backs you through the doors as soon as they open, fumbling in his pocket for the keys while you suck bruises into his throat. By some miracle, he gets the door open and both of you through it in one piece.

“Fuck,” Hoseok swears as you wrap your arms around his neck, grinding against his insistent cock. He has to drag you both into the bedroom as you press against him like a dead weight, teeth nipping at his bottom lip as you both stumble into the bedroom. You drop out of his grasp when the bed hits the back of your knees.

Hoseok stands back, chest heaving with exertion.

“I need you to hear you say it,” he pants. “Please.”

You sit up straight on the edge of the bed and unbutton your blouse, slipping it off without hesitation. “No one gets to touch me,” you breathe, reaching to unclasp your bra. You toss it away.

“No one but you.”

Hoseok’s eyes darken to near black.

He shrugs off his suit jacket and slowly pulls off his holster and gun, placing both carefully on top of your dresser. Then he turns back, body looming over yours. He cups your cheek with one large hand, looking down at you with such heat that your breath hitches in your chest.

You lean into his touch, fingertips grazing the contour of his cock beneath his suit pants.

“You promised to give me anything I want,” you whisper, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. He nods slowly, the rasp in his voice betraying the calm on his face.

“Anything. Name it.”

“I want to take care of you,” you say, pulling the hem of his shirt out of his pants. Your fingers work the buttons open, one by one. “Let me.”

Hoseok exhales a heavy breath as you open his shirt and stroke your hands down his chest. You give yourself a moment to admire the lean strength of his body, fingers stroking over the metal tags that hang just above one dark, flat nipple.

His stomach tightens and his cock twitches in his pants when you tilt forward to press a soft kiss to the golden skin just above his belt. You work it open with unsteady hands and his pants follow just a moment later.

“I want to make you feel good,” you whisper, nuzzling the outline of his length with your cheek. You push his boxers down his slim hips just enough to expose the head of his cock. “I don’t want you to think about anything but this.”

Hoseok groans when you flick your tongue against him.

His cock throbs under your fingertips through the fabric of his underwear when you dip down to tease the head with your mouth. You lap at the salty moisture gathered at the swollen tip and his head drops back.

“Sweetheart, please --” he grits out, hands reaching for your hair. He winds his fingers through the strands and jerks when you rake your teeth across the wet ridge under the head of his cock. “-- don’t tease me.”

Some other time you might play the delayed gratification game with him. You might take hours to torture him and keep him dangling at the precipice of pleasure. Tonight, though -- the only thing you want to do is make him come so hard he can’t see straight.

“I won’t,” you promise sweetly, pulling the rest of his thick length free from his boxers to wrap your warm fingers around him. You flick your gaze up to appreciate the way his head is tipped back in pleasure, lips parted.

“Look at me,” you murmur, pumping him with languid strokes.

His eyes are glassy with arousal when he opens them to gaze down at you. You make sure he’s watching as you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you draw your mouth across his length. He gathers your hair in his hands so he can appreciate the unobstructed view of your private show.

“No one gets to touch you anymore,” you whisper. You take him down as far as you can again, tongue dragging against the thick vein that runs the length of his cock. You are panting when you pull off him, tongue running the seam of your lower lip as you catch your breath.

“No one but me.”

Hoseok’s dick jerks in your hand in response, hand tightening in your hair as you lick a long stripe up his shaft. He chokes out a moan as you lick at the sensitive spot just under the head of his cock, eyes fixed on his.

“No more,” he croaks.

You pull your mouth away reluctantly, tongue swiping at the taste of him on your lips and the sight seems to set him off. He grabs your face with both hands, groaning into your mouth as he claims it.

He pulls away, panting.

“Lie back,” he demands between breaths. You comply without question.

Hoseok leans over you, arms braced on either side of your body as he drops his head down to take one nipple between his teeth. Your hips jerk at the stimulation and you squirm underneath him, thighs slippery with your own excitement. He laves at both nipples slowly, thoroughly, until they are aching and wet. Then he trails a soft line of kisses back up to your ear.

“I want to taste what’s mine,” he whispers, and a pang of arousal hits you so hard you forget to breathe. You lift your hips to help him pull your skirt away along with your soaked panties and he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you. Every muscle in your body locks in anticipation.

Hoseok nudges your legs apart with his hands, placing gentle kisses along your inner thighs. His dark eyes are half-hooded with pleasure by the time he drapes your legs over his shoulders.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he groans when you are fully spread open for him. He drops a kiss on your mound and your body jolts at the sensation, every nerve ending standing at attention. He moves lower, long fingers tracing the outline of your swollen cunt and you suck in a breath.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, dipping one finger into your damp heat. “Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” you choke out, hands gripping the sheets as his finger flexes inside of you.

“Only for you.”

Hoseok makes a sound of satisfaction deep in his chest before sealing his lips over your aching clit. You shudder against his mouth when he pulls back to soothe you with the flat of his tongue. “You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined how you would taste,” Hoseok groans, licking deeply into your wetness. “It doesn’t even come close. Nothing comes close to this.”

“Hoseok --” your hands come off of the sheets to grip into his hair, “-- Hoseok, please don’t stop.”

Your senses are so heightened that just the pressure of the heel of his hand against your cunt is making you crazy. His finger crooks deep inside you, stroking against your swollen walls while his lips and teeth toy with your clit. You whine at the stimulation, at the wet drag of his tongue that has you writhing beneath him.

“You’re close sweetheart, I can hear it,” Hoseok’s voice is ragged with arousal. “Let me hear you. Come for me.”

You clutch his hair between your fingers, moaning brokenly as the heat between your legs simmers to a boil.

“Hoseok --”

“That’s it,” he praises you with dirty words spoken in the sweetest way. “Let me taste you. Let me hear you.”

Hoseok is prepared the moment you come apart.

He grasps your hips firmly in those large, warm hands of his -- tongue and lips persistent as the live wire inside you tightens and snaps. The force of your orgasm shakes your entire body and leaves you begging and breathless. Hoseok savors every drop of your release until your hips sink back into the mattress and you protest weakly against the threat of overstimulation.

The mattress dips under you as Hoseok joins you on the bed, lips swollen with use and mouth marked with your taste. His head dips into the hollow of your neck, nipping gently at the skin, while his fingers skate over the soft skin of your stomach and thighs.

You shiver in his hold, closing your eyes for a moment to savor the feeling of his body on yours.

“I want to watch you come like that every day,” Hoseok whispers into your ear. “Only for me.”

“Only for you,” you agree in a whisper, finding your voice after what seems like ages.

You slip one hand between you, fingers wrapping firmly around the rigid cock pressed against your stomach. Hoseok groans when you tighten your hand around him.

“Hoseok,” you breathe, feeling a pulse between your legs that seems to beat in time with the throb of his cock in your palm, “Fuck me please, I’m losing my mind.”

His hoarse chuckle sends a shiver up your spine as he moves to cover you completely with his body. He lines up the head of his cock at your entrance and you tilt your hips up into his.

“Please,” you plead again, lifting your head to brush your lips against his. “Now.”

He sinks his cock into you slowly, inch by inch, groaning at the tight fit of your cunt around him. The stretch inside of you is nearly too much -- you whimper when he bottoms out and he drops his forehead to yours.

“You okay? Am I hurting you?”

His entire body feels like a rubber band ready to snap -- coiled energy waiting to be released. But he holds back the instinct to move until you nod your agreement.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, nudging his hips to move with your own. You stroke your hands down the slick skin of his back. “I’m so full right now.”

Hoseok swears under his breath as he tentatively rocks his hips against yours, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside of you. You wrap your legs around him as the discomfort subsides and the only sensation that’s left is the pleasant pressure of his cock against your walls.

Hoseok’s hips move harder as your whimpers melt into moans.

“Dammit,” he swears, head dropping low between his shoulder blades. “So tight and wet for me. So perfect for me.”

You look up to take in the sight of his perfect face slack with pleasure, mouth parted and face flushed with exertion. His dog tags hang from his neck, swaying as his hips begin to piston in earnest. You pull on them to force his mouth close to yours.

“Only for you,” you whisper, “No one else.”

Hoseok’s steady rhythm stutters when you whisper those words into his mouth and press your lips to his. His hips jerk wildly as his release races up his shaft. He laces his fingers into yours, fucking you deep into the mattress in those final seconds as he loses all control to chasing his end.

He comes with your name on his lips.

************************

Hoseok breathes deeply into your hair as you stroke your fingers across the lean lines of his chest, fingers tracing the metal outline of his dog tags. You lie together like that for a while, skin to skin.

Your thoughts are loud in the quiet.

You’re used to the bitter sting of betrayal by now.

Long before Lee Hyejin or Kang Donghyuk or Park Soo ever sold you out for a check, your own father betrayed you for the bottle. You of all people know too well that most people aren’t to be trusted.

But then Hoseok’s fingers drag lightly across your back and they bring you back to the here and now -- back to the promise he made to you tonight.

“No one gets to hurt you anymore.”

And you decide to trust just one more time.

************************

@saintjeonofbusan @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain @sunkissed725 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale @sugaminyoonjiji @jinhitwhore @trust-me-im-joly @daydreambrliever @jjeonjoon @ultraanonymousey @yoon-bug @multistantrash17 @poohsaidhi @alyboo-jpeg @sahmfanficbts @yoongissugarmommy @ppersonna @p-polaroid @vi-hoshi @stressedinmedschool247 @jgissle12 @ctvrty @btsnatalena @strawbewymiwk @stephleee @jalexa83 @livanthi @fantasybangtan @trviahope @mono-kookie@hauntedlilies @sugasaidbultaoreune @yeojaa @secret-alphabets @hodginss@parkjimin-persona

#hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #bts mafia au #hoseok mafia au #bts tsundere #ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #btscreatorscorner #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub

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simp-for-mha-men · 4 years ago

Text

𝕚 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 (𝕜𝕒𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕚 𝕓𝕒𝕜𝕦𝕘𝕠𝕦 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣)

Request by @loxbbg: Drummer Bakugo x Lead singer Reader (ngl saw a TikTok and couldn’t help it) and they have a really lowkey relationship and the reader is singing bad romance and she goes up to Bakugo and is basically like singing to him he like drops his sticks mid play and kisses her sending the crowd crzy and there other band mates (the rest of bakusquard) are like called it

A/N: If anybody asks, this isn’t one of my biggest fantasies. Also, no, I didn’t listen to Bad Romance a couple times before this to try and nail the ‘ole Tik Tok high note. Anywho, I love this idea! Enjoy this trainwreck of a concert!

Genre: female reader, musician/band au, swearing cause it’s Bakugou, established relationship, pg-13 due to some vulgar-ish things and a suggestive ending, the fans losing their minds over you and Bakugou 💥❤️

Word count: 2.8k

♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥

“You are such an asshole,” you groaned, pushing your boyfriend on the couch.

“You are such a bitch,” he growled, pulling you onto to his lap to engage in a messy make-out session.

It was the U.A. International Music Festival, and your group, known as The Chaos Crew, was headlining the event. Today was the first performance, ushering in the exclusive guests who paid extra for V.I.P. status. To say the least, Katsuki Bakugou, your boyfriend and drummer, was a lot more annoying than usual. Some examples were how the kisses you shared were rougher, the hand holding was almost painful with how tight he squeezed, and the mic checks were filled with intense staring. However, the band didn’t know you two were together, making the situation much worse.

Somehow, your other friends turned bandmates Eijirou Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Hanta Sero, and Mina Ashido agreed to pursue the dream with you when you first offered up the idea. Bakugou took more convincing. He thought you were the most idiotic person on the planet. His superiority complex only became worse when you asked him if he could be the drummer for your new group. He agreed after hearing you beg for a couple weeks straight, which began the slippery slope of flirtatious tension.

Despite you two being together all the time, the flirting wasn’t obvious. Bakugou would notice your skirts when they were just a bit shorter, and you would notice when his shirts when they got just a bit tighter. Neither of you ever let the other one know, though. Both of you despised each other so much that it would be the death of either of you for your secrets to get out.

One day, this changed during a photoshoot for your first magazine article. A rival band, known as The Pros, was at the shoot, and their lead singer, Deku, was asking you questions whenever you weren’t working. You didn’t mind it. You actually found it flattering how interested he was in your vocal range. However, after watching Deku “flirt” with you, Bakugou dragged you to the green room.

Slamming the door, he turned around and asked, “Are you fucking blind, (y/n)?”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed.

“You heard me. He’s flirting with you for fuck’s sake! Tell him to just leave before I knock it into him.”

His overprotectiveness shocked you. You were more than confused. You weren’t that pretty, so Deku couldn’t be flirting with you. Your hair was well put together, your makeup was done nicely, and you were dressed with just a tad bit of sexiness, but you still looked average. It didn’t add up.

“Deku is not flirting with me,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “He’s just assessing the competition.”

“He’s staring at your tits and waiting for your little skirt to flip up,” Bakugou replied, clenching his fist.

“Ugh, stop being so vulgar!”

“I’m being honest, princess.”

Marching over to him, you met his gaze. Waiting for him to continue with another statement, you stood in front of him and didn’t cower under his stare. Instead of getting an earful, you felt pressure on your lips. He kissed you, and you loved it. You loved it too much. He was like a drug, and your first hit left you wanting more.

You ended up spending the next 30 minutes in the green room making out and telling each other how much you hated it. It was true love, and after this experience, you began dating each other in private. Your family knew and so did his, but your bandmates didn’t. At least, you both were in agreement about that.

As time went on, The Chaos Crew began rising in the charts. After releasing 3 number one singles, you started touring and gaining a much bigger fan base. The Chaos Children, or what your fanbase called themselves, began doing every celebrity’s nightmare in a matter of weeks: shipping. The most popular ship within your band was, you guessed it, you and Bakugou. This was a running joke between Denki and Sero, but little did they know it was already a sailing ship. This only made you keep your relationship even more private.

Now, back to the U.A. International Music Festival. The feverish kiss ended, leaving you and your hot-headed boyfriend panting messes. Leaning into him, you nuzzled your face in his neck. You pressed a kiss to his collarbone before stopping to just inhale his scent.

“Since when are you so needy?” Bakugou joked, mocking you.

“Since when did you start acting like a child?” you snapped back.

You yelped, realizing Bakugou had slapped your exposed thigh. Whenever you both were performing, he felt the need to have his hands on you at all times. The band and fanbase, however, couldn’t know about you two. It would be too detrimental to your career.

“When am I gonna see you in my room?” Bakugou asked, rubbing where a red mark was forming due to his slap.

“Tonight,” you coyly replied.

“Oh really? Will you be wearing my favorite little outfit?”

“Of course, I will.”

Suddenly, a loud knock interrupted your rendezvous. Brushing yourself off, you leaped off of Bakugou’s lap and stood up as formally as possible. Of course, you two had snuck off together. You couldn’t just tell everyone you were going somewhere with Bakugou alone. However, you were relieved to hear a familiar voice on the other side.

“Bakugou? (y/n)?” Mina called, waiting for either of you to reply.

“Come on in, babe,” you replied, saying it a little too quickly.

Mina opened the door and smirked when she saw you two. She had her suspicions about the two of you, but they were never confirmed nor denied. She knew she might never get her ship to sail, but she would never tell either of you that.

“What do you want, Bug Eyes?” Bakugou grumbled.

“Not much,” Mina shrugged, “but I have news. We have a schedule change.”

At this, Bakugou exchanged a look with you. A schedule change during the U.A. Festival was like waiting outside of a store for days for a limited-edition item then leaving and never buying it. Someone dropped their act for later that night. There was no other possibility.

“Sero got an update from Shinsou,” Mina stated, “and it looks like Deku broke his ankle from a stunt during their last show. They can’t perform tonight.”

Bakugou smirked, and you punched him in the arm. Ever since the photoshoot, he despised Deku. It was as if they were born to be rivals, which made you laugh a little.

“What’s the plan?” you questioned, knowing that Shinsou, one of the event directors, had already made one.

“We’re taking half of their slot,” Mina smiled, shoving a set list into Bakugou’s hands. “The other half is going to Itsuka Kendo, the new solo artist. She’s going first, and then we’re up.”

“We planning on singing from a particular era?” Bakugou asked, focusing more on the set list rather than the conversation.

“They don’t want us singing our songs,” Mina replied, causing both you and Bakugou to choke on air. “They want us to cover popular music.”

“We have no idea why, though. It’s kind of stupid, if you ask me,” Denki complained, walking in with Kirishima and Sero hot on his tail.

Upon their entrance, the boys came over to give you a hug and congratulate you on the earlier show. It went off without a hitch, and they insisted they give you credit since it was due. However, when a question about you and Bakugou running off came up, Bakugou immediately stepped in and said he wanted to jot down some lyric ideas. A game of playful banter began and went on for about 5 minutes before Shinsou entered the room.

“Well, it’s good to see that our fill-ins are ready for tonight,” he chuckled, walking over to place a hand on Denki’s shoulder. “You guys ready?”

“Obviously,” Bakugou grinned. “How bad can it be? We’re just performing covers. It’ll be just like the old days.”

Immediately, your first performances and venues came to mind. Run-down bars and covers were normal for a few months before getting signed on by Shouta Aizawa, president of 1-A Records. After that, you were able to write your own music and live your dream.

“Yeah,” you chimed in, moving closer to Bakugou, “we can perform the last cover set we did before we got signed.”

“Hell yeah!” Kirishima yelled, pumping his fist in the air. “The Bad Romance Set was always my favorite.”

Everyone was in agreement. Shinsou trusted you all enough to bid you farewell for a few hours before you were called back on stage. The Bad Romance Set was, simply, the best cover set The Chaos Crew ever played. It was a tribute to Lady Gaga, and it celebrated her amazing career. Mina was the Beyoncé to your Gaga on Telephone. Kirishima was the killer guitarist during Shallow. Bakugou was the best drummer on the planet during Bad Romance, the huge finale piece of the set. It was the perfect set to get the crowd hyped and into the show.

Soon enough, the show was about to start. Itsuka was on her last song, a personal tribute to her ex-boyfriend. You were gussied up in all black, sporting a short mini skirt, a low-cut shirt, and a leather jacket. It was perfect. You looked like you could kill anyone that crossed your path, and you probably could. It only attracted your boyfriend even more to the prospect of getting handsy before the show.

“Come on, sexy,” he growled, kissing under you ear. “Let’s do it. We’ve got a few minutes.”

“No,” you responded, pushing him away. “We have to stay focused. You know our ground rules.”

Rolling his eyes, he kept trying and trying and trying. After denying him multiple times, he smacked your ass before sulking away to sit at his drum set on the dark stage. Once he did that, the rest of your bandmates followed his lead and walked on stage. The lights went up, causing the crowd to lose their minds over your presence. Glancing back at your boyfriend, you nodded your head to signal him to start the first song.

The act went wonderful. When you sang to the audience, you could tell the hardcore Gaga fans from the fakes. However, no one seemed disappointed in the set. Everyone thought it was fun and easy to dance to. It was very clear, though, that everyone was waiting on one song: Bad Romance. After 25 minutes of Gaga hits, you glanced back at Bakugou and nodded your head again.

Once the drums began for the final song, the rest of the band chimed in to start the melody. Immediately, the crowd recognized it and sang the opening verse with you. Mina chimed in with her amazing voice to layer your vocals. Sero and Denki had the electric guitar and synth timed perfectly with one another, which only added to Kirishima’s bass. Bakugou, of course, played his drums with passion and never took his eyes off of you.

Once the first bridge of the song arrived, your bandmates began growing with excitement. Your singing ability was always incredible to them, but the first time you nailed the added high note in the final chorus of Bad Romance, they knew you would be their lead vocalist. The moment was fast approaching, and you took the mic from the stand.

Finishing up the second bridge, you walked around to personally serenade each of your bandmates. First, Mina and you made sure to twirl each other, causing her to chuckle just a bit. You sauntered over to Denki, jamming out on an air guitar to compliment his real one. Next, Sero was graced with your presence, and he added a riff to impress the crowd. Kirishima was surprised, and you both exchanged flirtatious winks at one another. However, these actions annoyed Bakugou to no end. His blood was boiling, and his jealousy was rising. He needed to show these extras exactly who you belonged to.

The final chorus began, and you arrived at Bakugou’s drum set. To tease the fans just a bit, you decided you were going to belt the high note right next to your boyfriend. Besides, this entire song was about him and you. This song was the most important one in the whole set because of that. You knew it would give the audience the best reaction and moment to capture on film.

I want your love, and all your lover's revenge You and me could write a bad romance Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh Caught in a bad romance

The crowd went wild. A constant chant of “(y/n)” was repeated over and over again and filled the venue. The end of the song was close, and Bakugou’s patience was running thin. You didn’t move, stuck next to his drum set. Whether you were trying to prove a point or your affection for him made his brain hurt. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep it a secret anymore.

“Want your bad romance,” you sang, finishing off the song as dramatically as possible.

Leaping out of his seat, Bakugou threw down his sticks and bounded over to you before wrapping his arms around you. He pressed his lips to yours, claiming you in front of everyone watching. You fumbled with the mic before successfully flicking the off switch and let it fall to the ground. You wrapped your arms around his neck, melting into him. He tapped your hip, signaling you to jump. You happily obliged, basking in the way his calloused hands gripped your thighs.

Screams filled the venue. Fangirls cried about the way Bakugou held you while others cried because he was holding you and not them. Paparazzi snapped as many photos as possible, hoping to capture the best photo that could be put up on TMZ. Parents tried to cover their children’s eyes because they thought the scene was so vulgar. Oh yeah, you guys were definitely going to be trending on Twitter.

In a flash, the lights went dark across the entire venue. The screams didn’t cease, even when an announcement came over the loudspeakers. It wasn’t heard the first time, probably since you and Bakugou broke everyone there. However, speaker volume could be raised, and the announcement could be heard through the crowd on the second try.

“Attention festival guests,” the lovely voice began, “tonight’s performances are over. Thank you for attending the V.I.P. exclusive day. We hope to see you all tomorrow for the first official day. Have a wonderful night and stay rockin’!”

Before groans of protest could be heard, your band was escorted off stage and immediately into your limousine. Your were able to successfully avoid paparazzi, but that didn’t mean you and Bakugou were safe. You had your friends, and they were all nosy in their own ways.

“It was the photoshoot,” Kirishima began.

“Yeah! Come on, you wouldn’t stop glaring at Deku, Bakugou!” Mina grinned.

“We knew you both were together,” Sero smirked.

“Yeah, come on! You think we didn’t notice when you guys would run off to lock lips and do who knows what else?” Denki added on.

Bakugou was more than pissed off. After the onslaught of statements brought to the table, Bakugou effectively shut them up by yelling, “If any of you touch my girl, I’ll your kick your asses. Got it?”

“Whatever you say,” Kirishima replied, flashing a grin and a thumbs-up.

“Just use protection!” Mina reminded, forcing some questionable hand gestures and noises from Denki and Sero.

After 15 minutes of torture, the limo arrived at the five-star hotel. In a matter of seconds, Bakugou had opened the door and picked you up bridal style so he could carry you up to the room. You had all booked the penthouse, since the U.A. Festival was such a big deal. You each had your own room, but you figured you two might have free reign of the whole place for while due to Mina’s previous innuendo.

Once you arrived in Bakugou’s room, he plopped you down on the bed. Smirking at you, he removed his shirt and went to get something a bit more comfortable out of his suitcase. You couldn’t help but look at the beautiful muscles that adorned his body. It made you feel hot and a little flustered.

“Go change,” he commanded, turning around to face you again.

You chuckled and replied, “Oh, come on. You know me.”

You slipped off your leather jacket, bending forward just a bit to let him gaze at your cleavage. He licked his lips and threw down the extra shirt he had grabbed. Walking over to you, he roughly grabbed your hips and pulled your body into his.

Leaning forward, you smirked and whispered in his ear, “I already have the set on. Wanna help me get out of it?”

395 notes · View notes

clanoffetts · 4 years ago

Text

someday. | paz vizsla x fem!reader

chapter I

masterlist

synopsis: Paz Vizsla finds himself stuck on Dantooine with a broken ship and no credits. Luckily, he finds you, a mechanic that will fix his ship for passage to Hosnian Prime. Over the course of your time together, a courtship blooms.

warnings/things to note: star wars swear words; reader has hints of PTSD that will be expanded on in further chapters (and those will be tagged with stronger warnings); blatant lack of knowledge of ship mechanics; only one use of ‘Y/N’

word count: 5.1k

Dirt kicked up behind heavy boots. Hands stopped their work so heads could turn. It wasn’t often a Mandalorian showed up. Actually, one had never showed up. And this one was huge. A buff man, covered in heavy armor that had been painted blue. Even his helmet evoked fear. The townspeople were watching myth become reality.

The large man walked into Aliria’s Shop. The shop had a name once, when Aliria’s parents had opened it, but that was some 80 years ago now. The shop had survived the Clone Wars and the Empire, not to mention the constant flow of smugglers and thieves customary to the Outer Rim. Aliria’s Shop wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

It was a fairly small shop, especially considering all the things packed into it. Aliria carried food, clothes, a small array of weaponry, and medical supplies. There wasn’t much in the little town, a droid mechanic, a ship mechanic, a small infirmary, and a bar. Aliria’s Shop was the hub, she had the essentials.

The Mandalorian was like a bull in a china shop inside the store. Aliria had crammed crates, tables, and shelves into every crevice of the store. Not to mention the various pieces of merchandise hanging from the ceiling.

“Watch it, Mandalorian!” Aliria yelled at the man as he almost hit the shelf of fruits with the huge gun on his back. She may look like a frail older woman at the age of 75, but her voice didn’t show it. Aliria’s tan skin was weathered and her body was tired, but her voice held life. She was the backbone of the community.

The armored man let out a gruff sorry before moving on. He was looking down at his gauntlet, reading some kind of list. “Kriffing hell, how do I find anything in here?”

“We don’t get many outsiders, Mandalorian,” she said. “But my sales associate can help you. She was an outsider once, too.”

The pitch black of his visor shifted to you. Your hair was a bit messy, as you’d just helped your co-worker unload a speeder of goods. But you smiled at him. A change of pace is always nice. You walked from behind the counter to be in front of the Mandalorian and you asked, “What are you looking for, sir?” Your customer service voice was rough, you never needed to use it with most of the customers. They knew you personally, everyone knew everyone here.

“You got ration bars?” His voice was gruff and deep, but you couldn’t tell if that was just because of the helmet.

“Not many,” you told him. “Maybe ten? Aliria has such good prices, no one ever needs to buy a ration bar in place of real food.” It was a sales pitch you’d been taught when training here, but it was the truth. Why pay a credit for a ration bar when you can pay a credit for instant noodles?

He huffed a little. “I’ll take all ten.” This man was weird, you decided. “Non-perishables? Do you have any?”

“We’ve got some beans, some vegetables that won’t go bad for at least a few years, rice, and a few other things. They’re all kind of scattered around.”

“Of course they are,” he was annoyed. “Where’s the vegetables?”

You pointed through a door at the back of the shop. ��Greenhouse out back. Tell me what you need, I’ll go grab it.” Reluctantly, he showed you his gauntlet. It was a grocery list. You locked the information into your mind, grabbed a basket and headed to the greenhouse.

When you got back, he was in the same place. He must’ve seen your confusion because he said, “I’d rather not waste time looking for things myself. I figure you’d be better at it.” And you were. You helped him get everything he needed, but the list just got weirder. Baby formula, toddler sized coveralls, ammunition, a journal, and more miscellaneous items that made no sense to you. You didn’t believe a Mandalorian was going to hand write something and in a journal, no less.

You wanted to know more, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t be keen on questions. Before you’d come to Dantooine, you’d been all over the galaxy and heard stories of Mandalorians and their secrecy.

“What brings you to Dantooine, Mando?” You ask as you ring up the last of his items, putting them in the up-cycled grain bag grocery bags. You were tired of the tense silence, Aliria had gone into the back to do Maker knows what, and the Mandalorian’s stare was unnerving.

“Work,” he said. His visor remained unmoving, his eyes were on you. You had a feeling that ‘work’ was something either illegal or close to it. “You?”

You were surprised. And, again, he must’ve noticed. “The old lady said you are an outsider, too.”

“Was an outsider, Mando,” you correct, bringing up his total. “I came here for work, too.” He could tell you were lying, or at least not sharing the whole truth. “It’s two-hundred credits, Mando.”

He reached into a pouch on his belt, and pulled out all the credits. “That should be two-hundred.” It was. Exact change and everything. Once you’d counted the money and placed it in the register, he grabbed all his bags with ease and turned to walk out.

“Have a nice day!” you tell him, remembering your lines Aliria insisted on. He said nothing in return.

Paz Vizsla arrived back at his ship far out from the town. He put the bags of supplies for the covert in the cargo hold and cleared the message from Armorer that detailed what they needed. After the covert had to relocate, they were in desperate need of supplies. Especially for all the children who lost a buir or, Maker forbid, both buire. The children who had basically become foundlings. Paz’s heart broke for them, he tried to be the best ba’vodu, but there some things that even stories from Uncle Paz couldn’t fix.

He’d spent the little bit of left over change from the bounty on something for each kid, even Bezza, who was old enough to be treated as an adult at seventeen. She’d lost her buire, and the least Paz could do was get her a nice, leather-bound journal that she’d been pining for. Something hard to come by in a galaxy that had moved on from physical writing.

Paz closed the cargo hold and began moving himself towards the cockpit. He was tired, and though no one else agreed, he was getting old. Nearing 44, he was ready to just be Mr. Vizsla the teacher, Uncle Paz, and hopefully buir someday. But he was one of the Tribe’s best fighters. They needed him to keep hunting, so he did. This is the Way.

He moved to start up the ship. It gave a groan, but lit up all the same. Paz began his takeoff procedures, but the ship wouldn’t budge. Kriff, he thought. This can’t happen. Paz Vizsla was a capable fighter, fluent in Mando’a, and a brilliant teacher, but he was no mechanic. That had always been his biggest shortcoming. I have no credits, he realized. Stuck on Dantooine with no credits.

Dirt kicked up behind heavy boots. Hands stopped their work so heads could turn. It wasn’t often a Mandalorian showed up. But this one had now shown up twice. The awe of the townsfolk was still the same. He trudged back into Aliria’s Shop. This old woman would know someone willing to fix a ship for some food, he thought. She seems to know everything.

Except, when he walked in he was greeted by a new face. Not the saleswoman who’d helped him a few hours ago, nor was it the old woman. “How can I help you?” The boy asked. He couldn’t be more than sixteen.

“You know anyone who’d be willing to fix a ship for a meal? Or maybe a small blaster?”

The kid shook his head. “No one around here is that desperate. I’ll go get Aliria, though. She might know someone I don’t.” The kid retreated into the back room without fully taking his eyes off Paz.

When he returned, he had Aliria hobbling along next to him, bony hands around his arm. “Zenith says you need a mechanic? There’s a shop down the road but what he charges won’t be worth what you get,” the woman says.

“I need someone who will work for something other than credits,” he says. “I don’t have any.”

You looked up from the datapad in the backroom. You had experience as a mechanic, you were rusty after all these years, but better than the other option, who probably learned by seeing a few pictures on the holonet. Maybe this was your ticket back out of the Outer Rim. You’d amassed enough credits to at least get an apartment for a bit until you can get work. Core Worlds always had open jobs, and you have connections. You hated to leave the little town, but it had always been the goal. You just thought it’d be many more years.

You stepped out of the back room. “I’ll do it, Mando. I’ve got experience, I can probably fix it.” Zenith seemed surprised, but Aliria just smiled.

“I can’t pay,” he reiterated.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you’ve said. We’ll negotiate the price on the way to your ship. You got tools?” He nodded. “I’ll be back tonight, Aliria. I’ll finish up inventory then.” The old woman told you not to worry about it and shooed both of you off, ready to get back to whatever she was up to in the storage room.

As soon as the door shut behind you, you said, “Passage to Hosnian Prime. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Hosnian Prime? Do you know how long it’s going to take me to get from Dantooine to Hosnian Prime?” He was annoyed. The ship must be having a minor issue, but you were wanting a major payment. “And so far out of my way, my home is in the Outer Rim. And I’ll have no credits to refuel.”

Now you were the annoyed one. “I’m fixing your ship, Mando. You said anything but credits. My offer is passage to Hosnian Prime for the fixing of your ship.”

“How do I know you can even fix my ship? Why aren’t you the town mechanic?”

This wasn’t something you wanted to get into. You hadn’t talked about it in so long. Not since you got to Dantooine and Aliria took you in, vowing to help you back to wherever you wanted to be. “I was done being a mechanic, Mando, that’s why.”

“So you decided to work in a dingy little shop? With the galaxy’s oldest woman?”

You felt anger grow stem from the seed of annoyance. Aliria was like your grandmother. Like the whole town’s grandmother. And here comes an outsider, insulting Aliria’s shop. Aliria’s family built that town from the ground up. And this outsider insults her. “Do not speak of Aliria or her shop like that again, Mando. Or I won’t fix your ship and you’ll be stuck on Dantooine forever.”

Paz felt bad. He’d cut too deep, he’d only meant it to be a friendly dig about your job, a job most people weren’t ever satisfied with. He’d thought you’d laugh. He’d thought wrong. You walked in silence the rest of the way.

“This is your ship?” you asked. No wonder it wouldn’t get off the ground. “Maker, Mando, what have you put this thing through?” It was dented, covered in carbon scoring, and there were chunks of it missing. You could only guess how bad the inner workings were.

“A few altercations,” he replied. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was looking at this sorry excuse for a Mandalorian’s ship with love and pride.

You laughed a little and shook your head. “I haven’t even looked at the wiring, but I think taking me to Hosnian Prime is the absolute least you could do for the work I’m going to have to do on this thing.”

“I just need it to fly,” he told you. “Nothing fancy.”

“Mando, this thing is going to pull itself apart when you try to leave the atmosphere. I’m surprised it even made it through,” you told him.

The ship always groaned a little when Paz asked it to do things, but it always had obeyed. Without fail. Until now, of course. “It did sound a bit...pained when I arrived.” He left out the whole being fired at by ex-Imps and the harsh landing he’d made that’d landed him here.

“Alright, I’ll go take a look, if that’s ok? And I’ll try to tell you when I think I’ll have it done.” He nodded, and pushed a button on his gauntlet, giving you access to the ship.

“Bad news and good news,” you told him as you reemerged from the ship. “Bad news is this is a piece of junk and you should replace it. Good news is I can fix it and it’ll only take a few days.”

A few days. He needed to get these things back to the covert, they needed them. “Ok,” he said. “But before I take you to Hosnian Prime, we’ll need to make a pit stop on Yavin IV. I gotta get these supplies back.” You nodded, just as long as you’d be getting to Hosnian Prime at some point.

“I’ll get started, if that’s ok?” He nodded and you retreated back inside. The external damage wasn’t as crucial as the internal, your job was going to be rough.

It was a long, hard rest of your day. The blasted ship held the humidity of the planet tightly and your coveralls were thick. You’d brought down the top half to tie around your waist, leaving you in your tank top and bra. You caught glimpses of the Mandalorian as you moved past the port holes, and he just sat there on a rock, not moving. All day. You couldn’t imagine the heat under that armor.

When you came out of the ship again, it was night. “I’ve made good progress. It won’t be done tomorrow, but maybe the day after. If I’m lucky, of course.” And worked almost non-stop, you silently added.

“Good,” he says. “Go home and rest, dal’ika.”

You furrowed your brow. “My name isn’t dal’ika.”

“I know,” he said, and then he moved past you onto his ship.

“Good night to you, too!” You called.

You walked to Aliria’s small home once you got back into town. She deserved to know your plans, you thought. She’d probably even help.

“Ah! Dear! You’re back!” she said. “I was worried the Mandalorian would take you, but then I figured you’d comm if he’d try anything.”

You smiled. “He didn’t do much of anything. Just sat there.”

“What did you tell him your price is, dear?”

You took a deep breath and sat on the sofa next to her. “Passage to Hosnian Prime.”

“You’re leaving?”

You nodded. “It’s time,” you said. “I have enough credits, especially since I won’t have to pay for transportation.”

“What will you do there, dear?” Aliria was worried. You were a grown woman, yes, but she felt protective.

“Find General Organa,” you said. “See if she keeps promises.” You knew she would. She always had.

Aliria gave a bittersweet smile. “I knew you’d leave someday, but I never thought of how it would feel.” Her heart was breaking, and so was yours. This woman took you in when you showed up a mess on Dantooine, she held you during nightmares, and she helped you buy the little hut you now call your own. She gave you a job and a place in the community. “You’ll do much good on Hosnian Prime, dear. I know you will.”

You didn’t know what she meant, but somehow you believed her. “Thank you, Aliria. Thank you.” You couldn’t seem to say anything else, but it wasn’t adequate to what you were feeling. You needed a stronger phrase, but you didn’t know one.

“Take care of that Mandalorian, now,” she said, trying to be a bit more lighthearted. “I’ve always thought you’d like a warrior husband.”

You rolled your eyes. All the old women in town were like this. “He barely even talks to me and calls me dal’ika instead of my name, which he hasn’t asked for, by the way.”

“He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure. Especially if he’s got to take you from here to Hosnian Prime,” Aliria said. “You didn’t talk much when you arrived, either, remember?”

Aliria always had a way of finding the good in people, even if it was hardly there. That was rare, especially this far out in the galaxy, and you cherished it. You’d learned early on not to do that, but Aliria helped you open up more. Maybe she was right, this journey would result in a new friend.

“Ok, Ali, I will take care of the Mando,” you said. “Now I think I’m going to go home. Want to be up early tomorrow to fix his ship.”

She nodded and patted your knee. “Take the speeder bike tomorrow, it seems like a long walk.” You nodded, and placed your hand over hers for a moment. “Good night, dear. Sleep well,” she said and then she shooed you out in the way only an old lady could.

The next morning it was cooler outside. The trees swayed gently in the soft wind, and you became grateful for the coveralls as you picked up speed on the bike. You looked the same as you did the day before, just a little less rested. There was a little sunlight, but not much, and there were still a few nocturnal animals on the path.

Arriving at the ship, everything was still closed up, and the big Mando nowhere in sight. You contemplated banging on the door, but before you made a decision the door lowered into a ramp and he walked out. “You’re very early, dal’ika.”

“Told you I would be. Need all the daylight I can get.”

“Indeed.”

His gaze bore down on you again. You really took in how large he was. He had to be over six feet tall and maybe even closer to seven in the armor. A few people in town speculated that he wasn’t actually as buff as he seemed and that it was just the armor, but you doubted that.

“I’ll go ahead and get started, if that’s ok?”

He nodded. “You don’t have to keep asking, dal’ika.”

“That’s still not my name,” you said in a singsong voice over your shoulder as you walked up the ramp. He walked over towards some of the denser areas of trees.

You tried to watch him as discreetly as possible through one of the port holes, but you had a suspicion that, somehow, he could tell you were watching. He walked over some of the logs of fallen trees that had piled up towards the edge of the clearing. He picked two large ones, one in each arm, and set them upright. Then, he placed the large stones on the top of and behind them to keep them standing.

He retreated a few yards, and his hands slid down to his thighs. He brought two blasters back up. Ah, you thought. Target practice.

As much as you knew you needed to begin your day’s work, you stood at the port hole and watched him fire blast after blast, and you knew he hit each spot he intended to. He moved back farther, fired some more, and then moved off at angles. You never thought you’d be attracted to a man whose face you’d never seen and name you didn’t know, but here you are.

Finally, you tore your gaze from the beskar-covered man and began your work, getting the tool box from where you’d left it yesterday.

It was noon when you walked down the ramp again. The Mandalorian had finished his shooting hours ago, and had now shed his shin and thigh armor, along with the heavy cannon he carried on his back. He was already looking at you when you stepped into the doorway.

“Need something, dal’ika?”

You shook your head. “Lunch time, Mando.” You pulled some kind of bar out of your pocket. “It’s got meiloorun filling,” you brag.

“Sounds good,” he said, a little amused at what you considered something to brag about.

You sat down on the rock opposite him. “You want one? I’ve got an extra.”

“No, thank you, dal’ika,” he replied.

You sunk your teeth into the grain and meiloorun bar, chewed, and swallowed. “What language even is that?”

“Mando’a,” he said. “The language of my people.”

“The Mandalorians?” You ask dumbly.

He let out a chuckle, it was small, but the vocoder processed it. “Yes, dal’ika, but I thought that was obvious.”

“What’s that mean? That word you’re calling me?”

He contemplated for a moment, but finally told you. “Dal’ika means woman in Mando’a. Well, dala means woman. The ‘ika bit just means it's a nickname. It implies that you’re, well, small. It’s used for kids a lot but also for friends.” He regretted saying that, in case you found it insulting or weird. He quickly moved on. “And I definitely consider you more than an acquaintance, especially since we’ll be spending some time together.”

You looked at him. You’d never thought of yourself as small. “Well, that’s good to hear. And I think everyone is small next to you, Mando.”

He laughed again, and you took another bite. “I suppose so. What is your actual name?” You tell him, and he nods. “I can call you that, if you’d like?”

“Dal’ika is fine,” you say. You’d never really had a nickname before. “But you can call me my name, too, if you want.”

“Ok, dal’ika,” he said. “Where are you from?”

You looked at him. Why all the questions? You briefly thought of home, but closed your eyes. “Rather not say.”

He nodded, understanding. “I’m sorry that I keep saying the wrong things. I really should know better, considering I don’t like too many questions, either.”

“It’s ok, it’s not like you know what will strike a cord,” you tell him. You hurriedly finished your lunch, eager to get back on the ship in case memories of home flooded back into your mind and tears flooded your eyes. “Well, I’m off,” you say, standing awkwardly and walking back to the ship, leaving the Mando by himself again.

You sat on the floor of the ship, one of the flooring panels removed, working on some wiring. In the back of your mind you saw your childhood home, the mountain peaks you could see from the backyard, and the neighbor kids that you’d played with every day after school. You remembered leaving. You remembered never being able to go back.

Your hands are still in the wire compartment in the floor. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and smiled to yourself. Aliria always said smiling makes you feel better. It worked, and your hands began moving again, replacing and connecting wires.

Again, it was nightfall when you came out of the ship. The Mandalorian had all his armor on again, and he stood as you emerged. “I should’ve walked you home last night, dal’ika. It was dark when you left, I’m sorry for not offering.”

You felt your heart swell a little. He was a gentle giant, you decided. “Thank you, Mando, but I can take care of myself. Besides, it’s not like there’s dangerous people here.”

“Still,” he insisted. “I should have.”

You gave up and replied, “That would’ve been a kind gesture. I would take you up on the offer tonight, but Aliria lent me her speeder, so I don’t need an escort today.”

“As you wish,” he replied. “Just be careful, dal’ika. Hosnian Prime awaits.” He walked past you and onto the ship, just like he had the night before.

The next day was almost the same, except you had to walk. Aliria needed the speeder for Zenith and supplies he was picking up from a nearby farm, but apart from that, everything was the same. You made small talk with the Mandalorian over your lunch (a star fruit bar today), and watched him shoot his blasters from afar. You got a lot of work done today, most of the hard stuff was finished and now just needed some tweaking. You moved on to the exterior of the ship a few hours before nightfall.

“Dal’ika,” he said as you started working on the exterior. “Only do what you absolutely need to on the outside. I’d hate to see your hard work go to waste when I get into another altercation.”

You nodded, but replied, “I hope you don’t plan on getting into one of your altercations while I’m aboard.”

“Well, I never really plan on them, but I’ll be extra careful if it makes you feel better,” he told you.

You smiled. “It does.”

“It’s going to get dark soon,” he said.

You nodded, opening one of the exterior panels and examining it. “I know. I just have a few more things,” you assured him. “And then I’ll take you up on your offer to walk me home.” You turned your head towards him and smiled, but what you didn’t know was that your smile brought the slightest blush to his cheeks.

Paz sat back down on his rock while you worked on the exterior. He thought about the smile you’d given him, how you weren’t afraid of him. There’s something more to this one, he thought. Something’s made her tough, and it wasn’t this village.

Finally, you finished. “Alright,” you told the Mando as you exited the ship after putting the tools up. “It should fly, but we can test that tomorrow. For now, I need to go home.”

He nodded and stood from the rock. “Lead the way, mechanic,” he said.

You walked a pace or two in front of him, even though he didn’t really need to be led to the town. It wasn’t like there were many of those around here, but he let you, and you rambled about the place with pride. About Aliria with pride.

After a few beats of silence, he spoke up. “May I ask what’s on Hosnian Prime? If you don’t want to answer, just tell me.”

“An old friend,” you said and looked back at him again. This smile was different, he noticed, but he wasn’t sure how. “I haven’t seen her in a long time, but I know she still cares.” You were telling him the truth, so why did you feel like you were lying? He didn’t need to know that General Organa was the friend or why you knew her. But you almost wanted him to know. Still, you held back.

“Oh,” he said. “Sounds nice. I’ve heard good things about Hosnian Prime.” Truthfully, he hadn’t heard anything about Hosnian Prime except that it was the new capital of the New Republic.

“I have, too,” you agreed. “What about you? What’s on Yavin IV?”

“Family,” he said. He was telling the truth, so why did he feel like he was lying? And why was he trusting you with the planet of the covert?

You nodded. “I figured, with all the baby stuff you bought. Is your wife a Mandalorian, too? I heard Mandos can only marry Mandos.”

He was shocked a little, forgetting that you didn’t know much about his culture. “No, I don’t have a wife. Or kids of my own. My Tribe is my family, and there are kids in the Tribe. They’re just not mine.”

“Oh, interesting,” you said, kicking a rock in front of you. You were surprised to find yourself relieved that he did not have a wife. “So, like, can you only marry inside your tribe?”

“No, dal’ika,” he laughed. “We’d end up with some interesting children if we kept it in the tribe. Some people marry within the tribe, some never marry, and others marry outsiders.” He didn’t really know how accurate his answer was. Maybe, in big tribes, people did just marry in the tribe. But the covert he belonged to was too small for that.

You kicked the rock again as you arrived at the place it had landed. “Huh,” you said. “Guess I never thought about that.”

“We prefer people not think about us at all,” he replied. His tone was solemn when he said this, and you instinctively placed a hand on his armored arm to comfort him. The Mandalorian was brought to a blush under his helmet again. Maker, he thought. How’s she doing this to me?

You walked into the town in comfortable silence, your arm now wrapped around his, fingers lightly rubbing the armor. It was meant as a soothing technique, but you doubt he could feel it under the layers of metal and cloth. Eventually, you neared your home. “That one’s mine,” you pointed. The house’s door was painted blue, and your flowerbed was filled with blue flowers.

“Your house matches my armor, kebiin’ika,” he said.

A new nickname. “What’s that mean?”

“Kebiin is blue. And, you know, ‘ika is ‘small’ and an endearment.”

“Little blue?” You ask.

He nodded. “Ding, ding, ding,” he said. “You’d pick up Mando’a quickly, I think.” You smiled at him, you spoke Basic and Huttese already, why not learn a third? He smiled back, though all you could see was metal and visor. “Are we leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes, I think that’d be good. Tomorrow after lunch, maybe? I’ve got to pack up my stuff and say good-bye to everyone.” He nodded. He’d forgotten that you’re leaving your life behind. “I don’t have much stuff, by the way, so don’t worry about that.”

He chuckled again. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t worry. We’d find the space.” There was a warmth in his voice that made your whole body warm. You could tell he cared about the people close to him deeply if he cared about a stranger like this.

You unlocked your door and stepped inside. You weren’t expecting a good night, as you had no reason to, but you did stop yourself from closing the door all the way.

You looked up at him through the half-open blue door. “Thank you,” you said quietly. “For walking me home. It’s very kind.”

“You deserve kindness, Y/N,” he replies, as if it was painfully obvious. Then, you realized he said your name. Your real name, not some Mandalorian nickname.

You smiled again, your lips were beginning to hurt but your face wouldn’t let you stop. “Will I ever get to know your name, Mando?”

“Someday.”

#paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla #paz vizsla #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #mandalorian #Star Wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic

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soggy-platee · 4 years ago

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What Do We Do Now?- Chp.2

Rating: M

Pairing: Din x Fem!Reader

Summary: When trying to collect your bounty, Din runs into some issues.

Read on ao3 here, and feel free to reblog! Thanks for the support on the first chapter!

…

It was not only just his stoic exterior, you came to understand, this guy really did not talk.

Like, not a single word. Beyond the threat he ground out at you in the cantina, he had yet to say anything else to you as he dragged you through the darkened streets.

It didn’t help that you were too scared to even let out a sound, keep quiet against the pain in your wrists as the cuffs ground into them. You knew they were bruised, or even bleeding. You wondered if they would scar.

Would that even matter?

Your mind began to race. Would he kill you when you got to his ship, or would that old wife beater do it himself when the Mandalorian delivered you to him? Or would he draw it out?

Would he make it hurt?

You shivered at both the thought and the cold, he had left your cloak on the floor of the cantina and it was a cold night in Mos Eisley. You wondered what he did with your other boot.

Although it was dark, you knew exactly where he was taking you. Out past the lights of the town toward the docking bays, toward his ship.

Toward possible death, your brain provided unhelpfully.

You passed by the docks one by one, 1-5, 2-5, and to your chagrin, he stopped you in front of the entrance of hangar 3-5. If there was one person that would absolutely not help your situation, it was the owner of this dock. You bit back a groan as he did indeed drag you through the entrance. After winding you around familiar corners, his ship came into view.

It had…seen better days, to say the least.

You knew it was a pre-imperial gunship, but your knowledge of the craft stopped there. The copious amounts of carbon scoring along the hull somehow make you more scared of the bounty hunter currently hauling you toward the open mouth of the ship.

From inside, a voice called, “Finally! This little guy wasn’t gonna let me get any more work done without seeing his dad!”

What? Little guy? And more importantly, Dad?!

She couldn’t be talking about the Mandalorian behind you. You couldn’t imagine this bounty hunter managing to keep a plant alive, let alone a child. How did that even work? Didn’t Mandalorians never remove their helmets? There isn’t exactly a surplus of their kind around. Did he have a partner? Did that bother you? Why in the hell would that bother you-

Your mind went blank, however, when the owner of the hangar stuck her head out of the ship, still far enough inside to obscure whatever or whoever she was referring to as “little guy”. She made eye contact with you and groaned, you gave a sheepish grin in return.

“So I’m not the only one you’ve screwed over, huh?”

Peli Motto was one of the people in town who would have turned you over personally to the hunter if you crossed her path. You had arrived on Tatooine three months ago with a load of stolen ship parts from your last job and planned to get good credits for them, sell them to the various hangars here and live out comfortably before you had to move on. Only after landing on the planet did you realized that these parts were essentially junk. You stole the wrong stuff, but hey, you never claimed to be a mechanic.

That is, until you sold off the shit parts to Peli for way too many credits. At that time, you did claim to be a mechanic.

She chased you down with a wrench before you even had time to make it back into town. You ended up with no parts, no credits, and a seriously nasty lump on your head. You had sincerely apologized, you really didn’t like taking advantage of those who didn’t deserve it. You were just in a tight spot. You don’t think it made a difference to her.

“Th-those parts were legit, you’re the one who robbed me”, you responded weakly.

“A bad thief and a bad liar, I don’t know how the hell you made it this long”, she snapped back

She directed the next sentence to the silent figure behind you,

“Be careful with that one, she’s slippery”

“I know”

Peli didn’t seem surprised when he responded, you began to wonder if he just didn’t talk to you.

You didn’t have time to ponder this, as he began pushing you again abruptly. You were so unprepared for the movement that you tripped over your own shoeless foot. You were headed straight for the ground, unable to use the hands currently cuffed behind your back. You tensed in anticipation for impact, you face scrunching and turning to the side-

A large arm wrapped its way around your torso at the last moment and hauled you toward a strong chest, causing your body to fold around it while also knocking the breath out of you. Before you even had time to process that he was currently holding your ass flush with his, um, lower half, you heard a loud squeal of delight.

Your head popped up from its current position facing the ground and you make eye contact with the quite possibly the strangest creature you had ever seen, and, quite possibly…the cutest?

Your first thought was that there is no way that the man practically holding you up currently (Maker, he’s holding you!), could be the father of this thing. The image of the Mandalorian with the same large, green ears under his helmet made you let out an involuntary huff of laughter.

This movement made the Mandalorian release you, rather ungently, you might add. You barely managed to make it on your feet when he practically threw you at the ground. You tried to not be offended as you returned your eyes to the small green creature in Peli’s arms, who had made her way down the ramp to stand in front of the pair of you.

Its large brown eyes were fixed on the silver bucket behind your head, with arms reached out and a wide smile on its tiny face. Its ears were huge, stretching out from its head, almost doubling its width. It wore a small brown tunic with tiny, three-toed feet sticking out the bottom.

Your assessment of the little one was cut short when the Mandalorian side stepped Peli and the child to drag you up the ramp to the ship.

Why the hell were you admiring the child? Why were you thinking about anything else besides your possible death! You needed to form a plan to get out of this. Now. You began running through options in your head, commandeering the ship in flight, getting away once you landed, even causing damage mid-flight to buy you more time. Maybe if you could-

All your half-formed hopes were dashed when you caught sight of your worst nightmare. A carbonite freezer.

Maker, no. No. Please. Anything but that.

You couldn’t- You wouldn’t. You would rather die than go under again. Last time-

A sharp push toward the freezer forced your thoughts from your throat. “No.”, you whispered.

He responded by continuing to pull you forward, toward the freezer.

Toward that dark, that never-ending cold and dark.

You braced your single boot and socked foot on the ground, saying louder this time, “No.”

This time he turned back to face you. He still didn’t speak, and you still kept your feet planted in protest. You heard a crackle of static from the helmet, he huffed, annoyed at your insolence.

He turned again toward the freezer, tightening his grip on your arm to a near bruising pressure, easily breaking your stance with another tug. You trip toward the freezer but recover quickly, throwing your shoulders in an attempt to break his iron grip. No such luck.

You were starting to panic. You threw your shoulders again and again, still not hampering your progress toward the vile thing.

The next noise of annoyance that came from the helmet was more akin to a growl as he used his other hand to hover over the blaster at his hip, all while looking rights at your face. It was a clear warning. You paused briefly, weighing your options. You knew already, though, that you would rather die than go under. Easily.

You continued to thrash, trying to remove his hand from your arm.

He pulled his blaster then and pushed it into the soft side of your torso.

You looked up into his helmet, where you hoped his eyes were. While your own eyes were watering with panic, you managed to give what you thought was a convincing snarl.

“Do it. I would rather die than go in.” you growled.

“That can be arranged” he said, emotionless.

Your standoff continued, your brows knitting tighter together and his blaster digging further into your side, so far it touched your ribs. You had no doubt he was serious about his threat, and you prepared for the worst.

The stalemate was broken by the sound of Peli’s voice calling for the bastard in front of you. His grip on your arm tightened painfully, briefly, before letting it go, using both hands to push you back to the wall of the ship, where your cuffs magnetized, effectively holding you there.

He moved in front of you, holding his blaster level with your brow and gritted out, “Stay.”

You sneered at him as he turned to leave. The moment he was away from you, however, your shoulders sank and you let out several shaky breaths.

Maker, you were scared.

You hated to admit it, even to yourself, but you were on the verge of tears that entire time. You wondered if he could tell. You wondered if he would even care.

You lifted your head toward the sound of Peli’s voice outside, once again too soft to hear. Her eyes flashed briefly over to you as she gestured with the hand not holding the child. They seemed to be arguing, the Mandalorian moving his hand in a striking motion. She held up the child in front of her, and his shoulders fell slightly, signally defeat.

You figured you should at least attempt to look a little bit intimidating before the Mandalorian returned, sniffling your runny nose and attempting to reign in your misty eyes.

You knew he still saw the signs, however, when he made his way back into the ship to stand in front of you.

He assessed you silently, and your feigned confidence quickly waned under the weight of his stare until you were as curled in on yourself as far as you possibly could be while your hands were cuffed behind your back.

He spoke, deathly quiet, “You try anything, I kill you. Clear?”

You nodded, eyes wide with fear.

Did this mean you wouldn’t be going in the freezer?

Apparently so, as the Mandalorian began making preparations to leave the hangar.

…

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #fanfic #ao3

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treesnutsandleaveswrites · 4 years ago

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A Big Job

Pairing: Mandalorian x Reader (mostly the Child x reader tbh haha)

Summary: You’ve been working for Peli Motto for a long time. When the Mandalorian comes along, you’re given a big job of fixing his ship and watching his little friend

Warning: fluff

Word Count: 1220

A/N: Sorry! I meant to post this on May 4th! And I tried making this one gender neutral

XXXXXXX

You were an orphan on Tatooine. As was nearly everyone else. On Tatooine, you had to make sure you had a job. If you didn’t, you were left alone in the desert or sold to slave traders. Maybe the Tusken Raiders would eat you if you were useless. You made sure you were useful in one way or the other. Working till the end of your days sounded better than choking on sand. Your life was hardly eventful other than fixing speeders and protocol droids. Sometimes the Jawas would come in so they could trade stuff with your boss, Peli Motto. You’ve been working for her ever since you were young. She almost dumped you once or twice because her droids worked faster, but who would be there to fix those droids while she was gambling at the cantina?

You were cleaning up some parts when a ship landed in the lot. Peli got out of her seat and signalled for the droids to approach as the door of the ship opened. You watched as a tall man in silver armor walked out of the ship.

“Been a while since I’ve seen a Mandalorian around these parts.”

“Can you fix my ship?”

“It’ll cost you.”

The Mandalorian pulled out some money, “Will this do?”

“Maybe, just for the door.”

“I’ll get you more, do you know where I’ll find any work?”

“The Guild doesn’t operate around here.”

“I’m not a part of the Guild.”

“Alright, well, head to the Cantina. You might find work there.” Peli looked over to the work droids, “Get a move on!”

The Mandalorian spoke quickly, “No. No droids.”

“Then it’ll take me longer to fix this hunk of junk!” Peli groaned and looked to you, “Leave those parts alone for now and come take a look.”

You nodded and grabbed some tools before heading towards the ship, giving a small tap on one of the work droids’ heads with a small wrench. The Mandalorian looked at you before walking out of the lot towards the cantina.

While you were fixing up the damaged ship, an odd sound came from within it. The work bots stopped messing around with Peli and you all grew silent. Another noise came from the ship and the door opened, which made you all cautious and huddle near each other. As you watched, a small, green, pointy eared creature emerged from inside, whimpering. Peli picked it up and looked at it, confusion still evident.

“It’s okay, little one.” She pet one of its ears and it cooed gently.

Twenty or so minutes later, the Mandalorian came back with a young man you’ve seen around the town. Peli scoffed while getting out of her small “office”.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve! Are you crazy?! Leaving a kid inside that damaged pile of scrap?!”

“Where is it?”

“He’s fine, he’s in there.”

The Mandalorian went to get him and held him close.

“This is gonna cost you extra.” Peli grunted.

“I’ll get your money. This young man has a job. Do you have any speeders?”

“Just those two junky swoop bikes.”

“We’ll take them. I’ll try to be back tonight, maybe tomorrow morning at the latest.”

He nodded to you as you watched him and the young man take the bikes and head to the desert.

You knew it was going to take you all day and night to fix the damages of this ship without the bots, so you tried working fast. Peli was too distracted playing sabacc with the work droids and “watching” the child. You were inside the ship, fixing some wiring, when you looked to the side to see the small green creature next to you, chewing on some jerky. You laughed gently before pulling the tough jerky out of its mouth and ripping it into smaller pieces.

“There you go, little one.”

He cooed and ate, plopping down next to you as you crouched down to fix some panels. You shook your head and continued with the repairs. The child observed you with his big eyes, very comfortable with your presence. He wiggled his small toes, still keeping his eyes on you. You looked back down at him and smirked.

“What?” You chuckled, sitting criss cross and facing him, “What do you want?”

“Pa-too.” He gurgled, holding out his hand.

You tilted your head in confusion, “What?”

He closed his eyes and it looked like he was going into a trance.

“Kid?”

Before you knew it, the pendant on your overalls flew to his hand. You had no words to explain what you saw. You looked at the child in shock, then glanced at the pendant. The creature giggled, and looked at it by holding it extremely close to its eyes. You smiled and tried grabbing it back, but the child yelped.

“Okay, okay,” You held your hands up on defense, “You can hold it until I’m done with the ship.”

You had finished just after sundown and were now sitting in the lot with the child in your lap as the work droids played around with a sphere shaped rock. A swoop bike approached the lot which caused you and Peli to get up, expecting the Mandalorian. However, it wasn’t him, but the young man he had left with.

“Where’s the Mandalorian?” Peli asked sternly, “Does he have my money?”

You stayed quiet as the child whimpered, hiding behind your leg.

“I’m afraid he’s indisposed…” The man pulled out his blaster and held it up to us, “Make one move, I shoot the kid.”

Peli picked the child up and the work droids stood cautiously. The man rounded you up in the dark, waiting for the Mandalorian to return. Peli held the child while the man held his blaster to her back. Footsteps approached and the shine of Beskar glistened in the low light.

“Come on out, kid…”

The man chuckled and went on about a rogue bounty hunter on Nevarro and a high value target. The Mandalorian stayed quiet, which ticked off the young man. Before you knew it, Peli and the child were safe and the man was on the ground. You emerged from the dark and took the Child from Peli as she went to the Mandalorian. He poured out a sack and they looked at the huge amount of credits.

“Is that enough?”

Peli nodded, “Yup. But it’s them who did most of the work.”

You shook your head and looked back at the child. It cooed and held your pendant in his small hand.

“Okay, little one. I need that back.”

The kid whimpered, gripping it tighter, which caused you to laugh.

“Come on… you have to get going.”

The Mandalorian looked at you before looking to Peli.

“You know… I could use some help for on my ship. I’m sure that money could buy you ten more droids. Do you think I can take them off your hands?”

You looked at him in shock, “What?”

“You fixed my ship… and the kid likes you.”

Peli laughed and nodded, “Go ahead.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Less mouths to feed.” Peli said nonchalantly and signaled to the work droids to help her gather the parts in the lot.

“Get your bags packed and we’ll get going.”

You grinned and looked down to the child, “Okay…”

#the mandalorian #the child #grogu #the mandalorian x reader #treesnutsandleaves writes

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 4 years ago

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*slaps roof of fanfiction* this baby can fit so much self-projection in there ~ @rauko-is-a-free-elf s wise words. enjoy <3

Dean's the one who can't get out of bed without coffee. The one who thinks sunday brunches are a thing just because real people aren't supposed to be up by breakfast time on the weekend. The one who'll crash face first into the couch, first thing he's back from college, because screw consciousness, that's why.

And yet, it's Cas who stumbles out of the shower on seven-am-biochem-Thursday, and proceeds to trip over the carpet and land in Dean's arms.

"I'm so fucking tired."

"Of the — carpet?" Dean frowns, looking over Cas's bedhead to examine the Queen lyrics-filled specimen. He's rather fond of it.

"Of being," Cas mutters, heaving himself upright and swatting at Dean's hand when he reaches to smooth his tie. "Whoever the fuck I'm supposed to be."

Dean tries to get to his tie again, and receives a particularly pissed-off glare for his efforts.

"And who is that?" Dean throws back, playful because why not; he's expecting a sarcastic comeback, a suffering eyeroll, or even to be annoyedly swore at — which he definitely wouldn't mind, coming from his best friend slash boyfriend slash dude with the literal sexiest voice Dean's ever heard — but he's definitely not expecting Cas to launch himself at him, purposefully this time, also gentler, and bury his face in Dean's shirt.

Dean waits, worried, but hands coming up involuntarily to hug back.

Cas doesn't budge.

"Babe?"

All the reaction that induces is for Cas to cling harder. And for words to get muttered — and reasonably muffled, into Dean's shirt.

"I hate that guy."

Dean raises his eyebrows, belatedly realizing Cas can't see them. "Huh?"

"The guy I'm supposed to be." Cas goes on, gritting his teeth. "Dean, I hate him. He makes my life miserable. And I — I'm just so tired."

And at that, Cas decides the point's been made, and stops talking entirely, leaving Dean with little more to do than hold on.

And think.

He knows Cas never got a chance to make the choices most people take for granted. The guy never got to choose his major, choose his hobbies. Hell, hardly even his friends. Private schooled and isolated until his parents up and shipped him off to Princeton pre-med, Dean's always believed Cas had the right to be mad.

Even though he's now in actual med-school, a year from becoming Doctor Novak — Dean gets a secret thrill every time he imagines that, and Cas knows, so it's not a very well-kept secret — and no longer in touch with his parents (who turned out, unsurprisingly, to be assholes who cut him off when they found out Cas is gay. Well, pansexual, but they didn't really care about labels once they'd met Cas's boyfriend. Dean. Who likes to take some of the credit for his boyfriend's relatively new disowned status, even though it had mostly been Cas being a badass, and finally, finally standing up for himself.)

So one might say things turned out fine, and there's no reason to hold grudges, but if Cas wanted to, Dean would have a hundred percent declared it valid.

But that's where Cas came in. That's where who he was, came in. A thinker, a dreamer, but grounded enough to not hold onto the anger. Independent, but rarely reckless. Plus, aware enough to work hard and reap well, while at the same time, searching for reasons to find the good in things.

Dean loves him, and admires him. Admires his intelligence, and tenacity, and courage. But this had never happened before.

Dean may have been the initiator of most hugs, but that could usually be traced down to Cas's nonexistent social skills, and Dean's embarrassing dependency on touch, in lieu of words. This, was one of the most passionately Dean had seen Cas feel something, outside of love.

And it was rattling.

If being this way — this ideal everything; top of his class, tireless, always in control — was burning Cas out, it couldn't go on. Dean would take a less 'functional' Cas over the wrecked-sounding prodigy in his arms anyday.

And god knew Dean Winchester was far from perfect himself.

There was only one way ahead.

Dean holds on quietly, and a couple minutes pass. Clearly Cas needs it, seeing as how he dissolves more into Dean as the seconds pass, the frustration leaving him vacant and devoid of energy.

"Cas?"

Cas shifts in his arm, tenses a bit. "I'm sorry, I —" He starts, sounding too obviously disappointed for some reason, and Dean hates it.

"Dude." Dean cuts him off, somehow not cheerful, but still bright. It's always easier talking someone down like this, and Cas has always, strangely, drawn from Dean's moods. "You're going to apologize for needing a hug?"

Cas remains quiet.

They both know it was more than that. Cas has calmed considerably, but he wasn't himself before. Or he was. Now, he's almost normal — but it feels like he's being who he's normally supposed to be again, and that's not good.

"Also," Dean continues, undeterred by the lack of response. "That guy? Sounds like a real piece of work. Ever thought of cutting him off?"

"It doesn't work that way."

"Don't see why not."

"Dean —"

"So it won't happen in a day." Dean realizes Cas is shifting again, and a little uncertainly, lets him pull away. Thankfully, he stays in Dean's space, albeit carrying his weight on his own two feet. Dean doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore, so he takes Cas's in them. Cas lets him. "It'll take time, be a process and whatnot, and you'll have me with you, you'll have all our friends really. Plus, isn't college about experimenting?"

Cas makes a sound which sounds like a chuckle he couldn't exactly help, and Dean preens, encouraged by it.

"And it's not like I'm about to let you go try and play for the other side," He adds, lightly. "You're stuck with me. But this could be your adventure."

There's a more comfortable silence.

Cas breaks it this time, clearing his throat. "You don't think I'm too young for a midlife crisis?"

"Take it from someone who raised Sam fucking Winchester, babe. This is way more of a teenage crisis." Cas cringes visibly at that, but that just means it's working. "Breaking out of your barriers, discovering who you really are? Netflix's coming-of-age producers are coming for your twenty seven year old ass."

Cas shakes his head, grumbling at him, but he's already sounding more like himself, and Dean can work with this. "You're mean to me sometimes."

"You tackle me like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug sometimes."

Cas snorts. "That hardly makes sense."

"Your face hardly makes sense." Dean wastes no time in hurtling the first response in his head, and it earns him a less reluctant laugh. The weariness in Cas's voice remains, but the upset is wearing off.

"Great comeback, wasn't that?"

"Your face is a great comeback." Dean informs him with a huff, as he leans in to kiss the smug look off his boyfriend's face. Cas meets him halfways, tilting his head, and sliding a hand up Dean's arm and shoulder until it's around his neck. His fingers stroke the short hairs at the back of Dean's head, and he tugs just the way Dean likes it, earning a full shudder from the latter as he pulls back breathlessly.

"Are you trying to distract me?" Dean accuses dramatically, hand on his heart.

Cas shrugs, pulling on a nonchalant look, and almost succeeding. "You were making my dilemma sound too solvable. A man is excused some defense mechanisms, isn't he?"

"Not when I'm making progress, sunshine." Dean throws back. "Just, hear me out, okay? You want to do this, you're going to be making changes. Doing things, and more importantly, giving up things that don't feel like you. It doesn't even have to be a big deal. Unless you want it to be. I mean, you're a sucker for planning, making lists, that sorta thing, right?"

The easy smile has started returning to Cas's features again, and he nods. A little. (As if he appreciates Dean's rambling, and because he's Cas, he probably does.)

"So that's where we start. Hell, I could buy you a binder. There's this stationary place Charlie does not shut up about, and they might have those huge, black, spiralbound binders. Which I figure you're secretly obsessed with, you know, since you're secretly a nerd." Dean reasons, satisfiedly.

"It's hardly a secret."

"Oh, it is." He beams. "And I, your awesome, hot boyfriend, am your cover."

Cas rolls his eyes with feeling, leaving Dean basking in a momentary sense of accomplishment. But it's not the time. And it may have been him rambling, but it's not about him.

"So," He raises his eyebrows. "What do you say?"

Cas draws in a breath. "I say," he swallows. "Yes. Okay, I mean. Yeah. You — you make it sound doable. Plausible, somehow." Cas bites his lip. "Come to think of it, I haven't thought of a particular something I want to change, and I know I'll probably rethink everything six more times, and I know you'll still be patient with me, even when I don't change what doesn't feel right, just because I'm too used to it, and truthfully, maybe it's too soon to be thinking of changes, and we should slow down, especially you, because you're wonderful, but I don't think I can change myself as efficiently — and I don't think we can, either. But I'm grateful, and I agree, and I want to change things as well, and I'd like a binder, really, and you —" Cas scrubs his face with a hand. "I just know, that I - I feel different."

Dean grins. "Yeah?"

Cas breathes in again, slower. On the exhale, he sighs. "I love you."

"That ain't exactly a 'different' anymore, babe." Dean reminds, and it's all the motivation Cas needed to wrap his arms around Dean again, and plant a firm, telling kiss on his lips.

"I know. But it's easier to say, and I know you understand."

"Yeah, I do."

Dean smiles, and Cas mirrors it, crinkled eyes and showing gums, and an uncharacteristic dampness in his eyes in spite of the breathtaking smile, and it's too damn beautiful a sight to not kiss again.

So Dean does, and Cas only smiles wider, more beautiful.

In around twelve minutes, Cas's alarm for six forty-five goes off, and he pulls back in a frenzy — as dazed as Dean from the makeout, but senses just enough present to realize he's going to be late for his lecture.

They figure it out though, like they figure out most things — Dean puts together a sandwich while Cas gets dressed, and later drives him to class in his Baby, since he's obviously missed the bus. Cas ends up only three minutes late, and it's a good thing Dr. Harvelle is in a good mood, because she at least pretends to believe their unbelievably trite excuse, delivered in Dean's most earnest voice. ("Traffic.")

Later that evening, when Dean's back from his shift at the autoshop — it helps pay bills, and he gets to add 'experience' under engineering on his resume — and Cas is back from the hospital, and they're piled on the couch in front of the TV watching reruns of Doctor Sexy, tangled in each other, Dean remembers something he's been meaning to ask since the moment he gave what happened that morning, some thought.

"Hey, babe." he begins, as a by-the-way. "What exactly happened this morning?"

"I believe I tackled you like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug." Cas answers, in the straightest of voices because he's hilarious like that.

"Yeah, I mean — you did." Dean snorts at the callback. "But like, what triggered it?"

"Oh." Cas pauses. "I believe we ran out of shaving foam."

"Shaving foam." Dean repeats, incredulously.

"Yes." Cas doesn't even have the courtesy to grin, when Dean snickers. "And usually, we have a spare bottle. I — I tend to make sure of it. But I checked, and we didn't, and I was supposed to make sure we don't completely run out of these things, and I didn't, and I —" He shrugs. "I just hated that I forgot, so much, in that one minute of staring at the mirror, and I was agitated, until —" Dean blinks, and Cas affords a tiny smile. "I realized I couldn't do this anymore. I had a revelation, it would seem, at how pointless all of that self-loathing was, and how I've tired entirely of being that person."

"So you got mad that you got mad?"

"I — kind of. But it was mostly the shaving foam." Cas points out, now deadpanning on purpose because Dean can't hold back the laugh. Nobody in the universe could have an identity crisis over shaving foam except for Castiel fucking Novak, and Dean gets to live with this ridiculous sonuvabitch, the adorable fucker, and watch him get more unbelievably perfect by the day.

"Cas?" He lets out, still laughing. "Proud as I am of your moment of truth, and you deciding to go easy on your expectations of you and all that, can I just say something?"

"Of course." Cas responds, immediately.

"I think I like you better with the peach fuzz."

And so it's Cas's turn to burst into a laugh, and it's not like Dean's stopped anyways, so eventually it's just the both of them laughing through the evening, and laughing through dinner, still tangled in each other, still piled on the couch, and Doctor Sexy still playing in the background, because some things change, and other things don't, and some things won't, and that's that.

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 4 years ago

Text

Zena Lorell Spark Sheet

These are just a series of notes/dialogue about Zena. I thought it might be fun for y'all to see the writer's equivalent of a sketchbook. I'm still admittedly working her out, so let me know what you think works!

Random Scenes/Dialogue

At some point Din leaves Zena to look after the kid while he scout out a small town. Zena gets bored and decides to play some games with Grogu to pass the time. The first game is hide and go seek. It takes a while for Grogu to get the point of the game, but soon enough he catches on. Unfortunately for Zena, Grogu is a little too good and the second she starts to look for him, the little womp rat is no where to be found. She basically tears the ship apart and then starts to look outside, now starting to get worried Din might kill her if she doesn’t fine him. Then she hears a soft cooing from the trees.

Somehow, the kid managed to get himself all the way up the tree and is smiling his little face off.

Zena knows she has to get him down, but seeing as trees had never been a thing she had to deal with growing up, climbing to get him proves to be a challenge. And what’s worse, once she’s up there, she very quickly discovers she’s got a little think about heights.

It’s in this state Din finds him. Grogu smile in a tree with Zena clinging onto the branch for dear life.

—————————————

Early on they have to work out living arrangements since Din does need to sleep and has to take off his armor at least to shower. For a while that means Zena is sleeping in the cockpit, but her back can’t take it for long. Eventually, she comes up with a solution. She buys a huge thick blanket from a local market and brings it back to the ship. She then gets some rope and divides the space in half. She even gets some beads to put on the bottom so Din can hear if the curtain is being moved.

With the new sleeping arrangements, late night conversations start to become a thing.

—————————————

“It just feels weird that I don’t even know your name. Or is that another thing I’m not allowed to know?”

“Din. My name is Din.”

“Do you want me to call you that?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

—————————————

Grogu goes over to Zena’s side of the ship to sleep with her at night sometimes.

—————————————

“You sound different.”

There was a small shuffle of sheets on the other side, and decidedly no answer.

“Are…are you not wearing your helmet?”

An awkward pause followed.

Zena felt her blood go straight to her cheeks. Of course, she knew he had to take the helmet off at some point, but knowing it logically to be the case and for it actually to be confirmed were two different things.

“I can’t see you,” she assured, a little too quickly.

Again, silence. She held her breath, her ears straining for even the small hint of movement. After what felt like years, he finally spoke.

“I know.”

She let out a small breath of relief. Still, the awkwardness hadn’t left the air. She needed to say something.

“I like your voice.”

He didn’t say anything. It was getting ridiculous. She wished she could at least see the outline of his body. Then she could at least read his shoulders. If her cheeks didn’t set fire to the fabric, it was going to be a miracle.

“Thank you. I…like your voice too.”

Something about his tone made her stomach flip. She imagined downcast eyes and an awkward smile. Was he blushing? Could he blush?

“Goodnight, Zena.”

“Goodnight, Din.”

—————————————

Zena is not a fighter and needs lessons in shooting and basic self-defense.

The first time she and Din meet Cara, Zena goes outside and points her blaster at Cara to keep her from attacking Din.

“Stop right there!” Zena snapped.

The woman whipped around, her eyes making quick assessment of the threat.

“Safety’s on,” she smirked.

Zena looked down at the blaster; first mistake. In a second the woman had knocked the blaster out of her hand and sent Zena flying with one solid kick.

Options of where to place her introduction episode:

Before “Sanctuary”:

Pros:

Motivation for Din coming to Mir is to lay low; he comes to Zena looking for accommodations, money she receives is for lodging

Bounty Hunters are the one to scope out Zena’s place, she lies and that’s why her place gets robbed and eventually burned down

Her lying for him adds to Din’s guilt

Chance for Zena to get to know Grogu a bit before joining Din

She is there during the events of “Sanctuary”

Nice ending where Din says there is no reason why she can’t stay. “It’s green,” he offered. “And a lot safer.” “And you still owe me 10,282 credits,” she countered, though not as harshly as before.

Cons:

Din is still in a place mentally where he’s willing to leave Grogu behind if it means it’s safe

The lesson that they need to stay on the move might come too early: solution, have Din forced to land on Mir post escape and have Zena fix the Razor Crest as form of payment (Din knows Mir is too much of a hot spot to stay permanently)

Zena not likely to go along with the idea of lying low on a nowhere planet, when she just left a nowhere planet and Din still owes her money; solution, Din insist they’re still too hot after Mir and need some time to cool off, and there has to be some small time stuff he can do in the meantime

Not much for her to do since she’s not much of a fighter (on the other hand, good excuse to establish how less skilled she is compared to Din and Cara)

After “Sanctuary”:

Pros:

Din is now securely in the “keep on the move and make money where we can” mindset

Motivation for coming to Mir is to pick up some non-guild work better suited to such a far off out-post

For my own personal reasons, all the exposition about how long Din has been wearing the armor and the rules involved have been told and so doesn’t feel like a rehash

Zena more likely to not fight Din tooth and nail about landing on Tatooine

Zena’s first/second outing with Din involves getting shot at; ability to test her resolve earlier on

Cons:

Not much for her to do, probably spends most of the time either working on or commenting on repairs: Din volunteers her to work on the ship instead of the droids?

She and Din are more antagonistic, him leaving her behind with the ship is a struggle

Just not as fun of an episode to explore her and Din’s dynamic

Final decision; Introduce Zena in between “The Sin” and “Sanctuary”.

Din has to make a pit stop on Mir due to trouble with the Razor Crest. He knows Bounty Hunters are still hot on his tail, but it’ll give him a minute to think about where to go next with the kid. He goes to Zena for repairs.

Damage to the ship will take a few days, so for some extra money Din offers to pay for he and the kid to stay in Zena’s spare room.

Local gangsters try to rough up Zena a bit for protection money. (They know she’s got money saved, they’re just no sure where it is) Din steps in, which gets them to back off for the moment. Some exposition of Zena’s situation; she’s on her own, gangsters have always been a problem, but post Endor they’ve been even more of a nuisance since the New Republic isn’t stable enough to get anyone all the way out to Mir, and she doesn’t need help.

“You’re going to leave Mandalorian,” she said, bitterly. “And the second you do, they’ll be back and pissed. So, do us both a favor and pretend you’re not even here.”

Her father was in debt to the gangsters? It took her a long while to pay off the debt and she’s just now getting herself enough money to buy a ship. Gangsters don’t want her to buy a ship since she’s basically the only mechanic they have they can squeeze for repairs.

Din later apologizes for butting into her business, and she apologizes too, recognizing he was just trying to help

Need at least one nice little bonding moment between Zena and Grogu; Grogu actually seems to like her cooking, she has him hold some of her tools and play with the less dangerous ones, etc.

Bounty Hunter arrives looking for Din and the kid

Zena lies to cover for them

Bounty Hunter then meets up with the gangsters and figures out Zena was lying; Bounty Hunter and the gangsters then decide to form an alliance to capture Din and keep Zena on Mir

Fight breaks out; Din, Zena, and Grogu are able to escape, but all of Zena’ saving are left behind and her place to all but burned to the ground

“I can drop you wherever you’d like,” he offered. “There are plenty of space ports looking for a good mechanic. You could even join a crew, if that’s what you want.”

There was a long pause, the distant, harden looks never leaving her face.

“Do you have someone you can stay with,” he tried. “Friends? Family?”

“No.”

“Then where—”

“No!” She rose to her feet, anger fueling her. “You’re not just going to dump me on some back water stink hole! It’s your fault Cane and his crew decided to escalate things. It’s your fault that bounty hunter showed up. And it’s your fault everything I own save for the clothes on my back are burned to a crisp. Your fault. You pay for it.”

#star wars #the mandalorian #star wars oc #the mandalorian oc #din djarin #din djarin x oc #grogu #zena lorell

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elareine · 4 years ago

Note

the song better place by rachel platten and jay/dick or maybe just some jay-centric bat fam. hope this prompt works for you. love your fics <3

Thank you <3 That’s a very JayDick song, but I love writing batfam, too, so... have both.

Steph took one look at Jason’s old-new room and pronounced: “You need to redecorate.”

“No shit.”

“Let’s go.”

Which was how Jason found himself in Ikea of all places. She even dragged a flustered-looking Tim with her, who proved to be supremely unhelpful when it came to curtain color (“I don’t think either red or purple will look good with those walls,” bullshit) but very willing to hand over his credit card. It was… fun. The room felt less like a tomb when Steph was done with it, which was great.

He told her that.

“Well, duh.” She grinned. “No one in this house knows how to decorate for shit. You should see what Tim did with his bedroom…”

Jason spent a minute considering his options. “Anime girls?”

“Nope.”

“Superman posters.”

“Nope, but I like the way you’re thinking.”

“Bad Picasso replicas.”

“Nooo,”

“I give up.”

“He did…” Steph paused dramatically. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. It still looks like it did in the eighties.”

Jason laughed, and she looked gratified. “Sounds terrible.”

They kept working on the bookshelf. Ikea was great for those; that’s why they went there in the first place. Well, that and the look on Bruce’s face when he saw the boxes.

After a minute, Jason asked: “So… are you seeing a lot of Tim’s bedroom, then?”

“Yeah. So what?” She glared at him, which he was starting to realize was a sure sign that she was embarrassed.

“So nothing. Didn’t know that was happening again, that’s all.”

It took her a minute, but she softened. “Yeah. I… guess we’re giving it a second chance.”

“That’s cool,” he told her sincerely. “I mean, you could clearly do better, but he damn well knows what he’s got now.”

“Hmm.” Steph was hiding behind the shelf she was holding up, but he could still tell she was pleased. “So how about your own second chance, huh?”

…damn, he’d walked right into that one. “Shut up.”

—

“Home invasion in sector 6R. Three 1Cs, suspected armed. Neighbors reporting shots, five people in the house. Hood, you’re closest.”

Jason had already changed course. “I’m on it.”

He waited—this was the point where Batman would send a Robin or two after him, maybe even Nightwing or himself, “just as back-up.” There was no way they would let him operate as part of the team without close supervision for at least a year. Jason was determined to grit his teeth and bear it, even if he wasn’t sure for how long he could. He was chafing already, running like this with the others when he’d been on his own for so long.

However, Bruce only confirmed that he’d heard him, and then the line went silent.

Huh.

—

There was no better time to be awake in the manor than the early morning in Jason’s opinion. The light fell softly into the kitchen as he entered, barefoot and in his pajamas.

Alfred was there, of course. “Good morning, Jason.”

It was their private ritual; had been even before Jason had moved back into the fold. Six a.m., tea and sandwiches. The only difference was that now, Jason hadn’t vanished by the time Damian stomped into the kitchen, glowering at them for being awake and having the audacity to send him to school.

It was kinda adorable, not that Jason would ever tell him that. Instead, he watched Damian make his way through his own breakfast and nodded toward the packed lunch waiting for him. “I see you’re not taking advantage of the school cafeteria, then?”

“Them?” The amount of scorn Damian managed to pack into a single word would have weighed down a ship or two. “They would not know good food if it chased after them with a sword.”

“Let me guess—still only three spices, and these are salt, pepper, and ketchup?” Jason asked.

“I believe there is a fourth one now—they have a particularly intolerable mixture that they like to label ‘Chinese.’” Damian’s whole face scrunched up with distaste. “It tastes nothing like what Mother used to cook.”

“While I am sorry to hear that,” Alfred inserted, “we will be late if we don’t leave soon.”

Damian grumbled but hopped off his chair. Jason glanced at the clock — seven a.m. Dick would get up soon. Might as well make him a sandwich, too.

He pulled the ingredients closer, already compiling a list of recipes in his head. Talia had shown him how to make most of Damian’s favorites. He could teach those to Alfred, no problem.

—

“Hood. Stop it right now.” Dick looked at him with big eyes, or so Jason assumed, considering they were both wearing their masks.

“No, continue.” Barbara sounded choked, audibly forcing down laugher.

And, hey. Love was one thing, but Jason knew who gave him the best intel night after night. “So big bird and B decide that they have to infiltrate this organization, right? Only… they’re all swingers…”

Her laughter was brighter than the streetlights.

—

Jason stepped into the corridor and silently closed the door behind him.

God, but it had taken a long time to get Dick tired and ready to sleep. Jason himself was still feeling too wired to pass out, but then he wasn’t operating on a 40-hour sleep deficit, so it was totally not the same thing.

He decided to wander down to the cave. Bruce was still up, of course, acknowledging Jason’s presence with a grunt. The only other person present was Tim, who was bent over some files.

…like, really bent over them. One could almost think…yup, he’d fallen asleep at the table.

Jason gently poked him. Then he harshly poked him. When nothing happened, he sighed and moved one arm under Tim’s legs, the other gripping his shoulders. The kid would fuck up his back if he stayed like that. It took a bit of effort, but they were soon making their way up the stairs, Tim cradled securely in Jason’s arms.

They’d almost made it upstairs when Tim stirred, blue eyes opening halfway and looking at him.

Heart in his throat, Jason waited. This family had a bad habit of coming awake swinging, and with Jason hovering over them… well, it wouldn’t be entirely unjustified, wouldn’t it? Especially in Tim’s case.

Tim grumbled and went right back to sleep.

—

Jason pinched his nose. Or tried to, but he was wearing his helmet, so he basically poked himself in the face. Judging from Duke’s expression, that wasn’t helping his point.

“So you decided to buy us time by…”

“Ninja traps,” Cassie finished for him. Looking as if that made total sense.

“Ninja traps.”

“Well, it was more of an obstacle course, really,” Duke added helpfully.

“Okay, that’s a weird-ass move, but I can respect that. Then why did that warehouse explode?”

“Fire.” Cassie’s expression gave nothing away.

Jason looked to Duke. “What she said.”

“And the fire was there because…?”

“Fire is an obstacle.”

Jason groaned. “I cannot believe I’m the responsible person here,” he lamented. “Is this how you feel most of the time, D?”

There was laughter over the com. “Oh, Nightwing has finally acquired a co-parent,” Steph commented, followed by Tim’s: “About time.”

(Everyone ignored Bruce’s “Hey!”.)

—

“Jason.”

Bruce was hovering. He probably didn’t intend to it; it just came naturally. Jason still felt that nervous lurch in his stomach whenever Bruce did that, but he was trying to get over it, so he just asked: “Yeah?”

“Let me show you something.”

They went into one of the rooms behind Bruce’s office that Jason had always assumed held nothing but files. He was very wrong.

“After you… left, I found myself reading books and thinking—he would’ve loved that.”

The walls were lined with bookcases. There were special editions of Jane Austen reprints, thick sci-fi novels, and nineteenth-century murder mysteries. It was eclectic and weird and precisely what Jason liked. What they both liked.

“I kept collecting them,” Bruce told him, voice too even. “Just… in case, I suppose.”

Jason stared at the shelves and shelves full of books, all read exactly once. His eyes were stinging because the glass display downstairs—that was bullshit. That uniform was about and for Bruce, and the new Robins, not Jason.

But this?

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Bruce almost-smiled, relief written across his face. “You’re welcome. Uh. I’ll leave you to it.”

Jason let him take two steps, then he said: “Bruce. If there was ever a time for a hug, this is it.”

“Oh. Right.”

Jason let Bruce pull him into an embrace—hugged back just as fiercely and told him: “It’s okay. You can stop grieving now. I’m here.”

If Bruce’s shoulders were shaking, neither of them mentioned it.

—

It was a total accident. Jason had felt like holding Dick’s hand, so he did. It was only when he looked up and caught Tim’s eye that he remembered—right. They were surrounded by Dick’s family. Their family.

Tim winked. The conversation didn’t stop. No one else commented or even gave them a second glance.

Something in Jason exhaled.

Dick squeezed his hand, smiling at something Damian was saying, and ugh, sometimes Jason was so full of feelings, he didn’t know what to do with it. Dick was just so—so—

Yeah. Jason was so fucking gone for him. All he could think about was how it would feel if there was a ring, there, pressing against his own.

He leaned back, adding a sarcastic comment or two to the conversation just to bask in the sunshine of Dick’s laughter. That thought warranted some serious consideration, not to mention talking to Dick, but—just the idea that he could have that? That he trusted himself, and Dick, and their family, enough to have that?

It was more than enough.

—

(Three days before Jason moved into the manor, Dick called a family gathering.

“Why is Jason not here, then?” Tim asked, frowning. “If it’s a family matter, it concerns him, too.”

Dick could kiss him for that. Instead he said: “Because it’s about him. I’m gonna lay down some ground rules, okay?”

Jason letting Dick convince him to move back in with them… that was huge. And dangerous. Dick had figured out long ago that Jay and Bruce had no idea how to handle each other anymore. Neither did the rest. That didn’t mean they didn’t want to. Dick was hopeful.

It was just… Jay was the best thing in Dick’s world; his support, his light, his conscience. He just made everything better. And Dick had no intentions of letting their family or anyone else fuck that up.)

(I’m taking prompts.)

#elareine writes #batfamily #jaydick #jason todd #this was meant to be shorter and is totally unedited because it's 1am and i wanna bedone with it #sorry

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headfulloffantasies · 4 years ago

Text

Consequences

The title of Mand’alore catches up with Din Djarin.

Part 4 of Clones and Kings

Read on Ao3

“Do you think all of Master Yoda’s species have Jetii powers, or are we just lucky enough to find another one?” Wolffe asked Rex.

They sat side by side on the ramp of Mando’s ship drinking in the first rays of sun Rex had seen since Jakku. The Mandalorian had left them to guard the ship at the landing dock while he took Not-So-Yoda to pick up supplies at the market. Five credits said Mando would come back with a new toy for the kid.

“I don’t know. The kid still gives me this look sometimes like he knows what I’m thinking,” Rex grumbled.

“That’s not hard, vod,” Wolffe joked. “You have a terrible poker face.”

Rex shoved his brother’s shoulder. He missed this. The camaraderie between clones. It had been far too long.

“Well?” Rex asked Wolffe. “What will you do now?”

Wolffe turned his mechanical eye towards Rex. “I want to rejoin our brothers. Do you know if any others live?”

Rex shook his head. “You’re the only vod I’ve found since the end of the war.”

“And the Jedi?” Wolffe asked.

“The baby or Luke Skywalker?” Rex asked.

“I was thinking Commander Tano,” Wolffe growled. “I’d like to serve under someone from the old days.”

Rex closed his eyes and basked in the sun. “I’m here on Commander Tano’s orders. She’s doing shadow ops these days.”

Wolffe scoffed. “You don’t look very undercover, brother. Babysitting doesn’t suit a Captain.”

“I’m doing my best,” Rex answered. “Commander Tano said watch the Mandalorian and the foundling. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Speak of the devil,” Wolffe nudged Rex.

Mando came lumbering out of the crowded port towards them. He had two bursting satchels slung over his shoulders and Yoda the Younger riding his hip carrier.

Rex stood and wiped his hands on his pants.

“Hold him,” Mando dumped mini-Yoda in Wolffe’s lap. Wolffe froze. Mando ignored the clone’s obvious discomfort. Rex smirked. Served Wolffe right for teasing Rex about the kid.

“Let me help,” Rex offered Mando. He took one of the satchels off Mando’s shoulder.

“Din Djarin.”

Mando went stiff as a board. His hand drifted to his blaster. Rex craned his neck to see over Mando’s shoulder.

“Kriff,” Rex spat. He unfortunately recognised the red-haired woman marching towards them with her blue helmet under her arm.

“Is it too late to run?” Mando asked.

“Pretty sure she’s seen you,” Rex answered. “You could try shooting.”

“Din Djarin,” Bo Katan repeated. She came to a halt with a respectable space between them. Then she dropped to one knee. “All hail the Mand’alor.”

Rex gaped. Mando still didn’t turn around. His shoulders had come up around his helmet.

Wolffe made a choked noise. “You’re the Mand’alor?”

“Mand’alor,” Bo Katan said to Mando’s back. “It’s time to return to your duties as ruler.”

“I am doing my duty,” Mando turned sharply to look down at her. “You and the other advisors were informed of my intentions to collect my son while the Jedi is busy.”

Bo Katan scowled. “Yes, but we assumed you’d bring the child home with you. Not gallivant around the galaxy reliving your bounty hunting glory days again.”

Mando went silent and still. Rex took a half step back. Mando radiated violence from every line of his armour.

“Inside. Now,” Mando finally ground out.

Bo Katan straightened up and followed on Mando’s heels up the ramp into the ship. Rex trailed behind. He glanced back at Wolffe still sitting in dazed confusion. Yoda in Training took the opportunity to climb up Wolffe’s arm and sit on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Rex snapped. “Bring the kid. They might reconsider tearing each other to pieces in front of a child.”

Mando stomped into the cargo space where the carbonite freezer blinked and the frozen bounty sat in its slab. Rex hoped Mando’s helmet was heat shielded from the death-rays Bo Katan beamed at the back of his head. Mando grabbed the bounty and spun the slab around so Bo Katan could see its face.

“Do you know him?” Mando asked.

Bo Katan barely flicked her eyes disdainfully over the frozen Devorian. “No. Should I?”

“This man,” Mando explained. “Was selling beskar. He claimed he got it off a Mandalorian he killed.”

Rex shuddered.

Bo Katan crossed her arms. “So, you avenged a brother. That doesn’t-.”

Mando cut her off. “The galaxy’s underworld needs to learn that beskar belongs to the Mandalorians. I intend to make the life of anyone selling beskar unprofitable. Once they realise the steep punishment for trading our heritage, no one will want to buy beskar. Then the Mand’alor can sweep in and claim the remnants to give back to our people.”

Bo Katan chewed on this. From her pinched eyebrows she clearly thought it foolhardy.

Rex found himself staring at Mando in a new light. The man had honour in spades. And patience and ruthlessness to carry out his ambitious plan.

“That will take time,” Bo Katan finally said.

“Yes,” Mando inclined his head.

Bo Katan visibly struggled with this concept. “Fine.” She bit out. “I assume you have your next target.”

“Yes.”

Bo Katan lifted her chin. “Then I will accompany you.”

“Absolutely not,” Mando snapped.

Bo Katan didn’t back down. They locked in an intense stare. It didn’t really seem fair when Mando had his helmet to shield his face. Rex read the resolution in the line of his shoulders while Bo Katan grit her teeth.

“You may accompany us on your own ship,” Mando relented, much to Rex’s surprise.

“How gracious of you,” Bo Katan bowed her head. Mando escorted her off the ship.

Rex watched them go by in bewilderment. He caught Wolffe’s eye. Wolffe looked twice as flabbergasted as Rex. Good. Rex was the superior officer. He shouldn’t experience the same surprise as someone under his command.

Itty bitty Yoda saw a chance with Wolffe distracted and wiggled out of his grip. Rex dove and caught him before the kid could make another of his famous escape attempts.

Mando came back with defeat dragging down his shoulders.

“Why’d you let her tag along?” Rex blurted out.

Mando took Yoda Junior from Rex’s hands. “She’d only follow us anyways. At least she’s not trying to kill me for the Darksaber this time.”

“You’re the Mand’alor,” Wollfe gasped. Mando refused to respond. He tucked his child into his arms and swept up into the cockpit and sealed the door.

Wolffe pointed up the ladder. “He’s the Mand’alor.”

Rex dropped a hand on Wolffe’s shoulder. “Steady. Take a breath.”

Wolffe’s hands came up and gripped either side of Rex’s face. “Holy kriff, that madman is the Mand’alor!”

Rex carefully extricated himself from Wolffe’s fingers. “Do you need to sit down?”

Rex assumed Mando had locked the cockpit because Mando had finally decided to indulge in his afternoon meal. He’d open it after he had his helmet back in place. For now, Rex reckoned he’d like to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

Rex laid out his bedroll on the floor and placed his blasters within reach. “Wake me in thirty,” he instructed Wolffe.

Rex woke in twenty to something punching the breath out of his solar plexus. Rex bolted up. Huge liquid eyes stared back at him.

“I told him to let you sleep,” Mando’s tired voice said from above. “I don’t know if he understands words yet.”

The twitch of Un-Yoda’s smile said he knew exactly what people told him but he enjoyed chaos too much to bother obeying. Master Yoda had shared the same wrinkled smirk. Rex narrowed his eyes. The child mimicked him and showed off his sharp teeth.

Rex scooped up the child and held him at arms length far away from those biters.

Mando took the kid again. “We’re almost there,” he said. He trekked back up to the cockpit, his cape swirling behind him. He left the door open. Rex took it as an invitation. He started for the ladder.

Mando had the Wee Little Yoda asleep in his lap. The kid made cooing sounds in his sleep.

Rex sat in the co-pilot’s seat. Mando said nothing for a long time. Rex relaxed into the silence. He stared out at the glowing streaks of stars passing by. Mando’s helmet caught the glint as he turned towards Rex.

“Do you think I’m being an irresponsible leader?” Mando asked.

Rex thought he was asking a question high above Rex’s paygrade, but he answered anyways. “I think a ruler’s responsibility is to take care of the people around him. So, if he never leaves the throne room, well.” Rex left that there. “But a ruler who knows the needs of his people because he’s out among them is a good man in my books.”

Mando sighed. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Rex nodded. He’d known the Mandalorian from the first day they’d met. The man was simple. That didn’t mean he was foolish. He was probably the wisest person Rex had ever met. That included Master Yoda, because the old gremlin hadn’t managed to see a Sith plot ten years in the making. Rex might have a bias. Didn’t make him wrong. The point was; Mando wanted two things out of life. To care for his son, and to live his Creed. It didn’t seem like much to ask. Too bad Bo Katan thought different.

“How many Mandalorians have you tried giving the Darksaber to?” Rex asked carefully.

Mando tipped his helmet. “Everybody but Boba Fett.”

Rex imagined Boba Fett leading an army of beskar clad Mandos. It would be like someone unleashing a nuclear bomb to get rid of an anthill.

“That’s smart,” Rex squeaked.

“Fett commed me right after I got it and threatened to dismember me if I offered it to him,” Mando finished.

That tracked actually. Fett had complicated history with Mandalore and he had his hands full on Tatooine last Rex heard.

“We’re here,” Mando announced. They dropped out of hyperspace.

Rex had to know something before they plunged into the lion’s den.

“What is this really all about?”

Mando leaned back in his seat. “Mandalorians have been hunted for our beskar ever since our ancestors abandoned Mandalore. There are those who would see our reuniting as strategically unwise. Before I ask them to make themselves vulnerable, I have to prove I can protect them.”

And that right there was why Bo Katan could never rule Mandalore while Mando lived. She just couldn’t compare. Nice try, Princess. Come back with some scruples and a better attitude.

The planet they’d landed on looked like a wasteland. Only sparse vegetation managed to poke through the grey dust. The trees grew twisted in spindly bunches. A dark fog spread over Rex’s feet as they exited the ship.

Bo Katan’s ship landed behind them. She emerged with her helmet on and guns at the ready. Mando leaned casually against the side of his ship with Yoda the Imposter snuggled into the satchel at his hip.

“Alright,” Bo Katan said. “Where’s your beskar thief?”

“This way,” Mando stalked silently into the gloom. Rex and Wolffe exchanged a look. They followed at a distance.

“Not many heat sources on this planet,” Wolffe reported, tapping his cybernetic eye. “Place seems abandoned.”

“So, it’s a good spot for lowlifes to hide,” Rex summed up.

Wolffe shrugged. They trekked through the fog. Rex kept his blasters in hand. Nothing moved in the sparse trees. The dry earth under their boots crackled with every step.

They approached a ridge of rock. Mando stopped.

“Hang on,” Mando started. “Something’s not right.”

A blaster bolt scorched the ground inches from Mando’s boot. He drew and shot in the blink of an eye. Rex pulled Wolffe behind a boulder. A bolt cracked against the stone above his head. Rex heard the sound of return fire.

Rex leaned out to sneak a peek. Mando hadn’t moved. He held his ground and aimed his blaster.

“We have to retreat!” Rex yelled. “There’s not enough cover here.”

Mando didn’t seem to hear. He sprayed the ridge with a shower of fire. The return shot clipped him on the pauldron. The force of the blow spun him to the side. Rex’s stomach jolted as he realised Mando had shown his vulnerable flank. He opened his mouth to shout.

Bo Katan barrelled out of nowhere and crashed into Mando. She tackled him behind a tree. Rex ducked back into his hiding spot.

“I thought the Jedi were bad,” Wolffe growled. “But Mando’s kriffing crazy.”

The blaster fire from the ridge stopped.

One by one their rag tag crew peeked out of their cover.

Rex risked stepping out from behind the boulder. He pointed his blasters. No bolts came careening to cut him down.

“All clear,” Rex announced.

Wolffe joined him, spitting curses.

Rex turned at a sound of surprise from Bo Katan.

Mando shoved himself into Bo Katan’s face. “Don’t do that again.”

Bo Katan met his ire with her own venom. “It is my responsibility to defend the Mand’alor.”

“You shame me in battle again and I’ll throw you in a sarlacc pit,” Mando growled.

A squeak came from Mando’s satchel. The tension dropped from his shoulders. He pulled Yoda the Pretender from his pouch. The tiny toddler gripped Mando’s thumb tightly.

If Rex wasn’t still worried about blaster bolts raining down from above, he would have melted over the Jedi baby.

“Can we please find some new cover?” Wolffe voiced Rex’s thoughts.

Mando and Bo Katan broke apart. Mando reached for the side of his helmet. Rex assumed he was shifting through heat scans, looking for the trail their mark might have left.

“This way,” Mando headed out around the side of the ridge.

Bo Katan watched him go. Rex gestured for her to follow, determined to keep his position as rear guard. He had some experience from chasing around kriffing Jedis.

They moved as a tight knot through the trees. Wolffe bumped his shoulder against Rex’s.

“Does this feel like an ambush to you?”

Rex nodded. “The shooter had us pinned down. He didn’t need to retreat. Unless.”

“Unless he went to warn his backup.”

Rex scanned their surroundings and cursed the fog.

The rounded a bend and ran straight into four bandits armed to the teeth.

“Kark!” Rex shouted. They were surrounded.

Wolffe and Rex moved as one; diving behind the nearest tree. Splinters and blaster bolts rained over Rex’s head.

Mando landed in the dirt next to him. Mando grunted and gripped his side.

“You hit?” Rex demanded. He raked his eyes over the spot where Mando pressed his hand. Bless the armour for saving Mando’s life and curse it at the same time for hiding the injury from Rex’s sight.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mando shouted back. He yanked out his blaster and took up firing along with Rex. Rex had a kriffing time getting a single shot off with the sharpshooter pinning them against the trees. He also had no eyes on Bo Katan. Much as he disliked her, Rex hated to think she might have fallen.

Finally, Rex caught a break in the assault. He peeked around the tree trunk. Two of the four bandits were advancing. Rex aimed at the Twi’lek holding an elctro-spear.

Sizzling electricity leaped from the tip of the spear and arced past Rex’s ear. He ducked back and jostled Wolffe.

“This feels familiar,” Rex shouted in Wolffe’s ear.

“We’re evenly matched now,” Wolffe yelled back.

“Hold your fire!” A male voice suddenly ordered. The bandits quit shooting. Rex leaned around the tree.

The tall Twi’lek twirled his electro-spear. He surveyed their little group.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” the Twi’lek bared his eye teeth in a nasty grin. “We’re going to pry those two Mandalorians out of their armour and sell that beskar for a fortune. You other two can either help us and take a share of the money; or you can die just the same.”

“I got a counter offer for you,” Wolffe shouted. “You can take that spear and ram it where the sun don’t shine.”

The Twi’lek’s face turned stormy. “Fine. Have it your way.”

The other bandits lifted their weapons and renewed their firing. Rex ducked back down.

Mando shoved Not-Yoda into Rex’s hands. “Watch him. I got this.”

Mando vanished like a puff of smoke. Rex cradled the child against his chest to shield him from the stray blaster bolts. Sharp claws found their way past the collar of his breast plate to cling to his shirt.

“It’s okay,” Rex promised. “Your buir has a plan.”

The crack of shots continued to deafen Rex.

A sudden explosion rocked Rex against the tree. He curled around the Jedi child as debris rained down. Rex poked his head out.

Mando stood in the center off the destruction. Even through the smoke Rex could see his chest heaving. Three of the bandits lay on the ground at his feet. Rex didn’t see the Twi’lek leader.

Out of the smoke, a figure tackled Mando. Mando threw him off. Rex heard the groan as Mando pressed a hand to his side. The thick fabric between the beskar plates looked darker than it should.

The Twi’lek rolled and came up with a vibroblade. He slashed at Mando with the knife. Mando brought his arms up and caught the blade on his vambraces. The screech of metal on metal shrieked in Rex’s ears. He grabbed his blaster and took aim. The Twi’lek danced around Mando, hopping and weaving so much Rex couldn’t get a good shot.

A lucky kick knocked Mando’s feet out from under him. He hit the ground in a clank of armour. The Twi’lek raised the knife over his head. Rex shouted too late.

“Djarin!” Bo Katan plowed out of nowhere. Her wrist blade blocked the vibroblade’s descent. She plunged her other wrist blade into the Twi’lek’s chest. The bandit made a gurgling noise Rex wished he could block out. The body dropped and landed on top of Mando.

Bo Katan kicked the corpse aside. She offered her hand to Mando. He smacked her hand away. Mando got to his wobbly feet. He wiped the blood from his breast plate. He left a horrible handprint smeared across the silver beskar.

Rex hurried to Mando’s side. Yoda’s Progeny whined and begged for his father.

For the first time, Mando ignored his son. He pressed his visor into Bo Katan’s face.

“I warned you not to do that again.” Mando’s voice growled through his vocoder.

Bo Katan lifted her chin. The painted eyes on her helmet were cold. “If you died in battle, that kriffer becomes the next Mand’alor. I can’t let that happen.”

“Not until you get your shot first,” Mando snapped back. “We’re done.”

“You can’t dismiss me,” Bo Katan snarled. “I’m the rightful heir to the throne of Mandalore.”

“You want your throne?” Mando unclipped the Darksaber from his belt.

Rex held his breath.

Mando extended the saber hilt to Bo Katan. “Go on. Take it.”

Bo Katan seethed in silence.

“That’s what I thought.” Mando turned his back on her.

“I will challenge you for the throne,” Bo Katan promised.

“I appreciate the warning,” Mando drawled. He limped back the way they’d come.

Wolffe caught Rex’s eye and raised an eyebrow. Rex shrugged. They fell in together and trailed behind Mando.

They were barely a pace out of Bo Katan’s view when Mando’s knees buckled. Wolffe snagged his arm and kept him from cracking his bucket against a tree.

“Kriff,” Wolffe hissed. “You got bacta on the ship?”

Mando nodded.

“Alright. You’re going to have to walk. I can’t carry your weight in beskar.”

Rex carried the anxious Yoda the Younger after his father leaning hard against Wolffe’s side. The child whined and wiggled, reaching for his buir.

“He’s alright,” Rex tried to soothe the tiny Jedi. “Your buir is strong.”

They got to the ship and Wolffe dragged Mando up the ramp. Mando directed Wolffe to the med kit. Wolffe flipped it open and started rifling through the contents.

Rex knelt beside Mando sitting with his back against the ship’s wall. Blood had soaked through the flight suit under Mando’s arm. Rex set the Jedi down and grabbed for the clasps on Mando’s breast plate. A gloved hand clamped down on Rex’s wrist.

“Don’t,” Mando growled.

“We got to get at the wound,” Rex explained.

“I’ll do it myself,” Mando grabbed the kit from Wolffe. He threw himself at the cockpit ladder.

Wolffe yelped a protest. “You’re going to need help.”

“It’s forbidden,” Mando insisted.

“Fine,” Rex snapped. “But if you die up there, I’m not delivering the Darksaber to Bo Katan. I’d rather eat my bucket.”

Mando managed a bark of a laugh. “I’ll make it my final wish to have that kriffing thing tossed in a supernova.”

“That I can do,” Rex promised.

The cockpit sealed behind Mando. Wolffe stood at the door and stressed in silence so strongly that Rex was certain he would manifest the emotion as a Force Ghost.

“Make sure to use plenty of gauze,” Wolffe called through the door. “And more bacta is better than too little.”

“Vod,” Rex snapped. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“Are you sure?” Wolffe snarled back. “That kriffer jumped into an ambush to detonate a karking bomb. I don’t put much stock by whatever brains he might have left in that bucket.”

“Stop being a mother bantha,” Rex grumbled.

The door opened. Mando stomped out right past Wolffe and Rex to snatch up Small Fry Yoda. He slapped the panel that revealed his private bunk. Mando paused there, not turning to look at them.

“Thank you. I owe you a debt,” he said.

“The only thing you owe us for is forcing us to work with Bo Katan,” Rex answered.

They couldn’t see Mando’s smile, but Rex watched Mando’s shoulders relax. He retreated into the bunk and closed the door behind him. Rex and Wolffe exchanged a look.

“Do you think he sleeps with the bucket on?” Wolffe asked.

“I can hear you,” Mando’s muffled voice came through the door.

End

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