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floral-force · 2 years ago

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Code of Honor - Chapter 10

The Realization

Din Djarin x F!Reader, Bounty Hunter!Reader

summary: Waking up after a drunken night leaves you with more questions than answers about your Mandalorian enemy. Din struggles with his own senses as you restart your hunt and set your trap for the prince.

words: 4.2k+

warnings: All of my work is 18+ only. a dash of angst, tw for mentions of nausea, bile, heaving/vomiting (typical drunk/hungover stuff)

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PART 1: YOU

Your head was pounding when you woke up, an invisible hammer smashing into your skull with each movement you made. You knew you were in a bunk that wasn’t yours, and a quick glance and body check told you that your clothes were still on, and that you were underneath a blanket. That fact alone calmed you enough so you could force yourself to roll over onto your back and slowly push yourself up to sit and see where you were.

You forced yourself up with a groan, scrunching your eyes closed to avoid the bright light in front of you. A wave of nausea crashed into you, and you took a few breaths to let it move along. When you were finally upright, you rolled out your heavy arms and rubbed your eyes with the heels of your hands, the light still an irritant you weren’t ready to face. A sick feeling in your gut remained, and you started to bend one extended leg towards you, kicking the blanket off your body. You took another breath and forced your eyes open.

When you saw the business end of a blaster pointed at you, you reached into your boot and clumsily unsheathed the knife hidden inside it, pointing it at the threat. You tried to look menacing, but you felt your shoulders heave forward when another nauseous pang ran through your gut, threatening to creep up your esophagus.

“Easy,” the Mandalorian said. “Relax.”

“What the fuck did you do to me?” you asked through gritted teeth.

Your knife shook in your hand, and he lightly tilted his blaster up at it.

“Drop the knife.”

“You’re the one—” You closed your eyes tightly, curling in a bit. You shook your head and looked at him again. “You’re the one with the blaster.”

“And I’ll lower it if you drop your knife.”

He hadn’t moved an inch from where he sat on a box, still leaning back as if he was talking to a friend and not his enemy. His knees were spread wide, and you focused on that instead of the queasiness that continued to creep through you. You lowered your knife begrudgingly, eyes watching his arm as he lowered the blaster, lingering too long on his gloved hand as he holstered it. All the while, his helmet was trained on you.

Being under his beskar gaze yet again sent something hot through you, driving away the sick feeling for a few moments. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you tried to ignore the way his visor remained on you as you sheathed your knife.

Dank ferrik, control yourself, you thought, clearing your throat and finally meeting his helmeted stare with your narrowed and suspicious eyes.

“You gonna tell me why I’m here?” You gestured around yourself, palms clammy.

He crossed his arms, the yellow light highlighting the beskar decorating his arms and shoulders. You’d never admit it under any other circumstances, but his broad frame intimidated you. At this moment, you were weak; he knew it, and you knew it. Sitting in in his ship and in his rack put you at his mercy, and sitting in front of him forced you to confront the reality that he could easily destroy you. Something needy within you stirred at that thought, dashing straight to your core and sending a traitorous throb between your legs.

“You’re here because you’re a fool,” he said, finally lifting himself to sit straight.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m a fool because I went out? Had some fun?” You scoffed and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You’re the creep that stalked me!”

He shook his head. “You were barely—” The Mandalorian’s voice was raised, and he paused, looking down and back up at you. “You were barely conscious.”

“That doesn’t just make up for tracking me down like I’m one of your fucking quarries,” you snapped, scooting yourself to the edge of the elevated rack.

“He could have hurt you,” Mando growled, uncrossing his arms and jumping to his feet. “The guy looked like a slime ball. What were you thinking?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. You aren’t my fucking mother, and you certainly aren’t my partner.”

“Not sure I’d want to be if this is the type of shit you do,” he snapped back, taking a couple menacing steps towards you. “It’s idiotic.”

You clenched your jaw. Adrenaline and fire coursed through your veins, giving you the strength to push off the rack and stand on the floor.

“If you hate me so much, why’d you take me away from him? Hm?” You questioned. You refused to use the word “rescue” in reference to the beskar-clad man in front of you, and you were glad you quickly settled on something else without stuttering.

“I thought you’d like the idea of having me out of the picture,” you continued, a snarl in the suggestion.

He hesitated, crossing his arms again. “I had to. Otherwise, I would have felt…personally responsible.”

His admission was soft, the harshness he normally edged his words with gone and sanded down into something you could hold without cutting your hands up. It made you look at him quizzically, your hands coming to rest in fists on your hips. If it was possible for that broad man to shrink under your unwavering glare, he had, making your heart skip a beat.

“You didn’t have to do that. I can handle myself.”

“No,” he sighed. He looked down at the floor. “I had to after seeing how you looked.”

You couldn’t admit that his confession cracked something within you. This man in front of you—the perpetual thorn in your side, your constant competitor, the one who would gladly wrestle you to the ground to take a quarry from you just to prove a point—had been more concerned about your wellbeing in that moment than he had been about you snagging the quarry. He had seen you inebriated—you cringed inside thinking about how you drank way too much spotchka—and didn’t take taking advantage of it. Instead, he’d stolen you away from a potential threat.

Something soft was underneath that armor after all. He had foolishly revealed it to you.

You would never allow him to see your softness, even if you felt it bubbling up to your heated flesh now. You didn’t need armor to protect your tenderness from the outside world—you’d learned to guard it after you failed to protect the one thing it revealed itself to.

You softly nodded and shifted on your feet, looping your thumbs through the leather belt of your holster. Your stomach twisted and turned, bile burning your throat. A nervous swallow pushed it back down so you could speak.

“Well, I’m…” You trailed off, clearing your throat, and he looked up at you again. “I need to go.”

I’m grateful you saved me, you thought, eyes dropping to focus on the toes of your boots.

He nodded, silently turning to his right and walking towards a plain metal wall. There were a few beeps as he punched something in on a small pad, and there was a metallic hiss as the ship’s ramp lowered. The Mandalorian looked back at you, and you shyly walked over, waiting for it to lower and extend completely. Your legs felt heavy, your head pounding once again, your body crying out for water, but it all had to wait. You couldn’t spend another minute on this ship with him in front of you, his silent presence a heavy weight on your chest.

The ramp hit the grass with a thud, and you were relieved that it was cloudy and cool outside. You gingerly walked down the ramp, your boots tapping lightly against the metal. When your right foot sunk into the grass, a modulated voice called your name, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your head whipped around, eyes wide and trained on the Mandalorian.

He pointed a finger to the right, his arm extended. “The village is that way.” He paused. “Be more careful next time.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

Your shoulders were tense as you walked away from the Mandalorian and his ship, your pace brisk despite your body’s protest. Once you reached the edge of the small, grassy clearing, your boots leaving tracks in soft dirt, you began to relax. The forest finally covered you from his prying visor, and your sigh of relief stood out among the soft chirping and rustling around you. A cautious look over your shoulder let you make sure you were finally out of his sight, green foliage enveloping you as you moved further into the forest.

You paused and dropped to one knee, pulling your knife out of your boot. You squeezed its sleek black handle in your fist as you stood, cursing and wiping loose dirt off the knee of your pants. You took a deep breath and started walking again, trying your hardest to ignore the ache in your joints and the pounding in your skull. That horrible queasy feeling settled in your gut once again, slowly burning its way through your organs and infecting you from the inside.

The only things that distracted you from your nearly unbearable hangover were unwanted thoughts about him—the man in beskar that put himself in harm’s way for you. Knowing yourself, you were sure you’d gotten too drunk with some sleaze; it wouldn’t have been the first time. You remembered making a couple bets with him about drinking an entire flagon of spotchka, and that detail alone made bile rise in your throat. Shaking your head, you tried to recall what happened after that second flagon. It was all a blur of drunken warmth and blurred lights and more drinks, the sleaze putting his hands on you to dance with you. The vague memory of downing more alcohol echoed in your mind, as did your wins over him in the bets; at least you knew you didn’t owe the cantina any money.

Your memory was dark after that moment, though. It frustrated you to have gaps; you didn’t make it a habit to drink so heavily that your memory would black out. As much as you did enjoy indulging, you always hated the hangovers when you drank too much. Sometimes, you weren’t sure if proving yourself in a bet with some grimy man was worth the headache in the morning. As you carefully stepped over a log with a huff, something popped into your head.

It was an image of the Mandalorian leaning over you, holding up three fingers, dim light illuminating the left side of his form.

Your eyes widened, and you stumbled over a pebble.

“Kriff!”

You barely managed to regain your footing and avoid falling onto the ground, but your knife had fallen out of your tight grip. As you reached for it, something else popped into your head.

A modulated voice, a beskar helmet against a backdrop of stars.

You’re safe with me.

Your breath caught in your throat and you felt your skin grow warm again, a tiny fire blooming in your chest.

It was as if every fiber of your being, your very soul was rejecting reality. You felt yourself gag and heave before quickly turning to the right and dry heaving onto the ground, doubling over. Your hands gripped your knees for stability as you spit and groaned. Bile burned your throat as the images of Mando and the sound of his voice filled your aching head, flashing back and forth like a glitching hologram. You spat one more time to rid yourself of it all before gathering your strength and continuing your trek, anchoring yourself with the picture of his helmet against the starry sky.

This act of gentleness disturbed you. There had to be some reason behind it; there was no way your fierce competitor—your enemy—would show you mercy and reveal his tenderness. Yet, you found yourself approaching the main village road with your clothes intact, without scratches, and alive.

Was there a part of the Mandalorian that cared for you? Could it even be possible?

You bit the inside of your cheek as you considered those questions, recalling the way his voice had softened, how he looked away from you. His gentle warning. He had tracked you, yes; but if his goal had been to remove you from the equation, he could have left the cantina. Instead, he’d brought you to his ship and let you sleep your bad decisions off.

As your boots touched the uneven road, another question reared its ugly head.

Was there a part of you that cared for him?

PART 2: DIN

As soon as she’d disappeared from his sight, he raised the ramp. Din turned and walked to the crate he’d sat and slept on, plopping back down with a huff and a swear. He yanked his gloves off his hands and threw them on the ground, then made quick work of removing his helmet so he could run his hands through his hair. His eyes were fixed on the rack, the blanket he’d covered her with crumpled up on the floor.

He reached for it, grasping the edge in his fingers and pulling it to his chest. He gripped it in both of his bare hands, the surprisingly soft fabric a welcome change from the tough leather of his gloves. Without thinking, he brought it to his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling.

Kriff. It smelled like her.

The floral scent was weak, but it was hers. He’d smelled it over the spotchka last night as he carried her in his arms away from the cantina and into the forest, and the perfume singed his nostrils when he had leaned over her to tuck the blanket up to her chin later. Din inhaled again, curling into himself and clutching the blanket to his chest. He realized she’d always smelled like this—memories of each fight with her flashed in his mind, instances where either he or she got incredibly close coming to the forefront of his mind. She smelled like this at the ball, her scent floating around her and enveloping him as they danced.

The helmet dulled Din’s sense of smell at times, but for her, it had always been heightened. He had always chalked it up to his need to stay ahead of her and be on alert for her presence. Some of the fabric brushed against his lips, hot air from his exhale disturbing it. Din realized she had won again, even if she didn’t know it. She’d left her mark on him yet again, but this time it wouldn’t leave a scar on his skin.

Din lowered the blanket to his lap, thumb running across it. He knew she was going back to the palace today even if she never stated her intent to do so. He chuckled to himself; her stubbornness and determination would always betray her if her words didn’t first. The way she looked when he got under her skin made him chuckle underneath the helmet, the mirthful breaths saved for his ears only. She tried to make herself look like a ferocious beast, but she looked as gentle as a lothcat. She was something you couldn’t hold for too long before it got angry and fought back with bloody teeth and nails. She was a never just a flame, she was the whole damn fire, turning whatever blocked her path to ash.

Din would be lying if he said he hated the way she looked when she burned through him.

But he’d be damned if he stopped trying to take this royal quarry from her. Din wouldn’t let her fiery dance ensnare him. For years, she’d abused the Code, bent it to fit her will. Letting her hunt this quarry with no competition—without him—would only boost her ego. Maybe some people in the Guild could excuse her behavior, turn their heads and look away, but Din had never been able to, and he’d made that known for a while now.

“You’re too soft on her,” Din had snapped at Greef.

The man had sighed and shook his head. “You know what happened to her.”

“And it shouldn’t make a difference.”

He was resolved to get back to the palace, find her, and neutralize her. Din couldn’t afford to be soft like everyone else; opening your heart to others only led to loss. A memory of the green foundling hit him and he clenched his jaw, closing his fists around the blanket.

Case in point, he thought to himself as he stood up with stiff knees. The blanket was tossed onto his empty rack, and his eyes lingered a little too long on the spot he imagined a little hammock hanging from.

Din was going to the palace, and he’d force her to give up the fight by any means necessary.

PART 3: YOU

You didn’t have time to indulge the old woman’s sly smile as you entered the hangar with disheveled hair and the same clothes from last night. Her assumptions could remain her own; you had no time for her judgement. As you washed the night off in your modest ‘fresher, you shoved thoughts of him out of your head with ones about the royal snob you planned on either capturing or killing tonight. It didn’t matter whether you brought him in alive and whining or dead and decapitated—the bounty would still be higher than the last three you’d gotten combined.

You chose to wear plain clothes—black, fitted cargo pants, an earthy green shirt—so you could blend in a bit with the townspeople and be less recognizable.

You snorted thinking about the Mandalorian ambling around in a crowd in his ridiculous beskar armor. Stealth and subtlety had never been his specialty. No, he was better at bothering everyone else around him with his ego and his bulkiness.

Images of broad shoulders and large hands hidden underneath worn leather flashed in your head, sending heat to your cheeks and making your stomach turn. You swallowed, clearing your throat as you started to stuff your pockets with weapons.

You wondered how it would feel if he was the one pulling your cargo pants down, his thumbs gracing against your hot skin. You wondered how the leather would feel against your thigh as you strapped on your knife holster, how he’d smell pressed against you. Sometimes, you even wondered if he was an alien underneath the armor.

You wondered if the Mandalorian wondered too.

“That’s enough of that bantha fodder,” you snapped to the empty air.

You left your ship and tossed a bag full of credits to the old woman, and she winked at you as she pocketed it.

The prince greeted you with a toothy smile and far too much enthusiasm for your still-aching brain. The walk to the palace had been good for ridding your head of him, as well as fine-tuning your plan for the night. Being escorted form the palace gates to the gilded doors by stoic helmeted guards was helpful, too; you knew what you were up against inside the palace walls. As the prince ushered you up the grand stairs from the foyer, apologizing for his guards’ lack of hospitality, you could only think of how good it would feel to show the Mandalorian up, show everyone what you could do. Imagining the looks on everyone’s faces when Karga handed you your reward made the fake smile on your face real for a few moments.

The disaster on that Outer Rim planet had stained your reputation in the Guild long enough. The chance to finally redeem yourself was walking next to you in an extravagant hallway, his ringed fingers brushing against yours. Finally, your bloody hands could be clean.

There was muffled chatter, and the sound of a door opening. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw a group of elegantly cloaked Pykes enter the hallway, their hushed voices stopping as you and the prince approached.

“Guests of mine,” he said under his breath, turning his head. He stopped walking and allowed them to approach the two of you, his flirtatious smile dropping in favor of something more formal.

“Prince Hartbos,” the Pyke in the center said, bowing. The rest followed suit, the movement stiff and forced.

It hit you that you didn’t remember the prince’s name. Not that you particularly cared—he was just a means to an end, a walking body of credits dressed in fancy fabrics with greasy hair and predatory eyes. Besides, it was best not to get attached to a quarry, even if one was inside of you. You never said their names, no matter how much they begged.

“Gentlemen,” he said, giving them a curt nod. “Can I expect you for…drinks later?”

You noticed his hesitation, the waver in his voice. Interesting. On the outside, you kept a cool, oblivious appearance, a soft smile painting your face. You were the picture of compliance and beauty, an accessory to the prince in this moment.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the Pyke in the center nodded.

“Good.” The prince turned to look at you again, placing a hand on the small of your back. You smiled sweetly at him. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I must attend to this lovely lady. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” the Pyke responded. The group bowed again, and the prince moved you along, pressing on your back.

As you walked away from them, you glanced back and saw a few of them staring at you with their unsettling black eyes. You whipped your head back around and bit the inside of your lip.

“I’m sorry for that disruption,” the prince said with a scowl. “They can be quite..” He trailed off as you approached another set of stairs that curved up to the right.

“Awkward?” You hesitantly suggested.

The sound of your shoes against the marble steps filled the brief silence before the prince exclaimed an “Aha!” and laughed.

“I think that word suits them perfectly, my dear,” he chuckled.

You reached the landing, and he guided you to a hall to the left. This was a different location than where you’d been last time, you realized; that might complicate things. Your heart sped up a bit as he led you down the marble hall with red wallpaper, mirrors decorating the space between large, gilded doors. One of the most interesting things about this palace, you noticed, was its lack of the standard sliding steel doors in favor of primitive wood. You did have to admit that the large, dark wood doors added drama to the palace; maybe that’s what the prince wanted. He opened the fourth door on the left, stepping back and gesturing for you to enter.

The room was even more lavish than the one you’d stayed in before; the stately white walls adorned with scenic paintings led up to a vaulted ceiling, a chandelier dangling down from the center. A long mirror hung to the left of the door, its glass pristine. The dark wooden bedframe accented the plush red sheets on the large bed, and matching carved, wooden tables were on each side of the headboard. An arched doorway facing the bed to the right of a large fireplace led to what you assumed to be a bathroom—you made a mental note to indulge yourself with the luxuries it held later. Across from the room’s heavy door was an open balcony, red curtains gently moving with the breeze.

The door clicked shut and you turned around to see the prince smiling at you.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” When you nodded in agreement, he looked around, sighing. “I wanted to give you the best room in the palace.”

“Well, you definitely delivered, my prince,” you said, walking to the fireplace and running a finger across the mantle.

“Only the best for you, my dear.” His voice sounded from behind you, and you heard his footsteps against the giant area rug covering most of the marble floor.

You jumped when you felt his hands on your waist, forcing you to turn and face him. His pointed face was the closest it had been to you since the ball, and when you noticed him leaning in, it was too late to thwart the kiss. When you parted, he smiled at you and stepped back, moving towards the door.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said with a wave. “I believe the maid left you something suitable to wear.”

As soon as he exited the room, you ran into the bathroom and rinsed your mouth out with water. This wasn’t your first kiss with some slimy quarry—nor would it be your last—but it was your first kiss that you felt strangely guilty for.

“Get yourself the fuck together,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face.

You decided to see what gaudy garment waited in the armoire for you. When blood-red fabric met your eyes, you gasped—it was the dress you’d worn to the ball.

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joel-millerr · 4 years ago

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What’s Your Favorite Color?

Chapter Seven of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.2k

Summary: reader is stuck on the Crest with Mando and the kid. what should be an uneventful trip turns into something that changes everyone on board.

Warnings: SMUT! rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, praise kink(?), aftercare, depictions of death, mentions of mental illness (even though the reader doesn’t explicitly say it--it’s more implied), slight spit play?

A/N: ok so this might be the dirtiest thing I've written but I'm just so proud of where this story is going and I hope you guys enjoy. also, the entire chapter takes place on the crest, and it’s one day :)

also big shoutout to @eznova who helped me with this chapter. LOVE U

I worry that your own attachment to the Mandalorian will be your undoing.

That eerie reminder echoes over and over in your mind as you wake up from one of the best nights of your life. It’s hard to control the stupid, shit-eating grin plastered on your face as you lie in Mando’s cot. You’re alone, but his scent—a delicious mix of soap and musk, fill your nostrils and if you close your eyes and focus hard enough, you can imagine him laying right next to you, wrapping strong, tree trunk sizes arms around you and placing chaste kisses all over your skin.

You couldn’t have planned falling for Mando so deeply and so quickly as you have, mainly considering that you haven’t known each other for very long, but you know damn well that if given the opportunity, you’d do everything over again.

Stars, you don’t even know what his name is.

What is his first name?

Should you ask him? You don’t want to come off imposing, and there’s a part of you that wants to wait until he chooses to share that information with you, rather than try to wrestle it out of him, but he’s shrouded in mystery, and that just reels you in even more. You really want to pick his brain, figure out what makes him him, but you don’t know if you’ll ever get that chance. There’s the possibility though, that after last night, he’ll be more vulnerable around you. Maybe you’ll both be more vulnerable and inclined to share each other’s pasts. After all, you’ve been pretty intimate with each other.

When you finally decide it’s probably time for you to get out of bed and face the potential awkwardness that could happen between you and Mando, the door to the cubby hole hisses open, with neither the kid nor Mando in sight. Your feet touch down on the cold ship’s floor, and you slip into your boots. Once on your feet, you feel an ache at the apex of your thighs. It stings and you have to basically have to walk with your thighs spread apart in order to ease some of the uncomfortableness between your legs. Every move you make is a reminder of the night before. You can even feel him inside you, stretching your walls to hug him perfectly. Kriff, you’re already wet and you only just woke up.

Hoping a sanisteam will wipe away the crude thoughts from your barely conscious mind, you take to the fresher and wake yourself up with a brisk rinse. Once you’re out and throw on yesterday clothes—you make a mental note to wash your only other garments, you’re about to head up to the cockpit when you hear Mando’s voice. Stopping at the ladder, you listen in on what he’s saying.

“…but you have to agree to go with them if they want you to. Understand?” His’s voice goes quiet for a moment. “Plus, I can’t train you. You’re too…powerful. Don’t you want to learn more of that Jedi stuff?”

It’s a damn shame how last night you had heard his true voice for the first time, unmodulated but still as deep and rough as it sounds with the distortion of his helmet, and probably won’t be privy to it for a while. You wish you could hear him, like really hear him, naked and untapped again but even if you don’t, it’ll just make last night even more significant.

You hear the Child coo in response before hearing Mando’s cadence again. “I agreed to take you back to your own kind, so that’s what I need to do.” There’s a brief pause. “You understand that, right?”

For the first time, you detect some sadness in Mando’s tone. Like he’s trying to reassure not only the kid but also himself that he needs to go through with this, that even though there might be a part of him that doesn’t want to let the Child go, in the end he has no choice in the matter. It tugs at your heartstrings. The Mandalorian, a seasoned warrior, a survivor, a bounty hunter—at war with himself and his own feelings.

You can’t help but feel guilty as well. Ahsoka had warned you that one day, you too would have to make a choice but after last night… It’s no longer as clear-cut as you initially thought it would be. Had this come to you even just six months ago, you wouldn’t have given it a second thought. You’d make the choice of being a Jedi, and forgo all attachments and dedicate your life to the Order. It wouldn’t be hard for you to set all your feelings aside—you’ve had many years of practice on that subject, but now things are completely upside down. It’s territory you’ve never been in before and Maker, that terrifies you. The longer you journey with the Mandalorian, the more you become weaved together like vines wrapping themselves around a duracrete structure. Similar to the ancient temples on Naboo, tightening and gripping in every nook and cranny until it’s impossible to separate one without destroying the other.

When you reach the floor of the cockpit, you watch Mando sit ever still in the pilot’s chair, with Grogu seated to his right. Your boots hitting the ground as you walk alerts the Child, his ears twitching in your direction and he giggles excitedly, holding that little durasteel ball in his hands.

“Morning,” you announce as you plop down in the seat to Mando’s left. Grogu peers at you with big eyes and makes grabby hands at you, so lean over and bring him into your lap.

“How long until we reach Coruscant?”

“A day or two,” he answers curtly, keeping his visor glued to the blues of hyperspace through the transparisteel.

“Oh, okay. Looks like we’ll have time to kill then.”

Mando rises from his seat, turns his body to you for just a moment before announcing his leave. “Does your blaster need cleaning?”

“Uh—maybe?”

He offers you a quick dip of the helmet before leaving the cockpit in one swift movement and heading down the ladder. Your eyebrows pull together as you stare at the empty doorway to the little room you and the Child are still seated in. Looking down at him, you whisper, “Why do I get the feeling he’s avoiding me?”

Grogu bats his eyes at you before gently sucking on the ball still firmly gripped in his claws. It’ll always amaze you how attached he is to that sphere. You might never know why it’s so important to him but then again, you suppose that it’s a secret between him and his caregiver.

“I wish I knew what was going on in that mind of his,” you confess—not necessarily to Grogu, but since he’s the only one around, you feel almost compelled to spew your concerns and confusions about everything that’s happened.

“What do we do, little guy? I suppose since you’ve had training, you’ll probably want to be found by a Jedi, right?”

Grogu mumbles something at you and for just a second, you think he might understand you.

“And you’re okay with leaving him?”

He coos almost sadly, and you can hear your heart shattering. This little creature has grown such an attachment to Mando. It’s exactly what Ahsoka said—Mando’s basically his father and truthfully, if your parents were still alive, you couldn’t imagine leaving them to join a group that shuns on attachments. It would take a strength that you couldn’t muster to pull yourself away from them, not after knowing the kind of pain of having to live without them.

“I’m scared, Grogu. Truthfully, I have no idea what to think about all this.”

Of course, he doesn’t say anything. He’s not even really paying attention, too busy staring at the little ball in his hands. It’s okay, though. It’s enough just for you to express your concerns aloud. Your mind can get cluttered if you think about everything all at once. The moments you convey your thoughts verbally, it forces you to focus on what you’re actually saying, rather than all the hypotheticals that bounce around in your head.

“Should I go down there?”

Again, Grogu says nothing, he doesn’t even look up at you. Eyeing where Mando sat just minutes ago, you feel like a teenager. You’re both adults, you can’t just tiptoe around each other, it’s not like there are many places to hide on the Crest, anyway. If he won’t come to you, you’ll just have to go to him.

Holding Grogu close to your chest, you take to the ladder and head down, being mindful not to accidentally hit his head on the rungs. Just as you reach the hull, you notice Mando facing one of the crates, his blaster completely taken apart, wiping the coil with a dirty rag. Placing Grogu in the bunk to your left, you lean on another crate and watch Mando dissect his weapon and clean every little bit of residue off his gun.

“How’s your shoulder?” Mando asks, back still turned to you.

“It’s fine, kinda aches a bit but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you answer, transfixed at the way Mando meticulously cleans his weapons. He’s nothing if not thorough.

“Mmm,” he hums low in his throat. The sound reminds you of the mind-altering grunts he made the night before when he was balls deep inside you, causing you to rub your thighs together at the memory. That sanisteam was supposed to get of these filthy thoughts.

It becomes suddenly very awkward in the hull and you get the feeling that you might be lingering. He clears his throat a few times but says nothing. There may not come another time where you could try to learn more about Mando, so now seems like right time. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you muster up the strength to finally ask him, “You were born on Mandalore?” Keeping your eyes down, staring at your feet because you just don’t have the nerve to look at him.

“No, Aq Vetina.”

“Oh… I thought—”

“I was a foundling.”

“Like Grogu.”

“Yes,” he answers deep in his throat.

It suddenly makes sense why Mando saved him from the Empire, and why Grogu’s still in his care. He sees himself in the Child. He sees the vulnerability, the childlike innocence and he understands that he is responsible for this little baby, at least until you find a Jedi that is.

“Do all Mandalorians hide their faces?” You ask curiously.

There’s not much that you know about Mandalorians. The few things you do know about them is that they’re almost impossible to find due to the Empire nearly wiping them all out, and that they’re some of the best—if not the best warriors in the galaxy. Given the fact that Mando hasn’t removed his helmet once since you’ve been around (until last night), you can assume he take his Creed very seriously, and can’t help but wonder if the Child has been fortunate to catching a glimpse of his face.

“No,” he answers methodically.

Already feeling like you’re pushing the limits of how many questions you can ask before he finally decides to shut you down and stops being so forthcoming, the genuine curiosity is sadly too strong for you to pull back. It’s not like you’ve ever had this much time around someone so secretive and mysterious as Mando, and there’s just too many pieces to this puzzle that you want to so desperately put together.

“So, why do you do it?”

“This is the—” he begins, but a chuff of air slips through your lips before he can finish speaking. “What?” He asks annoyingly, turning his body around to face you.

“I don’t know…” Your hands motion around you in an effort to find the right words. “I mean you did take off your helmet in front of me last night.”

“I did.” The words come out through gritted teeth.

“So, is the rule that you can’t take off the helmet or that you can’t show your face? Because there is a difference between the two.”

This must catch him off guard because Mando stays silent for a ridiculously long time. The two possibilities are that he’s considering what you’re saying—which you’re beginning to doubt, or he thinks you’re totally out of line and is choosing to ignore you. You have this bad habit of being pretty blunt and somewhat insensitive with the way you express yourself and that’s caused you some issues with others in the past, but it’s always gotten the results you wanted. Honestly, someone like Mando will probably have tough skin, so you’re pretty sure he can handle whatever you throw at him.

“When did this become an interrogation about what I choose and choose not to do?” He grumbles, resting his hands on his utility belt.

“Doesn’t really seem like you’re choosing…” you mumble under your breath, kicking the ground and keeping your eyes to the floor.

“What did you say?” He asks defensively, squaring his shoulders and then taking a step forward. Out of habit, you lean back further against the crate.

“I’m not trying to offend you,” you clarify, using the bottom of your foot to kick off the crate, and straightening your back. “I’m just trying to understand—”

“Why?”

“Well, we’re kinda stuck with each other for who knows how long, so we should take this time to get to know each other, don’t you think?” Raising an eyebrow at him, you rest your hands on your hips, waiting for him to either deflect or finally let his guard down and talk like two normal adults.

“I don’t see how that matters.”

Your jaw literally drops, completely dumbfounded. It during moments like this that you so desperately wish you could see what his facial expression is. Why does he continuously try to keep a distance between himself and every living thing in the galaxy? Is he scared of being vulnerable around someone else? That his reputation as a hardened Mandalorian warrior would be compromised if he so much as shared a tiny bit of information with you? Does he think a Mandalorian would come and strike him down for having his own opinion about his Creed? That questioning the only thing he knew since he was a child would be considered sacrilegious?

It’s pretty silly how worked up you’re getting right now, but the way Mando dismisses you, it stirs up that anger inside you that is so hard to control. He’s always pushing your buttons, just as you push his—only this time, you simply wanted to know a little more about him. Is that too much to ask for?

Do you continue to press him?

Do you let it go?

Announcing your defeat by drawling out a sigh, your hands drop to your sides, looking down at the ground because you can’t be bothered to look at him in the visor anymore. “All right, well I’m going to head up to the cockpit and um…” You try to come up with a quick excuse to leave the room as it’s becoming more and more awkward with each passing second, but unfortunately, nothing comes to mind. You result to turning on your heel and climbing up the ladder without another word, not bothering to wait and see if Mando comes up with something to say before you disappear.

Once you reach the doorway, the blues of hyperspace nearly blind you, and your hand comes up to give shade to your eyes as they adjust to the sudden change in brightness. You’ll need to find something to keep your mind occupied until you enter Coruscant airspace, because you’ll quite frankly drive yourself insane not doing anything, so you walk over to the control panel in front of Mando’s chair and begin running some diagnostics to see at what capacity the hyperdrive is operating at, see if there’s any leakage that you could fix inside the ship and any little thing that might need some maintenance. After running a few tests, you realize that unfortunately, Peli had fixed pretty much every little issue with the ship, so there really is nothing to fix in order to keep yourself busy.

Fuck.

Feeling defeated, you fall back onto your bum and sit on the cold floor, back leaning against one of the walls, resting your right arm on one of the passenger seats. You’ve always hated silence. With nothing to distract yourself with, your mind always ends up wandering, overanalyzing every little minute detail of your life, meticulously going over each moment in time and thinking of all the ways you could have done something different, how the choices you made were wrong, how things would be better off if you did x instead of y. It gnaws at you, until the only thing you feel like you can do to stop the voices inside your mind is to scream and lash out, causing pain to yourself and everyone around you.

Is this the work of the Dark Side or is it just your unstable mind?

Is it both—working together and tearing you apart from the inside out? Slowly picking your brain apart, section by section, nerve ending by nerve ending until all that’s left of you is the worthlessness of your existence, a make-up of atoms and tissue that can’t be controlled or understood?

Stars, you’re doing it again.

You can feel your mind retreating deeper and deeper into itself, wanting to disappear from all of this. Making yourself as small as you can, you pull your knees close to your chest, head dropping down between them while your palms rub the back of your head, grabbing fistfuls of your hair and clenching so hard you think you might end up ripping some right out of your head.

The harder you pull, the more anxious you become. Heartrate picking up steadily and the lump in your throat growing in size, it’s as if the space around you is screaming, that everything is spinning, which could explain all this anxiety you suddenly feel when in reality, it’s all just in your head. The cockpit is dead silent, there isn’t even the slightest sound coming from down in the hull. Everything is deafeningly still and yet you feel it’s all too loud, and you just want to scream. Scream until you feel your vocal cords explode or until there’s no air left in your lungs. Your body no longer feels like it’s yours, and instead it’s as if you’re just living inside of it, watching everything happen around you but not having any actual control over it.

Fuck fuck fuc kfuck fuck fuck

Being so wrapped up in your own mind, you don’t even hear Mando coming up the ladder. You don’t hear his heavy boots clanking against durasteel. You don’t even hear him speaking to you. All you feel is a presence and when you finally lull your head back and peek through heavy lids, you see Mando—on his fucking knees, trying to comfort you. One of his hands hovering over your figure like he’s not sure whether to touch you or not.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks as softly as he possibly can. It comes out smooth like honey but still sitting at a low register through his helmet.

“I’m fine,” you answer curtly, no longer feeling particularly chatty.

He sighs deep in his throat, and you can tell he wants to ask you again, maybe hoping he’ll get the truth this time, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a step back and sits down on the chair opposite the one you’re closest to and stays as silent as a statue. While normally you appreciate the company, right now you want to be left alone, but you don’t have the heart to tell him to leave. So, you stay where you are, both acting like the other isn’t there.

As time ebbs on, your breathing has slows down. Mando being there—despite not saying anything, has you distracted. Your mind’s starting to settle on what’s going on at the present time, rather than all the thoughts that clawed at you just minutes ago. Without even realizing it, he’s helped you significantly.

“How old are you?”

Taken aback by his sudden engagement in conversation, you lean into the wall behind you and feel your shoulders touch the cold durasteel.

“Sorry?” you ask, pulling your eyebrows closely together. This might be the first time he’s ever asked you something personal. When Mando asks a question, it’s usually because he’s searching for clarification, not because he’s genuinely curious.

“How old are you?” He repeats.

You tell him your age and he hums in his throat.

“What about you?”

Something like a chuckle emits from his helmet before answering. “Older than you.”

That’s as close to an actual answer as you’ll get from him.

Okay, since you’re back to asking trivial questions about each other, “Is there anything you like to do for fun?”

“Fun?” He echoes.

“Yeah. Like, what do you do for enjoyment?”

He stays silent for much longer than you expected. Maker, does he not know how to have fun? Maybe it’s the way you worded the question?

“What brings you pleasure?”

His head turns to you and cocks ever so slowly to the side. It’s impossible to hide the annoyance on your face. Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms against your chest, a chuff of air releases from your nostrils.

“Forget it.”

“I…don’t know,” he answers somewhat defeatedly. The idea that Mando doesn’t know what having fun is comes as quite a shock to you. Even though you didn’t have much knowledge on Mandalorians, you didn’t expect that they were unable to have fun.

“Okay, forget that question. What’s your favorite color?”

“Who has a favorite color?”

“People, Mando. People have favorite colors.”

“I don’t.” Letting out a gentle laugh, you use the palms of your hands to push against the floor and rise off the ground, slipping into the chair you were leaning on previously. Turning your body in the direction of the Mandalorian sitting across from you, you sit cross legged.

“There isn’t a color that you gravitate towards? One you look at and think, ‘I like that’?”

“I suppose I never thought of it.”

He’s been missing out on so much. How he’s been going through life without having these mundane preferences or opinions on things is…almost unfathomable. Every person you’ve ever met has had these frivolous details that made them different, giving you an insight into their personalities but Mando has no preference on anything. He just…exists.

“I’m assuming you have one?” he asks through the modulator.

“Yellow,” you begin to say. “But not a flashy kind of yellow, more like a dusty, pale yellow.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is that your favorite color?”

“I don’t know, Mando,” you answer with a smile on your face. “I just like how it looks. It’s warm and inviting.”

“Hmmm.”

“I guess… It reminds me of the sun. Back home, the sun would shine so bright, and it was so big. I used to stare at it even though my mother warned me not do that.”

He doesn’t say anything more but given that this might be the longest casual conversation you two have ever had, it’s quite the improvement from just saying a couple words to each other.

“Why do you always wear your armor?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We’re in hyperspace right now and you’re geared up for battle. Doesn’t it get uncomfortable always wearing your armor? Isn’t it heavy?”

“It is heavy.”

Eyebrows knitting tightly together, your lips press into a thin line, unamused by Mando dancing around your question.

“Are… Are you not even allowed to at least take off your armor in front of another person?”

“I never thought about it. I’m usually alone so it makes sense to keep it on; in case.”

“In case what? We’re not going to get attacked in hyperspace.”

“It’s not impossible.”

“Seriously, Mando. You need to loosen up a bit.”

“I do not need to ‘loosen up’. I’m fine,” he says, a hint of derision in his voice.

“Says the guy in full body armor all the time.”

“It’s practical.”

“Oh, it’s practical,” you mock, a grin creeping up on your lips.

“Yes.”

“Even when you’re fucking someone?” You remark, eyebrow raised.

The visor burns into you. He’s definitely caught off guard by your brass question. Your lips curl into a sly smile, your tongue darting across your bottom lip.

“No one’s complained about it.”

Oh.

It’s kind of silly how angry that statement makes you. Okay, not necessarily angry but it definitely stirs something deep inside you. It’s clear by the way he fucked you last night that you weren’t his first—he’s obviously experienced in that area. However, you can’t help the way your jaw clenches at the thought of someone else crying out his name while he fucks them senseless.

You’re mine.

Thighs rubbing together as you remember Mando’s confession from last night, it’s quickly replaced by the thought of him saying that to someone else. Has he said that to anyone else? Are you reading into this too much? What if the only reason he said it was because it was in the heat of the moment? People say things during intimacy that they don’t necessarily mean… You’re definitely overthinking things, right?

“What are you thinking?” He beckons, voice hitting that part inside of you that nearly has you fucking moaning on the spot. How can a voice be so intoxicating? It’s not even his true voice, it’s distorted and cuts up like static but it has you nearly soaked in your seat.

“Nothing,” you lie, hoping he’ll drop the subject and move on.

He doesn’t.

“You’re quiet and from what I can tell, your heat signature’s gone up.”

Your what? “My heat sig—? No, your helmet must be malfunctioning.”

“Oh,” he rises from his seat slowly, squaring his shoulders as he does but doesn’t take a step towards you. He stays painstaking still, visor never once breaking away from you. “Is that right?”

Stars. Your heartbeat is picking up, palms starting to sweat, and your throat is beginning to close up. Your eyes maintain their gaze, trying to regain some kind of control over the situation. It’s childish, really—always attempting to have even the slightest amount of authority over whatever situation you’re put in with Mando because you never actually have any control. He may fool you into thinking you do, but at the end of the day, Mando is always the one in control.

“Your heat signature is burning up, pretty girl,” he taunts.

Kriff, this is not going the way you want it to go. You can’t be the only one looking foolish right now. If he wants to play the game, you can play it too, and you’ll make damn sure you play it better.

Looking him up and down trying to pinpoint any indication that he may not be as calm and collected as he’s playing off, your eyes drop to the bulge in his pants. As your vision pierces into him, you notice him shift his weight slightly, his hands balled tightly into fists by his sides.

“Why so tense, Mando?”

“I’m not—”

“Oh,” you echo his words from just minutes ago. Slowly slipping out of the chair, you stand to face him, squaring your shoulders. Pleasure heats up deep in your stomach, travelling down to the apex of your thighs, reminding you of how sore you actually are. “Is that right?”

“Stop that,” he warns. You got him.

“Not doing anything,” your voice sounding as innocent as you can while your eyes convey the opposite. You want him to know that you won’t give in so easily.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Do—” he starts but quickly composes himself. Craning his neck, his next words drip out of him slowly. “Drive me crazy.”

“Any of your other friends ever drive you crazy?”

Okay, that was a low blow, but you can’t shake the thought from your mind. For Maker’s sake, you’re an adult. Obviously he’s had lovers before, why is this so hard for you to accept? It’s not like you guys are together, you’re simply stuck with each other for the time being. Not only that, but you’ve had your fair share of men. He doesn’t seem to be jealous about that.

I’ll kill anyone who comes close to you.

“Mmm, are you… jealous?”

“Maker, no.” Lie.

“Then why are your cheeks red?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkfuck

Why does your face always have to give you away? You can play sabacc with the best deadpan expression in the galaxy, but right now you can’t even hide your resentment. How is Mando able to get under your skin and expose your every emotion, every thought? He pulls it out of you and basically presents it to you on a fucking platter.

“Because you annoy the shit out of me.”

“Your body is telling me otherwise.”

“Stop cheating! I can’t read your body heat, that’s not fair.”

“I’m not trying to play fair.”

All right, if this is how he wants to play, you’ll just have to be bolder. Taking a deep breath and exhaling through parted lips, your left foot moves forward, taking one big stride towards Mando, stopping just inches from his breastplate. You can practically feel his own heat vibrating off of him. His fists tighten even more, and you swear you can hear his breathing quicken, cutting up in the helmet.

“You’re not the only one who can play games, Mando.”

He makes a noise in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a groan. Stars, the air is getting thick, you’re all but drunk on this feeling. Your undergarments are stuck to your pussy, drenched with slick, waiting for someone to make the first move. The blood is pounding in your ears, but you try to maintain the best stony stare you can muster. This is a fight you’re not willing to lose. You bite down on your bottom lip, staring into the ‘T’ of his helmet through hooded lids. His chest pushes out slightly and his head angles to the side, just enough for you to see the underneath of his jaw. There’s some stubble poking out from the bottom of his helmet, and you lick your lips at the sight. Wanting to put your lips to his jawline and trail wet kisses along it, gently sucking at his skin. Maker, you might end up losing this if you don’t compose yourself.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice hoarse and low.

“For you to lose,” your answer is honest. You want him to break down and give in, just to give you the slightest bit of power.

Mando lets out this sound, a joyful sound you’ve only heard once or twice before but it nearly throws you for a loop. Hearing him laugh, even if it’s quick and low, fills you up with the greatest amount of delight. To see someone who’s always stoic and serious let out a sound of pure pleasure, it makes up for all the times he purposely chooses to get under your skin. All the moments he infuriates you, it all goes away with the sound of his laugh.

At this moment, you’re grateful that his face is covered because you definitely would have crushed your lips together by now. His helmet actually works to your advantage, holding you back from doing the one thing you would have otherwise done by now.

“I’m not touching you,” he whispers. It sounds less like a statement to you and more like a reminder to himself. He’s fighting his urges just as much as you are, but you will continue to fight this until he breaks, he has to break.

“Then don’t.”

All of sudden, you both hear a disturbance coming from the hull. The kid must be getting into trouble down there.

“I’ll go check on him,” you tell him, choosing not to wait for Mando to say anything in return before making your way to the ladder of the cockpit. Fighting the urge to take one last look at him before disappearing down the rungs, you head down to the hull and see Grogu rummaging through the various crates placed around the Crest. Once he sees you, he shows you a big toothy grin and runs straight for you, arms stretched out. You bend down and pick him up, holding him close to your chest.

“Hey, kiddo. What trouble are you getting yourself into down here?”

Grogu babbles something at you and you smile in return. A small grumble, something like an animal growling, comes from the baby’s stomach and his ears droop down.

“Hungry, little guy? Let’s see what we got for you.”

Walking down the hull with the kid in your arms, you stop at the small closest Mando keeps his ration packs. There aren’t many packs left, just enough to hold all three of you down until you land on Coruscant. After that, you’ll need to buy some more packs. Grabbing one of the packages and a bowl from one of the shelves, you prop the kid on one of the smaller crates and begin emptying the contents of the pack in the durasteel dish.

It’s a dark green looking blob. Quite frankly, you hate ration packs. They always look like food that’s been mashed together into a jelly bar and even despite the fact that once you add water to it so that it actually looks like food, just the sight of it in its raw form is enough to ruin your appetite. The kid doesn’t care about all that though; he’d eat anything you give him. Back on Sorgan, you had seen him eat a frog whole—just swallowed it without even a second thought. It was impressive and yet totally gross at the same time.

Leaving him on the box momentarily, you walk over to the sink in the privy and let a few droplets of water touch the blob in the bowl. Within seconds, the bar transforms into a small bread roll. It’ll hopefully be enough to tie him down for a few hours.

Passing by the ladder, you call out to Mando. “Hey, I’m about to feed the kid. Do you want to come down for a meal?”

“Not hungry. Thank you,” you hear him answer. He never eats with you two. Given that he needs to take off his helmet in order to feed himself, he chooses to wait until you’re both asleep or nowhere in sight, but that doesn’t stop you from asking each time. Part of it is so that he feels included but mostly you hope that one day he’ll choose to sit with you both. One day, you think to yourself.

When you hand the bowl over to Grogu gently, he takes it with both hands and begins eating the bread like it’s the first meal he’s ever had. Your brows pull tightly together as you watch him devour his food. For such a small creature, he sure eats like a bantha. He could probably eat for a whole day without stopping to catch his breath.

It’ll never seize to amaze you just how strong this little guy is. He’s so tiny and somehow, he possesses a power stronger than you could ever really understand. This is the same kid that saved Mando’s life from a mudhorn. This is the kid that swallowed a whole frog that was half his size. A child this small is somehow a Jedi.

Once he’s done eating, he peers up at you with big, black eyes and coos at you.

“Nah, I’m not hungry right now, kid,” you answer as if you understand what he’s saying to you. Then again…maybe you can understand him.

Ahsoka said she and Grogu could feel each other’s thoughts. You should be able to do the same, right? Granted you have no training in the matter, but you were able to communicate with him once, surely you could do it again.

Your hand reaches out to him and you hook a finger around his hand. He grips around your index and squeezes you tenderly. Closing your eyes, you try to imagine what he could be thinking, what he might be trying to tell you. At first, you don’t hear or see anything—just darkness. A part of you wants to give up, nothing that it was worth a shot anyway, but you choose to press on. Focusing hard on Grogu, you relax the tension in your shoulders and take a deep breath, exhaling through your lips.

By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind…

A woman’s voice fills your mind, but you can’t make out any of her features. Focus, you tell yourself.

You are as its father.

A Mandalorian. She looks different than Mando. Her helmet looks to be made of gold, with horns erecting from the very top. Her armor appeared to be different as well. Unlike Mando’s shiny, chrome beskar, her cuirass is a reddish brown and instead of a cape, she wears a fur coat on her back. Immediately, you got the impression she’s a warrior of her own nature, just as cunning as Mando, but in a swifter, more agile way, unlike Mando’s brash style of battle.

Just as the moment appeared, it vanished, filling your mind with images of sand dunes. Suddenly, you’re back in Mos Eisley. Only this time, you’re much younger, playing on the outskirts of the city with Tye.

“Tye, I’m tired,” you whine out to him. He’s running around the sand, punting a ball at you and then taking it away when you opt not to kick it back to him.

“Oh come on, we have to head back soon anyway. Just a little bit longer.”

It’s hard to hide your disappointment. Really, you just want to be inside. Today is such a blazingly hot day, and water is at its peak in scarcity. Most folks will be inside all day, avoiding the scorching heat. Less time outdoors means less water consumed, but Tye never listens to what he’s told. He does whatever he wants and drags you along with him and unfortunately, you have a hard time saying no to him, so you’re almost always roped into his shenanigans.

“Tyyyyyyye,” you drawl out. “I want to go inside! It’s too hot!”

Just as you say that a giant spacecraft enters the atmosphere, covering the entire surrounding area in shadows. You look up at the giant structure in awe. You’ve never seen a spacecraft so grand before, jaw dropping as you watch two smaller vessels appear from the hovering fortress above your heads. They drop down a little less than a click away. By now, Tye is at your side, both of you watching men in white uniforms exit the ships, charging towards your direction. An immediate fear washes over you, grabbing Tye’s wrist and running to hide behind a nearby moisture vaporator. Your heart is racing, and you feel Tye’s own panic coursing through your veins.

“Wh-what’s going on?” He whispers, voice shaking as he speaks.

“I don’t know…”

The men pass you by, not even taking a second to look around them. Their heads stay glued to what’s in front of them, hands gripping onto giant guns you’ve never seen before. Just as fast as they came, they disappear into the city. Screams and shrieks suddenly break out. People scatter, running out of the city walls in mass hysteria. Your legs itch to run, to find your parents, but Tye senses your urgency and grabs your forearm.

“We have to stay.”

“But—”

He whispers your name. “We don’t know who those people are. We’re safer here.”

Your bottom lip begins to quiver. Tears form in the corners of your eyes as the screams of the villagers echo through the city walls, causing you to wince. Tye wraps his arms around you, and you embrace each other, weeping silently in each other’s arms, praying to the Maker that these soldiers leave. The sound of Tye repeating, “It’s okay. We’re okay,” echoing in your mind.

It’s only when the sun begins to set that the town becomes quiet. The spacecrafts are gone, leaving no trace that they were even here. Your eyes are swollen from the tears, and you feel overwhelmingly exhausted. Body still shaking, burning off adrenaline and fear. Standing up is difficult, your knees are buckling but the need to see your parents is stronger than the quaking of your legs. You wake Tye up by shaking his shoulder gently.

“They’re gone. We have to head back.”

He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palms. At first it doesn’t seem like he fully understands you, but when he looks up and doesn’t see the ship from before, he all but jumps up, dusting the sand off his clothes and charging right into the city.

“Tye! Wait up!” You shout after him, but he doesn’t relent. Taking large strides, you attempt to catch up with him, running past weeping elders, hysterical children, and what appears to be dead bodies all around you. Your mind doesn’t allow you to process what you’re seeing, you’re just too focused on catching up with Tye and then finding your parents.

His name being called in the distance stops him dead in his tracks.

“Mama! Papa!” He cries out, pivoting around in hopes to see someone he knows. When you finally manage to catch up to him, his mother appears from the shadows, tears streaming down her face. From the faint streetlights, her cheeks are dark red, and her eyes are just as swollen as you assume yours are.

“Sweetheart!” She shouts as she races to you both, wrapping you up in her arms and squeezing you until the air is all but knocked out of your lungs. It hurts, but you hold on to her anyway, feeling her warm, motherly touch.

“Where’s Papa?” He asks in the crook of his mother’s neck. Tye’s voice is hoarse from crying and yelling, and she attempts to soothe him by gently shushing him.

“It’s okay, son. We’re okay.”

“I have to get home,” you say, pulling away from her grip.

“Honey…”

The look on her face… you’ll never forget it. Tears welling up in her eyes, her jaw slacking because she wants to say something but not knowing how to say it. The pain you see in her green eyes, it’s like she’s just watched a loved one die right in front of her. Fear and anguish hit you in waves, crashing down on you more aggressively with every second that goes by.

“No…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Taking a step away from her, her arm reaches out to you.

“Sweetie…” she tries again.

Shaking your head in panic, you turn on your heel in one swift movement and disappear down one of the quieter streets and make for your home. As you race in the direction of your dwelling, your heart bangs against your ribcage, tears flying down your cheeks. You can’t even see where you’re going due to the water in your eyes, but you keep trekking on. Nothing’s going to stop you. Throat unbearably tight, you can barely let in little breaths as you turn the corner to where you live.

When you reach the street, you stop so suddenly that you almost tumble down on the ground, somehow managing to catch yourself at the last moment, your breathing ridiculously erratic. There’s a horde of adults crowding the front door to where you live. Your feet carry you to them at a painstakingly slow pace. Blood pounding in your ears, you can barely make out what anyone is saying. When someone finally catches sight of you, they rush towards you, dropping down to their knees to meet your eye level.

“Sweetie, we can’t let you go in there.”

“But t-t-that’s my h-ho-me,” you manage to say through shaky breaths.

“I know, but we ca—”

You push passed them before they can finish speaking and dart passed several other people trying to stop you until you squeeze through the half-open door into your house, pressing a button on the control panel by the doorway. The door hisses shut.

There’s only a bit of light offered inside. To your left, you see the table you’d sit at with your parents for supper. The chairs are tucked neatly under the table. You’re not sure if the banging you hear is from someone outside trying to get in, or if it’s your heart thumping against your chest but it doesn’t deter you from searching for your parents.

As you continue to scan the area, there’s a couple of cups lying around on the counter, but other than that, nothing is out of place. Relief begins to settle in but is rapidly replaced by sheer terror when you finally shift your head to the right. Then, you see them.

Your parents lying face down on the floor.

“No!” You cry out, running to them and dropping to your knees to hover over their bodies.

There’s a blaster sized hole in your father’s back, heat still steaming off his wound. Your screams could be heard from the other end of the city, clutching onto their lifeless bodies as you beg for them to wake up.

“Please, wake up. Mama, Papa. P-please!”

Someone pulls you off of them, wrapping their arms around your torso. Your arms flail around, clawing and scratching at whoever’s holding onto you. “Let me go! My parents! Let me go!” Your voice is shrill and hoarse, becoming more hysterical, but they never let go. Your parents become smaller and smaller as you’re carried away from them. The last thing you remember is seeing the door to your home whoosh shut…

Your body jolts, and you’re not on Tatooine, anymore. You’re on the Razor Crest. Grogu sits just a foot away from you, peering up at your shivering body. Somehow, you exposed a memory you had sworn to never remember. After that day, you locked that memory up in a part of your brain and shut it off, choosing never to think about it again. The pain was too much for you to handle. Instead of facing your pain, you always chose to ignore it, to pretend it didn’t exist. Once again, compartmentalizing your trauma and locking it away for good.

Grogu fusses and when you look down to him, his eyes begin to flutter. Poor thing gets so sleepy whenever he messes with the Force. You pick him up and hold him close to your chest, making your way to Mando’s bunk. As you pass the ladder, the kid fusses and makes grabby hands for the ladder.

“You want Mando?” You ask him, and Grogu babbles in response.

Climbing the ladder with him in your arms is a bit difficult, but you’re able to get to the top without too much of a struggle.

“He wants to be with you,” you tell him.

Mando swivels his chair around to face you. Extending his arms out to you, you hand Grogu over to him and your hands briefly touch. The brushing of your hands suddenly reminds you of the game you were in the middle of playing just before the kid decided to explore the cargo hold.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Turning on your heel, you head down the ladder quickly. How is it that over the course of just a few hours, you could go through so much emotional turmoil? Honestly, you haven’t even been awake for that long, but you’re already wanting to take a nap.

Fuck it, there’s nothing else to go in this hunk of metal, and Mando’s probably busy with the kid, so you decide to let your body rest. Crawling into the little cubby hole and shutting the door closed, you close your eyes and hope your body will allow you some peace of mind.

You’re reminded of why you hate naps so much when you wake up. Instead of feeling refreshed, you always end up feeling much worse. First off, you always wake up in a cold sweat and feeling super groggy. Quite frankly, it does the exact opposite of what you hoped a nap would do. Secondly? Mando’s cot is unbearably hard. It shouldn’t be considered a bed; it resembles more like duracrete than anything else. As much as you like finally being able to sleep not sitting up in that kriffing passenger chair, this is another struggle of its own.

Pushing the button on the control panel by the door, it opens with a swift motion. The first thing you clock is that the Crest’s lights are almost all out, making it damn near impossible for you to even see your hand in front of your face. How in the hell is Mando able to walk around here not being able to see a single thing? The second thing you notice is the sound of running water. He must be taking a sanisteam.

To think that just on the other side of that wall, he’s naked and wet? If it were anybody else, you’d strip out of your clothes and join them, but things aren’t that simple with Mando. There are boundaries you wouldn’t dare cross unless he gives you his consent. Rather than frustrate you, it entices you even more. It keeps you wanting more and more, especially because he can’t just give you everything you want, whenever you want. No, you have to work for it.

Realizing that now you’re basically just standing outside the fresher like a creep, you head up to the cockpit in search of the kid. Just like you suspected, he’s sound asleep in one of the passengers’ chairs, wrapped up in what looks to be Mando’s cape. The thought of Mando taking off his cape to wrap Grogu up makes you stupidly giddy.

Treading carefully as to not make any noise to wake him up, you tiptoe back to the ladder and shut the cockpit door, your feet barely touching the rungs as you descend back down to the hull.

Something in your stomach growls, and you’re suddenly reminded that you haven’t eaten since… yesterday? Kriff, has it really been that long since your last meal? You head over to the pantry where the packs are kept, extending your arms out in front of you so you don’t bang into anything on your way there, and grab the first pack your hand touches, not having a preference as to what you’ll be eating today—tonight? You don’t even know what time of the day it is. Time in hyperspace can be difficult to keep track of. The only way you’d know what time it is is if you checked the control panel back up in the cockpit and right now, it’s just not worth the trip.

The pack itself feels sloshy in your hands; it’s probably some kind soup. Reaching into the closet again, your hand searches for a bowl to put your meal in.

Mando will be out of the fresher at any moment now, given that the water’s been turned off for a minute or two. The door to the fresher wooshes open and out of reflex, you shut your eyes but are quickly reminded that the hull is so faintly lit that even with your eyes open you wouldn’t be able to see him, but just to be safe, you announce your presence.

“I heard you,” is all you hear back.

“Can you turn the lights on a little bit more? I can barely see a thing and I really don’t feel like dropping my soup all over your ship.”

He doesn’t answer but within seconds the Crest transforms from a dark abyss to a twinkling, starry night. Not unlike the ones you’d spend hours staring at with Tye in the sand dunes during your teenage years.

Your head spins to your left, selfishly hoping to catch a sight of Mando, and Maker do your eyes latch onto him.

He’s not wearing a shirt, first of all. This is the most of his skin that you’ve ever seen before. The warm lights flickering off his back accentuates the curves of his muscles, concaving in certain areas and then protruding in others, outlining every bit of toned tissue. You can vaguely make out a few water droplets trailing down his golden skin, and it’s seriously taking all the self-control you have not to close the gap between you both and lick them off his back. An ache begins to build in the apex of your thighs, and you start to rub your legs together in an effort to alleviate some of the heat stirring inside you. Still wearing the kriffing helmet, though.

The second thing you notice is the vast amount of scarring on his skin. Each scar representing a different battle. You could probably lay him flat on his stomach, and his back would appear like a visual biography of his life, each mark giving you an understanding into his past, and the tests and trials he’s had to overcome over the years.

What were you trying to do, again?

Food.

You need food.

“Do you—” you squeak. Pull yourself together. Clearing your throat in hopes your tone will go back down to its normal octave, you repeat yourself. “Do you want any soup?”

“No t—” he begins to say but you cut him off before he can finish. You knew he’d say he wasn’t hungry.

“Have you eaten today?” Your eyes stay glued to the bowl in front of you. You’re certain that if you so much as looked at him again, you’d forget about the damned soup and pounce on him like loth cat.

“No.”

“Then you’re eating.”

Taking a second bowl from the shelf, you divide the soup evenly between both cups and begin making your way over to Mando, keeping your head down in the off chance he’s still not wearing a shirt, you don’t want to seem like you’re gawking at him.

“You can look,” he clarifies, noting the way you refuse to look up from ground.

When your eyes finally shift from the ground to look at him, he’s now wearing a black long-sleeved tunic that hugs his figure in ways that should be illegal. Your jaw is practically hanging and swallowing the lump in your throat causes a sound somewhere close to a moan to expel from your mouth, but you’re quick enough to stifle it with a cough.

As you hand him the bowl of soup, you’re feeling incredibly shy for some reason, your hand extending out and trembling as he takes it from you.

“I’ll eat in the cockpit to give you some privacy,” you tell him as you put your hand on the railing.

“No,” he says immediately, grabbing your forearm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stay.”

Lips curling upwards into a smile, you end up biting down on your bottom lip to keep the smile from growing and growing as you replay that in your mind.

Stay.

Moving away from the ladder, Mando pulls out one of the smaller crates and seats himself down on it. As you begin to look around for another box you could sit on yourself, he watches you closely.

“You can sit here, if you want.”

“Oh, okay.”

Once you’re seated, you begin to take small sips of your soup. Mando reaches over to where his vambrace is—scattered somewhere on another crate and presses a button on it. The Crest’s lights fade even more, leaving you both in almost complete darkness.

A muffled hiss fills the air, and you hear beskar touch the durasteel ground. You eat in silence for a few minutes, hearing only each other’s sips as you continue to fill your bellies with food. It’s incredibly domestic. A Mandalorian and a��well you’re not really sure what you should label yourself as, but you’ll stick with smuggler for now; the two of you eating together like an actual couple—even if that’s far from what your relationship actually is.

“No amour?” You decide to ask, trying to make a bit of small talk in the pitch-black abyss.

“Someone told me I had to ‘loosen up’,” he jests, knocking his elbow against your arm. Maker, you’ll never get tired of hearing that unmodulated voice of his. Something as simple of a voice shouldn’t make you feel the way it does. For a man who kills for a living, he speaks with such a gentle intonation.

It’s such a juxtaposition, really. In full body armor, Mando is definitely one of the most feared hunters in the galaxy. He’ll kill if something threatens his life or the kid’s life. Impossible to read, impossible to predict. But right now? He’s the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him. No helmet, no amour. His guard is as down as you’ve ever seen and is willing himself to be naked with you, even if he’s still fully clothed. How you were able to find yourself in this situation is something you might never be able to fully understand, but it is truly the greatest gift you could have ever been given.

“I’m sorry about before,” you whispers, feeling guilty about how you approached the question about his helmet. “I didn’t mean to pressure you about your Creed.”

It’s not fair for you to come down so hard on him. You might not understand why he chooses to live his life with such restrictions, but it really isn’t any of your business.

“It’s fine.”

You still feel angry with yourself for acting the way you did, but if Mando says it’s fine, the last thing you’ll do is continue your self-loathing and make him feel uncomfortable about the whole thing.

Taking the last sip of soup and feeling satisfied with your meal, you push yourself to your feet. “Are you finished?” you ask him.

“Yes, thank you.”

You search aimlessly in the dark for a moment in search of his dish and accidentally knock the bowl right out of his hand, hearing it tumble on the ground.

“Shit, sorry,” you curse, dropping to your knees in search for it. While frantically searching for the dish, you feel his hand caress the small of your back, sending shivers through your spine.

You’re starting to feel pretty flustered, the fact that you’re both in the darkness doesn’t help. There’s no way of anticipating what could happen and that’s exhilarating and unnerving. Of course, you eventually find the bowl and Mando’s hand disappears from your back once you get back on your feet.

Walking over to the pantry where the ration packs are, you place the bowls on the shelf, making a mental reminder to wash them later. Just as you’re about to turn around and head back to where you think Mando is, you suddenly feel a presence behind you. Two hands grip onto either side of your hips and he presses his body against yours, pushing you right up against the little closet. A moan escapes your lips without even realizing it, and you can feel his hot breath tickle the crook of your neck.

“I’ve wanted to touch you all fucking day,” he growls in your ear.

Holy Maker, the heat in your stomach is somehow already becoming too much. You’re basically panting, the blood in your ears is almost deafening.

“I’ve been watching the way you’re walking. Did I hurt you? Do you still feel me?”

“Stars,” you breathe out.

Mando presses his lips to your skin, sending shockwaves through your entire core. You can feel his stubble prick your neck and it’s everything you didn’t know you craved. It feels deliciously rough.

Your hands brace themselves against the door, it’s the only way you can keep yourself upright. Knees already buckling, feeling the heat pooling from your cunt and drenching your underwear with slick. One of his hands begin to trail away from your hip and trace the waistband to your trousers. Instead of teasing you though, his hand wastes no time pushing passed your pants and panties, finding his way down to your cunt and cupping it with such force you jerk forwards, groaning as his hand finds your clit.

“Already so wet for me.”

Fingers leaving your bud, he slides them between your folds, gathering your slick on his calloused fingertips and then he’s shoving a thick finger deep inside you. His free hand flies to your throat, applying slight pressure with his thumb and index on that sweet spot underneath your jawline.

“Fuck,” you cry out brokenly. It doesn’t fill you up nearly as much as his cock does, but the way he moves inside of you, hitting that spot inside you no one has ever touched, marking it as his, causes you to see fucking stars.

Mando nips at your neck, alternating between sloppy kisses and bites hard enough to cause bruises, you can already feel an orgasm stirring inside you. You clench around his digit, feeling yourself climb higher and higher.

“Are you already close?” He mutters in between kisses and nibbles.

“Shit, fuck I-I think so.”

Your hand finds its way to the back of his head, grabbing fistfuls of his soft, damp locks and pulling hard, causing Mando to groan in your ear and buck his hips into yours. You can feel the outline of his rock-hard rock against your ass, and you grind into him, feeling his length burrow between your cheeks. You’re so close to your climax already.

Without missing a beat, he pulls out of you and his hand disappears from between your thighs.

“W-why?”

Grabbing your hips, he flips you around to face him.

“Up,” he instructs.

You linger there for a moment, unsure of what he’s asking you to do. When you don’t move, his hands grab onto your waist and lift you off the ground without so much of a groan. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms cross around the back of his neck, your head leaning on his shoulder. He walks over to the little bunk in the corner of the hull and lowers you onto the mattress gently, being mindful not to hit your head on the small doorway.

Feeling your heart pound against your ribcage, the thrill of not being able to see him at all and not having a clue as to what he’ll do next, it’s incredibly sensual. Your legs unwrap themselves from his waist and dangle off the edge of the cot. His hands trail up to the waistband of your pants and tugs them down off your ass. Lifting your hips up to help him, he takes them—along with your underwear, off and you hear them thump to the floor.

Hands returning to your skin, he hooks thems under your calves and lifts them up so your bent at the knees, feet resting on the edge of the bunk.

The anticipation is getting to you. He continues to take his agonizingly sweet time running the tips of fingers on your naked skin, causing you to shiver and goosebumps to form on your skin. Lifting one of your legs and placing it over his shoulders, he peppers kisses from your ankle all the way to your inner thigh and repeats the same taunt with the other leg. Both of them now resting on his shoulders, he drops to his knees in front of you. Suddenly feeling nervous, you try to close your legs and end up squeezing his head by accident.

“Shit, sorry,” you whisper, propping yourself on your elbows.

“Shhh,” he hushes, placing a large hand on your sternum and pushing you back down on the cot gingerly, and then his lips are on your skin again, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites all over your inner thighs, slowly getting closer to your throbbing pussy but never getting close enough to relieve the pressure building.

“Mando, please,” you whimper.

“Do I have to gag you?”

Shit… How is he able to make that sound so fucking hot?

“I’m going to take care of you, but you have to be quiet. Can you do that?” His voice is gentle but commanding.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Good girl.”

His tongue glides over your clit and there’s no controlling the moan that rips through you. Pulling away immediately, Mando stands up and presses his body into yours, his mouth merely inches away from yours, his large hand cupping just underneath your jaw.

“What did I say, pretty girl?”

You can feel his hot breath on your lips. If you just moved even the littlest bit forward, your lips would meet his. Licking your lips, you wrench your eyes shut to keep you from closing the gap.

“To be quiet,” you manage to say through ragged breaths.

“So be quiet,” he hisses, feeling his teeth sink into your bottom lip for just a second and then his weight is off you, returning to your thighs. His arms wrap around your thighs, keeping them pinned over his shoulders. Now, he wastes no time lapping you up, flicking your clit with his tongue with such a mind-blowing rhythm you have to throw your arm over your mouth and bite down on your skin to keep from making any noise. Mando never relents, developing the perfect torture. He plays with your bud then practically shoves his entire fucking face in your cunt, pushing his tongue inside you as far as it can go. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to bubble up to the surface, threatening to burst. It’s all too much, your body starts to shake from the sensations.

You’re close, you’re so fucking close. Dropping your arm to your side, your voice hoarse from stifling all your cries, you’re somehow able to find the strength to say, “I’m gonna come.”

“No,” is all he answers.

No?

“W-w-what?”

“Hold it,” he says hastily, then continues his assault on your pussy.

How in kriffing hell are you supposed to hold it? You’re basically already there and he’s denying you it. You can’t hold on; you can’t stop it.

“I c-can’t,” you confess.

And then he stops. His tongue leaves you, his hands leave your skin, and you’re left there on the bed, legs hanging off the cot, chest heaving from being so fucking close and then being denied at the very last second.

“What the fuck?” You ask breathlessly, a hint of anger but mostly disappointment in your tone.

You hear him make a noise and then something wet trickles down your clit down to your entrance. It’s…sticky and warm. Did he just spit on you?

Lifting your legs back up and letting your feet balance on the very edge of the bunk, his cock rubs against you, angling the tip of himself to slide between your folds, mixing your slick, his spit and precome all over his length and you. Mando continues to tease you, lining himself up with your entrance but never sheathing himself inside you. It’s driving you fucking insane, even angling your hips whenever he does, hoping he’ll lose his self-control and plunge into you, but it only spurs him on. He knows how much it’s annoying you and he’s fucking thriving on it.

“If you don’t start fucking me soon…” you warn.

Mando actually laughs at you, like this is all a big joke to him. Anger begins to mix with your arousal, this is maddening. Why won’t he just fuck you already?

All of a sudden, he slams into you with so much power, you actually slide up the cot, and you wail feeling so fucking full and tight, your cry filling the small space you’re in. You’re still sore from the night before and feeling him stretch your walls again is almost unbearable, but it feels too fucking good. You’ll take every fucking inch of him without a single complaint. Then, just as your pussy begins to acclimate to him, he pulls out, hiking your shirt up just enough for him to grab onto your naked waist and pulling you back down closer to him.

“Mando!”

He leans over you once again, a hand cradles the back of your head while his thumb rubs your cheek tenderly. “If this gets to be too much, just tell me to stop and I will.”

Letting out a deep breath through your lips, you nod.

“Words.”

“I’ll tell you to stop.”

“Good.”

Thrusting his hips against you, his cock continues to grind along your slit, making you dizzy from both the lack of touch and the taunting of his cock against you.

“Maker, you’re so fucking wet. You sure you didn’t come?”

Words aren’t something you’re capable of forming so you’re stuck resorting to answering him with broken sobs. Practically writhing from all the overstimulation and lack of, from him toying with you, the pressure in your cunt actually fucking hurts, you’re nearly begging for some release. Adding onto the fact that you can’t see a fucking thing, it heightens all your other senses. They compensate for your lack of vision; everything feels so much more intense than you ever could have imagined.

No one could ever drive you to the brink of madness and pull you back in at the last second. No one could possibly make you feel so satisfied yet deprived. You’re convinced you’ve traveled the galaxy in search of him, that your soul was missing a piece so small, you didn’t even know it was missing until Mando filled that void. He’s etched into your skin, your bones, your veins. Every nerve ending tissue has been electrified by this enigma of a man. A man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill those who’d try to come between him and his clan.

Kriff, you’re drained already. He hasn’t even begun to fuck you, but waves of exhaustion are coming over you. Mando’s still fucking teasing you, only ever prodding the tip of himself inside you and then pulling away before he can truly fill you up.

He said if this became too much for you to handle, all you had to do was say the word and he’d stop. You’re starting to consider it; you don’t think you can handle much more of the slow torture he’s inflicting.

Just as your jaw slackens, he slams into you in a sift motion, fully immersing himself inside your swollen walls.

“Fuck!” You pant out, wrenching your eyes shut and feeling tears trinkle down your cheeks. Mando doesn’t move one bit, just sits inside you like he’s waiting for you to adjust yourself to the size of him.

“Shit, you’re tight. Gonna train that pretty cunt of yours to mold to my cock,” he grits out. Big hands hold you down by the waist, and he ever so slooooowly eases out of you only to ram into you again, all the way to the hilt. You’re seeing stars, every move, every thrust bringing you closer to euphoria. The only thing your mind can process is how fucking amazing it feels to be clenched around his cock. It’s mind bending, it’s intoxicating, you’ll never get used to the way he fucking tortures you.

He develops a downright brutal pace, pulling out just enough for his tip to pierce your walls and then pounding into you, growling every time he touches your cervix. Once he’s fully immersed inside you, he bucks his hips and practically jackhammers his cock inside you. A sheen of sweat covering both your bodies causes the sound of skin slapping against skin to sound so wet and fucking obscene. Still pounding into you, Mando’s hands leave your waist to grab under your thighs, lifting them up to hang off his shoulders. Pushing down on the backs of your thighs, he practically bends you in half at the knees, an arm on either side of your head, and then begins a pace so fast and brutal, you’re sure you’ll be sore for weeks. The spot he’s hitting right now is one you didn’t think was even possible. It knocks all the air out of your lungs, you can’t even make a goddamn sound. Your throat is bone dry, and whatever pathetic sounds that escape you are barely audible and breathless.

“Stars, you feel fucking amazing,” he mutters in your ear, and then he’s sucking at your neck, bruising the skin.

Mouth agape, you’re so fucking close to coming, a part of you doesn’t even want to tell him how close you are in case he stops. You don’t think you could physically handle it if he denied you again.

“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how much fucking noise your little cunt is making?”

On a normal day, Mando says as little as possible, giving you a quick sentence in response or even a one-word answer, but when he’s balls deep inside you, he can’t seem to shut up. He turns into a blabbering mess, offering you praise after praise like it’s a fucking prayer. Mando makes a note of everything. He comments on your gushing pussy, how your walls clench around him as you get closer and closer to your orgasm, how no one will ever touch you again.

How you’re his.

And you? You can barely throw two words together. You’re on the brink of losing your goddamn mind. Is this what being on spice is like? Feeling a sense of euphoria that hits you wave after wave, each one stronger and more intense than the last, teetering the line between sanity and insanity.

“…mine,” you hear him snarl. Reality doesn’t even feel real anymore, you can barely make out what he’s saying to you.

Something like a whimper slips through your parted lips.

“Now, come for me.”

He barely finishes speaking before your orgasm tears right through you. It begins deep inside you and is quickly shattering the earth around you. Crying out so loud Mando has to slap his hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds expelling from your lips. He continues to pound into your pussy, riding out the ripples of your climax, not relenting even for one moment. There isn’t any fucking air in your lungs—Mando’s weight is still pressing you into the cot and your climax is so strong, your chest is way passed heaving now.

You’ll be chasing this high for the rest of your life, the feeling of Mando unleashing his feral instincts on you, and you just helplessly letting him take control of you—it’s unlike anything you ever could have imagined.

“Good girl,” he praises. When you don’t immediately answer, still in a haze from the mind-shattering orgasm that just expelled out of you, Mando stills, cupping your face with his hand and murmurs, “Are you okay?”

Your lips part, and your brain desperately tries to find any word that might help him understand that you’re okay and also anything but okay. Only being able to breathe in quick, sharp breaths, Mando places a kiss on your jaw and repeats in the gentlest tone you’ve ever heard him speak, “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

Shaking your head frantically, you attempt to moisten your throat by swallowing, and it gives you enough to answer, “I’m okay.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He reiterates.

“No,” you croak.

“Are you sure?” Stars, how can he be so relentless in the way he fucks you and switch into a nurturer so quickly?

“Mmm. Please f-fuck me,” you mewl against him.

His cock twitches at your plea, and he obliges. In an effort to help you climb down from the overstimulation, he eases in and out of you at a deliciously hard, but slow pace, and then he does something you couldn’t have been prepared for. Your lips are slightly parted, letting in little bursts of air to help calm your breathing, and suddenly, you feel wet, soft lips clash onto yours. Instinctively, you yelp into his mouth from the unexpected touch, but you quickly acclimate to it, feeling your lips move on his. It’s a little awkward at first, you get the impression Mando hasn’t kissed many people in his life, because your teeth end up clashing together a few times. He fucking giggles into your mouth and you all but melt into the cot. His tongue slips passed your lips and meets yours and you can taste yourself and broth on his tongue. Your hands find their way to his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it, pressing your lips even deeper on his. Mando moans low in his throat and you can feel the vibrations ripple in your own mouth.

He makes to pull away, but you keep his lips locked on yours, using your hands to keep him where you want him. He gives in without hesitation, letting you take control of the kiss as he continues to ram into you. The dreams you’ve had of this moment, the moment you’d feel his mouth on yours doesn’t even come close to the feeling of it happening to you right now. It all makes sense now. Every kiss you’ve had previously was just practice for this. It was all just preparing you for this defining moment, the moment you’d finally be able to break through Mando’s heavily guarded walls. Every smack of your lips, every flick your tongues, every broken moan in each other’s throats, they’re all just feats breaking down the duracrete barrier that he’s forced himself to build over the years.

Bodies intertwined, every part of yourselves wrapped up in the other, it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, and you suppose that’s how this is was always supposed to be. Each of you were missing the same piece— the inability to be perceived as anything but a person of strong will. Believing that vulnerability was a weakness, instead of something that should be treasured, and without knowing it, your paths crossed and challenged every part of your identity.

Foundling, Mandalorian, bounty hunter, father.

Orphan, mechanic, smuggler, Jedi.

Those shouldn’t mix together as perfectly as they do, but stars, does it feel like everything finally makes sense.

A second orgasm begins to brew in your stomach, but you don’t dare pull away from Mando’s lips. You’ll never pull away until he forces himself off of you.

He leaves your lips for just a moment, panting and his own chest heaving against yours. “Maker, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Shhh,” Tugging desperately at his hair, you close the small gap between you and slosh your mouths together. You both whimper brokenly on each other’s lips, and Mando slams into you three more times before his hips still, feeling his cock pump his seed into your soaking pussy. Just as he begins to come, your second climax reaches its peak and crashes into you. His hands are back on your waist, digging his fingernails into your skin. Whatever moans you both cry out are muffled by each other’s’ mouths, catching the sound and swallowing it, burying it deep inside one another.

When you come start to come down from your climaxes, Mando drops his head to the crook of your neck, burying his face into your skin and pressing sloppy, chaste kisses right where your jaw meets your neck.

“I—” You attempt to speak, but your vocal cords are so raw, it hurts even just making a sound. You’re still practically bent in half, and your legs are burning up. Resorting to stir around hoping he’ll get the message, Mando pulls off of you, using both his hands to very gently bring them down his shoulders, one by one, once again giving each of your inner thighs some tender pecks. Pulling out of you, his come seeps out of your completely worn out slit. He peppers a few kisses along your waist, and then you hear his footsteps retreat.

“Where—” You begin to say, making to slowly prop yourself on your elbows.

“I’m still here,” he assures you.

You can hear him moving things around, and you seriously wish there was some kind of light allowing you to see what he’s doing but given that your eyes have gotten used to being in complete darkness, you’re sure you’d be blinded by even the smallest amount of light right now.

A few minutes go by and then you feel his hands on your hips, pulling you down the cot. Once he feels like your head won’t hit the top of the bunk, he lifts you off your feet, wrapping his arms around your back, and in turn you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you for a couple steps and then brings you down onto what you expect will be the cold ground. Instead, you feel cotton on your back as he lowers you down.

“Where did you—?”

“I have a couple of extra capes in case one gets too battered,” he says, answering your question before you can finish asking it.

As soon as your head touches the ground, you feel your eyelids shut, exhaustion overpowering you. Turning over on your side and hiking up one of your legs up so that your knee lines up with your chest, you don’t even care that your own slick and his seed is practically dripping down your legs. You don’t care that you’re still naked from the waist down. The only thing you care about is falling asleep, preferably in Mando’s arms.

“Don’t sleep yet. Need to clean you up,”

“Mmm,” you protest. “Later.”

Mando chuckles lightly and then he’s wiping the slick off your legs and entrance with what feels like… a pair of trousers.

“Are you using my pants to clean that up?”

“It’s the first thing I grabbed. I’ll wash it.”

“Mmm, you better,” you mumble into your arm.

Now, you’re starting to slip in and out of consciousness, fatigue taking you over. Mando rummages around the hull for a bit longer, and then joins you on the floor, throwing what you assume is another cape, over your half naked body. You don’t even have the energy to move your body over towards his, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’re both still close enough to feel the heat radiating off each other’s skin.

“Hey, Mando?”

“Yes?”

“I won.”

Things are quiet for a few minutes after that, and you’re on the verge of falling asleep when his velvety smooth voice breaks through the silence of the Crest.

“Blue,” his voice is low and barely audible.

“Mmm?” You mumble, desperately trying to stay awake.

“I…like the color blue.”

Okay, now that puts a stupid, hazy smile on your face. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Any particular shade of blue? Bright… dark?” You may be barely conscious, but you hang onto every word he says.

“I guess… dark.”

“Mmm,” you hum. “Why do you like that color?”

He lets out a deep breath, like he’s about to confess something to you that he hasn’t told anyone else. As if in this very moment, he’s about to give himself to you completely. “The Mandalorians that saved me from that battle droid in my village. Their armor was blue.”

Mando doesn’t elaborate any further, but he doesn’t have to. Feeling your heart tighten in your chest, you imagine what a young Mando must have been feeling when that droid pointed its guns at him. How he must have been utterly terrified and convinced that he was about to die. And then to be saved at the last moment. Seeing these warriors in blue armor coming to rescue him, to save his village from an even worse massacre. They were his saviors, it only makes sense that after all these years, that color would bring him solace and comfort.

It’s quite ironic, actually. Blues have the reputation of representing sadness or pain and you too have been accustomed to associating blue with your own trauma, and then here comes Mando.

The color symbolizes the exact opposite of what its known for. To him, it brings relief and reminds him of being saved; representing the beginning of a new life that he’s exemplified through and through. It’s a beautiful confession, and you’ll forever be searching for him in all the shades of blue that the galaxy has to offer.

Two opposites.

Yellow and blue.

One representing happiness and light. The other representing sadness and melancholy. Blend those two together and you create the fiercest of combinations. A beautiful balance of both extremes.

And when you think about it, what color does blue and yellow make?

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian smut #reader insert #we are one when together #fics

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jd-loves-fiction · 4 years ago

Text

➤”I’d like one order of Mando adventure angst with a side of fluff and a dash of spicy bickering. Enemies to lovers or friends to lovers flavor (whatever’s on the house) and a nice hot bowl of ‘there was only one bed’

Give my compliments to the chef”

➤ genre: Fluff, Adventure, Comedy(?), Enemies to Partners, Angst

➤ wc: 4.9k (holy shit might be my longest request🥴)

➤ 🌙 Requested: @batarella ❤

"Listen, buddy, I got here first." You attempt to reason with the wall of beskar currently pointing his blaster directly at you.

Maybe not the smartest thing to say when first meeting someone of his reputation, but he can only be doing this for one reason.

He's after the bounty squirming nervously at your feet. And you're in the way.

Why else would he be out here, in the middle of a rocky desert on some faraway planet?

"Step away from him." The voice you hear startles you with its modulated dept. It's more surprising that he even spoke at all, given what you'd heard of the Mandalorian. Although his stature and the silent tension he brings with him is no doubt intimidating, you will not give up so easily after following this bounty so far out from the nearest town. “No.”

His visor tilts to the side, like a frustrated twitch, at your answer. “Maybe.” You rectify, which makes him raise his head in interest. “Do you have a fob?”

“No, I don’t.”

Not that it matters anymore considering yours is broken, but at least now you know he can't follow you if you make a break for it with the bounty.

“How did you find us?”

“I have my ways.” You nearly roll your eyes at his cryptic response, not like you expected anything else from a Mandalorian.

“Do you know why they sent you?” Knowing your employers, you had a clue on what the reason was. They got impatient.

They’d been pretty determined to get a maximum time needed out of you. You’re almost sure you overstepped it.

But to send a Mandalorian? Seems like a bit much.

“They were afraid you’d run off. That you gave the bounty away to the Resistance.” Of course, those bastards can barely trust themselves, let alone a foreigner.

“Well I didn't, and I won't. So you can lower your blaster and we can do this together.” You offer amicably, not yet loosening your grip on your weapon upon his lack of movement.

“You’re out of time. Your deal is off.”

“That’s just-!” You're cut off by a shot buzzing past you.

"Last warning."

Your jaw drops. How can someone be so damn cold?

You raise your finger assertively, about to give him a piece of your mind, when you notice something move by his hip.

And it's green. With gigantic ears. And huge dark eyes that blink at you curiously.

Your head tilts, mirroring the creature. The Mandalorian follows your eyes to find you looking at the child he’s supposed to be caring for.

“Huh. And who is that cutie?” The blaster already pointed at you raises from where it had begun to slouch, alert and cautious. Noticing this, you readjust your grip on your own weapon.

You and the creature continue to study each other, until the Mandalorian pushes the brown bag to where it rests behind his body protectively.

“Are they yours? I mean, doesn't look like the ears would fit.” You speak just to make conversation, stepping closer with miniscule steps. His gloved hand tightens around his blaster, hoping to remind you that he can still shoot you point-blank.

But he hasn't.

"Can you really do much in front of a kid?" You challenge smugly, still advancing slowly.

"He's seen me do worse."

"That right?" Another step. "You planning to shoot me today or would tomorrow work better?"

"Are you always this difficult? Just put the gun down-"

You jump towards him, hooking your foot around the back of his knee which makes him fall to the rocky ground immediately, dropping his blaster. Unfortunately, taking down a Mandalorian is no easy task, so he takes you down with him.

He throws his satchel to the side in the nick of time, it lands on a sand pile. His other arm grabs hold of you to pull you down with him.

You point your blaster at him as he lays beneath you, except it is no longer in your hand. Shit. He punches you in the face hard enough that something will turn black soon enough.

As you fall to the ground he gets on top of you, or tries, as you place your feet against his firm chest to keep some distance. You kick him in the helmet, silently thanking the stars your shoes are steel toed.

Your hand only scrapes against dry, red, sand covered rock as you search for a blaster, either would serve. Despite your momentary advantage in light of the Mandalorian’s confusion after being kicked, his hands quickly come down to cover your throat. You feel the creases in the leather as they’re pressed against your skin, and the beskar over the back of his hands against your chin.

But you still attempt to reach a weapon, a rock would do at this point.

Your arms flail wildly with no real direction, only the need to stay conscious, as if movement would help it. You do, however, notice that he’s purposely avoiding your traquia.

He still does not want to kill you. How sweet. Probably just wants to take you back to the bastards who hired you. They’d surely kill you, and much faster too.

Just as the spots in your vision start becoming overpowering, his grip loosens. You inhale greedily, desperately, gasping and coughing at the released pressure.

You can see his visor move to and fro, searching for something. Once you look to the side, you the child safe in its pile of sand, so it can't be that.

"Dank farrik! He's gone." The bounty. Right. Shit.

"Now," you pause, heaving as your lungs struggle to fill up again, "what?"

He places his hands on his hips, thinking for a moment, before turning his visor to where you lay clutching your sore - but not yet bruised - neck. "I'm going after him."

"I'm sorry-?!" You cut yourself off with a cough as you sit up, feeling grains of sand make their way inside your boots and other places. "You're going after him? This is my bounty! I had him, and I would've been fine if you hadn't shown up."

He keeps his stance, probably glaring disapprovingly beneath his helmet. You huff at his unyielding silence, getting up in his personal space and jabbing a finger into his chest plate.

"I'm about to give you a piece of my mind, so you better listen very carefully. I had it! It was my catch. And from what I can tell, it still is. So you better back off, Mando." Venom drips from your lips as you glare at the tin can on his head as if you could put a hole straight through it.

He relaxes, raising his hands again peacefully, palms up, "Alright, I get it. But do you think they'd take him from you now? Let alone later when you actually catch him? They seem pretty vindictive."

"Well, what do you suggest? You're not going on your own."

"And why not?" He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans towards you.

"You don't have a tracking fob." You retort, leaning towards him as well with your hands on your hips.

The Mandalorian pats himself down where he believes to have stored the small device, only to find all those pockets empty. "You little thief!"

"And you're a liar! Plus, you think I'd just let you take my credits? Come on, with your reputation, you should know better than that." You shrug and suddenly Din is acutely aware that the beeping now comes from your hip instead of his.

"Alright, fine, let's do it this way. We'll look for him together and once we catch him, I'll hand him in and we'll split the reward." He explains slowly, carefully, afraid to set you off.

"Seems good to me." You speak resolutely, thrusting your hand forward firmly, expecting a handshake.

His helmet tilts down slightly as he looks down at your hand, before he reaches out with his own. Just as the leather meets your skin - in a now less life-threatening way - a coo sounds from somewhere at your feet, making you both look down to see the little green creature looking between the two of you curiously.

You look back at it, mirroring it once more, before it smiles wide revealing its tiny little teeth and, oh, your heart might just actually melt.

It's large eyes move down from your face, towards your hands.

You suddenly realize neither you nor the Mandalorian had let go of each other's hand and that a large grin has formed on your face due to the adorable baby. It is promptly wiped off as you pull your hand back just as he does. He looks away while you shrug at the child's inquisitive stare, unaware that the bounty hunter had been watching you and marveling at the bond you'd both formed already.

And so you set out together to look for your target, back towards town, where you had begun your chase.

He can't have gone far or in any other direction, not with the unbearable heat and certainly not while handcuffed. He'd die for sure, you just have to hope he's smart enough to know that.

You walk through town with the fob in your hand, just out of sight. No need for unnecessary attention. The town is tightly crowded, much to your chagrin, so you move slow and are barely able to see over the moving bodies. There’s just too much going on, too many people moving back and forth, shoving past you rudely. If it’d been anyone else - not an experienced bounty hunter - you would have probably been knocked down by the last two men that had scurried past you in a rush.

Without warning, you feel a hand grip your bicep. You immediately ready yourself for a fight, before you realize it belongs to your associate. Once he has your attention, Mando nods towards the edge to the street, against red stone buildings, urging you to follow him. You do, nudging anyone out of the way as you walked against the crowd’s stream.

You’re about to shout over the noise to ask just what the hell he pulled you aside for, considering you’re running out of time, before you follow his visor. Right to a wanted poster of a very familiar scoundrel. From the Resistance? Wanted alive for 8,000 credits?

“That’s one big fish, huh?" You continue to shout in order to be heard over the crowd, which you immediately regret, looking around, paranoid. "Must be important." You comment to yourself.

You look up to see the Mandalorian's back disappear behind the corner. You quickly follow, catching up to his long strides, "What are you thinking?"

He ignores your inquiry, continuing to practically stomp his way through town. "Hey. Hey!" You call out to no avail. Well, you asked for it.

You reach out, grabbing the man by the back of his cape, tightening it around his neck and making it so he had to lean back to follow your hand in order to keep breathing. Your heart beats faster at the rush of power you feel for a moment. "You better tell me what you're thinking, or this is not gonna work."

He taps your hand repeatedly until you let go, rising to his full height and you're back to feeling slightly intimidated as he stares you down, silently.

"I'm thinking that with a price that high you might actually take the bounty yourself."

"Why-?"

The tracking fob. The small object suddenly burned a whole in your pocket.

"Oh come on! You were trying to kill me!"

Your voice raises, arms flailing about. You know you're making a scene, considering this street is so much emptier and therefore quieter than the main one, but for the moment, you don't care. Right now, all you want is to put Mando in his place. Something you know is foolish given that he nearly killed you before and could actually do it this time.

"Yes, but it's still stealing." He spoke with that know-it-all, I'm-better-than-you, tone that just gets on your nerves. Bastard.

You raise a finger in the man's direction, fully intending to continue this conversation and clear your name in his eyes - the reason why is unknown even to you - when a shrill giggle cuts through the air. You look to Mando's hip, where the creature (who's name you have yet to learn) sits, pointing ahead to the entrance to the cantina.

Right at the man of the hour.

What? How?!

The man looks back at you and Mando for a moment, eyes widening as he recognizes you and the fact that this might be it.

Before he takes off running.

You start running before Mando does, easily catching up to the stout man, who's no longer in cuffs. As you get too close to his liking, he takes out a blaster (that you know isn't his) and tries to shoot you in the head. Only to miss and hit your forearm instead.

Hurts like a bitch, but it's better than death.

Out of the corner of your eye you see a steel rope of some kind shoot out and wrap around the fugitive's leg, sending him stumbling face first onto the ground.

Mando walks over to him, barely winded, standing over the panting man and blocking the sun with his body. You can only imagine the man's terrified expression.

You quickly take care of your wound as Mando ties the man up enough that he can't move, wincing as you look at the damage made on your skin. The burning nearly stops the bleeding and it hurts so bad you can barely process it, so you don't think about it, you simply level your breathing while wrapping a cloth around the wound and hope for the best considering it's not too big.

You clutch it to your chest as Mando approaches, pointing at your arm, intending to ask you if you're alright, but you move it to your side before he can. "Are you-"

"We should give him to the Resistance." You speak resolutely, holding back from wincing as your injury rubbed against your pants. It hurt even from beneath a (barely) protective cloth.

“I said ‘we’, so don't you start giving me shit, alright?” You tell him sternly after he crosses his arms, probably getting ready to call you a thief again. “You can't give him to the Resistance because they’ll arrest you, correct?” He nods.

“Well you know bounty hunting isn't exactly legal.”

“You don't have to tell me that, Mando.” You remind him firmly. “So, if we give him to them, we can ask for them to clear your name! And we’ll get double the reward. Two birds with one stone!”

“Do you really think they’d just do that?”

“If someone’s paying 8,000 credits for one guy and specifying they want him alive, then I’d bet they’d do anything to get him, even something as seemingly insignificant as clearing your name.” You explain, gesturing avidly as you do.

A long moment of silence passes before a modulated sigh crackles through Mando’s helmet. “Fine. I’ll go get the Crest.”

“Wait, woah woah woah. Why are you going? How do I know you wont leave me out here?”

“How do I know you wouldn't?” You take a moment to consider his words. He did lie to you, but you did steal from him in a way.

You look down in contemplation, eyes meeting the creature’s. Right, Mando has the kid, who probably isn't fit to be out in this heat for as long as it has.

“He got a name?” You point to the child, who smiles and giggles gleefully.

“Grogu.” You nod, sighing and rubbing your temples. Stars, it’s so hot it feels as if your brain is melting and you can feel a headache coming on.

“You can go. But I want you to swear on your,” You pause for a second, searching for the right word, “honorable code. Swear you’ll come back.”

“You-” The Mandalorian starts, before giving up on protesting at your determined stand, crossed arms and raised chin. “OK, alright. I swear that I’ll come back for you and the bounty. That we need.” He whispers the last part.

“Get to it then. I’m sweating bullets in this heat!”

You sit, back against a nearby rock, searching for as much shade as possible. You don't want to move the bounty back into town for a multitude of reasons, so now you’re stuck just outside of town. Sweat making your clothes stick and it gathers while the headache gets worse and more blood soaks your makeshift bandage, but at least it's silent. That's what you thought about 20 minutes ago, now, you’ve changed your mind.

“The hell did you do to get 8,000 credits on your head?” You ask suddenly, seemingly startling the man who seems to have accepted his fate already.

He sighs, probably just as bored as you, “I have some information they want. That's why they want me alive.” You purse your lips in interest, humming in understanding, before silence falls over you two once more.

Stars, it's hot.

You could cry from relief once you hear the sound of a loud engine getting closer and closer. The 'Crest', as Mando had called it.

You grab the bounty by the shirt, hauling him to his feet rather roughly and shoving him towards the flying hunk of metal that had just landed.

The ship. Mando doesn't come out to greet you.

As the ramp closes and the air is blanketed in a sheet of silence, your mind starts to wander without your permission. You know he has to be handsome under there, what with his broad shoulders and slim waist, deliciously thick thighs and a wonderfully smooth and deep voice that seems to caress your very soul as you hear it. You caught a glimpse of his skin when you pulled at his collar, delightfully tan just begging for you to sink your teeth into it.

Must be the heat. Surely that is the sole reason why you're fantasizing so vividly about a man whose real name you don't know, whose face you've never seen and oh, a man who tried to kill you. But didn't.

Sick of your own thoughts and the loud snores of the bounty, you rise to your feet, climbing the ladder that leads to the cockpit. You wince as you put part of your weight on your injured arm, deciding to climb the rest of the ladder one handed instead.

“Are you decent?” You shout through the thick metal door, hoping Mando can hear you inside the cockpit. When the heavy doors hiss and open, you’re sure he must be.

You sit down in the passenger seat silently, looking up at the stars above for a long moment. The mesmerizing, endlessly dark sky is all that you see at first, from being partially blinded by the fluorescent lights inside the Crest, before the stars come to you, bright speckles that dust the planetary systems all around you. Breathtaking.

You look back in front of yourself to find Grogu already staring at you, head tilted with a smile that shows the slightest hint of tiny teeth. You smile, leaning forward with a raised brow. He leans closer to you, eyes lingering in the side of your face, the one already darkening from Mando’s blow, before dipping down to the arm you hold close to your chest. You let go of it immediately as he does, wanting to shield him from seeing the blood you know can be seen through the cloth.

The child steps closer, as far as he can while up on the dashboard. Mando has to be avoiding you, before he would've seen that movement otherwise.

It reaches out his small hand, squeezing his eyes as tightly as possible while the green limb twitches. You furrow your brows in confusion, what?

The ache on your skin lessens gradually, as if the wound was being lifted from your skin. You can feel it on your arm, it tickles as your skin connects itself around the wound while the burn disappears as if you’d just placed ice over it.

At some point, your eyes close, lulled nearly to sleep by the lifting of the pain, the feeling left behind makes your skin tingle with energy just beneath, your head feels light for a second, as if the blood moved from there down to heal the wounds.

When you open your eyes, you’re met with Mando’s visor trained on your face, silent in a way you can tell he’s speechless. “Eyes on the road, Mando.” You tell him cheekily, voice cracking unexpectedly.

He turns back forward, pausing his steering to pull Grogu forward and away from the edge, before his hands return to the commands. “So, is it far still?”

“No, just a few more hours. The closest Resistance base is just on the next planet.” His fingers flick switches and pull levers, before he seemingly puts the vehicle on autopilot and turns to you. “You can take the cot, you must be tired.”

You blink at him, “And what about you?”

“I’ll be fine.” He answers gruffly, not sparing you a glance.

“No, it’s gonna be a few hours, and you’ve been awake for about as much as me so if anyone is taking the cot, it’s you.” You argue back firmly.

He sighs, loosening the cape around his neck as a way to calm himself down, you and your selflessness.

“Alright. No promises that I’ll sleep though.” He acts like it’s a huge burden, as if it pains him deeply.

He takes Grogu in his arms and towards his sleeping nook. The small child smiles at you from over his guardian’s shoulder, and you smile back.

Once he’s safely put away and the bounty checked on, Mando leads you to a space just off the main hull space, where a bed - with the thinnest mattress you’ve ever seen - is pulled from the wall. Oh boy, you can already feel your back aching, but it’s better than sitting in the cockpit on those hard chairs.

So you lay down your weapons while he takes off the bulkiest of his armour. You lay down, curled on your side and away from him, knowing he’ll have to cuddle close to fit. You feel his warmth against your back, but you don't feel his touch quite yet, only the ghost of it. Your gut tightens with pity as you know he can’t take his helmet off. That has to be very uncomfortable.

The lights are dim enough that there is no shadow from your bodies on the wall. You can tell by the space he’s put between you, that he’s about to fall off.

“Are you scared of me, Mando? Can I call you Mando?”

“Sure and no.”

“Which one?” You ask mischievously, smirking to yourself while knowing full well what he meant.

He sighs in exasperation, so you let him be. For only a moment before you're back to being snarky. "Surely you've been this close to another human before, perhaps in a more compromising context."

"Yes and it's usually quieter." You think he might not realize what he just said.

You snort, "Must mean you're doing something wrong."

"That's not-! Just, get some sleep." He says tiredly, giving up on the banter you're pushing. You do as he asks, closing your eyes as you feel the heat of his body move closer to you.

You wake up to a rough whisper of your name and a shaking of your shoulder. Eyes open slowly, squinting against the light shining right at them, before something blocks it and eases your discomfort. The large hand on your shoulder doesn't yet move from its place, gently perched and waiting for you to wake up fully.

You look up to see Mando's helmet over you, seemingly way too close (not that you're complaining), as you can clearly hear him breathe through his modulator. "We're here and we need to talk before you go in."

You follow him to the hull without question, stopping just before the door that leads to it. You rub the sleep from your eyes before blinking up at the bounty hunter, trying to nonchalantly fix your messy hair.

And though he'd never tell you, he thought you looked adorable in that moment. Rosy cheeks, a faraway gaze, lips pursed to hold back a yawn as you brushed down your hair. He was certainly thankful for his helmet in that moment, considering the heat he felt crawling up his neck and settling on his cheeks.

"Plan?"

You clear your throat before speaking, "Right. So, it's easy." You raise a hand to his face when Mando sighs deeply. "Simple, really. I go in, tell them I have the bounty and ask for a little something as compensation along with the credits. See? Easy and simple!"

"Do you think they'll take it?" It doesn't sound as skeptical as you would've expected from him. It's sort of hopeful. Even Mando has to admit to himself that getting chased around and having to avoid and run from x-wings at every turn, got pretty exhausting.

"Let's try it before we start getting doubts." You tell him, determined. "Besides, nothing to lose if you stay hidden, right?"

The planet you landed on is small and green - perfect cover for a Resistance base. You walk along the dirt path leading to it and away from the Crest, coming up to a clearing where you can see the humongous metal doors of the base which seemed to have been dug into a small mountain.

"Stop! State your business." A voice says through a speaker once you get close enough.

"I've come to deliver a bounty!" You keep it simple, no use even attempting to be charming with these folks.

Not long after, the doors part to let someone through, who you presume is a general or something of the sort given their intimidating presence and the flock of guards with their weapons trained on you that follow them.

"We have your credits. Thank you for bringing him to us." You keep your face neutral even as it urges to tremble beneath the pressure of their gaze. You feel the man in question squirm against the arm that grips his bicep. Must really not be a fan.

"That is not all I want." The supposed general, no need to try and figure that out considering you don't want them to remember you more than necessary, raises a delicate brow. "I would like for you to clear someone's name."

"That is not what we agreed on."

"Yes, well, I didn't agree to it myself, so." You shrug, impressed that the general's face remains stone cold, especially considering how much they probably would like to dispose of you given you're dragging out this exchange for longer than what's really necessary.

"You are in no place to make demands." One soldier tells you, pulling out his blaster and pointing it at you, getting more of a reaction from the bounty than from yourself as he flinches.

"Oh, I am in the perfect place to be making demands." You tell him venomously, grip tightening on the man's arm.

"We have you surrounded."

"Just the way I like it." You respond with a wink just to hear the person's stuttering over the modulator on their helmet.

"Very well." The general calls out in order to gain their minions' attention, "Just tell me what name they might be under in our system."

"The Mandalorian. Mando for friends."

Epilogue

"Fuck! Shit, fuck! What was I thinking?!" You yell out in frustration, standing before what remains of your ship, the rest most likely taken by Jawas, who must be long gone by now. "Of course someone would take it apart, why not?! Oh, stars." You wail miserably, crouching into a ball in search of some comfort.

"Hey, it'll be alright. Don't panic." Mando tells you gently after pulling you to your feet and grabbing your shoulders tightly to ground you. "There's two ways we can do this: we go after those Jawas, get your pieces and fix the ship or," Mando hesitates for a moment, fingers drumming along your skin as he turns the words over and over in his tongue until he feels as if he'll get them right once he says them. "you can come with me until you get enough credits for a new one. 4,000 might not be enough yet, but it's a pretty solid start."

His rare optimism brings a small smile out of you and makes your anger settle down almost completely. You'll no doubt have an even deeper hatred for the little shits, but you don't feel as if you'll punch the next living thing you see.

"I guess catching a ride with you can't be so bad, huh, Mando?"

#din djarin #din dijarin fanfiction #din dijarin x reader #din djaren #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #the mandolarian #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x y/n #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x oc #mando x reader #mando and grogu #mando #din

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mari-beau · 3 years ago

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GIVE ME A REASON: PART SIX - A Rogue One Fanfiction

This is a shorter installment, and maybe pointless… maybe I’m dragging this out too long… But also, who cares, I’m doing this for fun. I just love playing with them!

Read on AO3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Six

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Some coarse language. References to wounds. And… Cuddling?

Words: 1,720

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

The Death Star had come for them.

Again.

But Jyn couldn’t bring herself to care. It did seem a little strange to have been spared the last time only to probably be destroyed this time, barely a week later. But either way, it was the end to her life she now knew to be her fate, or whatever. It just felt right. It just was. Not the Death Star specifically, but,

Jyn Erso would die in Cassian Andor’s arms.

Whether it should’ve been on Scarif. Or it was here on Yavin 4. Or the next day. Or thousands of days in the future.

And there was a sort of peace in knowing that. One that allowed her to climb into his bed, slide her arms around him, and bury her face in his shoulder. He stirred and her heart skipped a beat. It was easier when he was unconscious, to consider how she felt about him, how she’d been attracted to men before, even had something akin to a relationship with one or two, but it had never felt like this.

“Jyn…?”

“Yes, it’s me. We’re on the base on Yavin 4. Safe. In your quarters.” It was easier to preempt any confusion or alarm Cassian experienced when he woke from his heavy, partially drugged, mostly just exhausted from his body’s healing, sleep.

“How long?” he asked, then realized there were static-laden voices broadcasting over the basewide intercom. “What’s going on?”

“You’ve been asleep for 12 hours,” Jyn said, moving closer and partially on top of him to prevent him from trying to get up in a rush and falling flat on his face. Also, she was admittedly afraid on some level, afraid to be alone and facing death. When he was near her, when they were physically entwined in some way, she felt like everything would be okay. Even if she died, if it was in Cassian’s arms, then everything would be okay. Irrational, yes. But that didn’t make it any less her truth.

“The Death Star is here,” she said, once she could tell he was awake enough to understand, not muddled by pain meds. “The Alliance is scrambling their forces to engage. They’re leaving the comms open, since you know…”

“We’re all dead if they fail.”

His arms wrapped around her and engulfed her in his warm embrace. Cassian Andor, a man who, she didn’t think she was wrong to guess, hadn’t received much at all in the way of affection in his life, somehow was so good at holding a person he made the pain of the universe go away, made the entire universe fade away except for his hands on her body, gentle and undemanding but also firm and reassuring, his breath hot on her neck, sending shivers down her spine, and his body beneath hers, so strong despite his injuries.

“Are you okay?” she asked, remembering the physical state of him.

“Mmm… Yes.” His hands tightened their grip on her side and shoulder, reflexively, a gentle squeeze as he murmured into her neck. “Feels good.”

He probably meant he felt fine, but oh, yes, it did feel good. Or maybe he was still quite medicated?

“My weight isn’t putting pressure on your injuries?” Jyn asked. “Maybe I should…”

“No.” Somehow he managed to pull her further into him, her breasts flattening against his chest, her hip practically fusing to his, her breath hitching momentarily and then joining the rhythm of his own breaths...in and out… in and out… in and out...

Cassian sighed, made a frustrated, growling sound.

“I need to use the ‘fresher,” he said, loosening his grip on her.

Jyn rolled off from him, swung her legs around to sit on the side of the cot and waited to see if Cassian could manage to stand. He slid to sit on the edge of the bed next to her and took a moment. She didn’t press him, though an instinct inside of her wanted to offer assistance, wanted to take care of him, wanted to ease the pain and struggle his recovery was.

He stood, again pausing for a moment, then walked slowly across the small room to his private refresher facilities. Apparently, it was one of very few benefits to his officer’s rank, for the small quarters were nothing more than a glorified closet. But she supposed it spared him from having to sleep in a large barracks with a bunch of others, not that it would’ve deterred Jyn in the least from crawling into his bed.

Part of her felt like she shouldn’t watch his laborious movements, out of respect, but she couldn’t look away. What if he needed her?

Force, what if he didn’t need her? Not like she needed him? Aw, fuck. She needed him.

She watched the muscles in his naked back twitch, stiff from inactivity and injury. But her eyes were inevitably drawn to the perfectly uniform lines of small circular marks running down his spine. She knew there was a matching sort of trail along his ribs. Injections of some sort of bacta cocktail meant to speed the fusing of the fractures in his vertebrae and ribs, injections straight into the bone. How painful would that have been if he’d been conscious, she couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but want to wrap her smaller body around as much of Cassian as she could, run her hands gently over his scars, old and new, make sure his wounds were healing and his bruises fading, hear him sigh contentedly against her skin, hold him forever.

As he disappeared into the ‘fresher, Jyn realized she was hopeless.

Cassian Andor had taught her about hope. And had made her absolutely hopeless at the same time.

But why fret about it? What did it matter?

Jyn was used to dealing with life moment by moment, day by day. And she might not have many more moments, anyway.

The loud, static-laden voices crackling over the basewide intercom announced the launch of yet another squadron of fighters, then abruptly switched over to some ship’s communication officer announcing visual confirmation of the target. The Death Star.

Looming on the horizon like a moon, a harbinger of death, bringer of eternal night. Cold, austere, which made it somehow more terrifying, somehow worse than staring down an angry brute about to put a knife in you. It was just so inevitable, indomitable. Made her feel so small, insignificant, so alone.

“Do you mind if I turn this off?”

Jyn startled. How had she not noticed Cassian reappear in the small room? He pointed at the comm, which was broadcasting the prelims of a battle to determine all their fates.

She didn’t want to listen to it either.

“Please do,” she said, already feeling less… alone.

She watched Cassian lean over to switch the speaker off, wincing in sympathy with him as he straightened again, taking a deep breath that expanded his chest and shifted the muscles beneath his skin, mesmerizing her more than a little. His mostly naked body preoccupied far too many of her thoughts.

But what else had she been supposed to do? She’d woken up drenched in sweat that first night in his quarters, had to strip out of the heavy infirmary clothes, found Cassian tossing in his sleep, nearly feverish, removed the sweltering clothes from his body, as well. Little did she know, how enthralling she’d find his lean muscles, the shape of his body, the feel of his bare skin, his-

His hands cupped her face and Jyn looked up at Cassian Andor, his kriffing gorgeous dark eyes fixed on her. His fingers swept some stray hair from her forehead, tucked it behind her ear, returned to swipe gently over the nearly-healed scar above her eyebrow, in her hairline.

“Are you okay?” A knot formed in her throat. Cassian was a good man, despite every questionable thing he’d done and tortured himself over. Of course he would care about her wellbeing. It didn’t mean-

“Ow!”

“Your blaster wound still hurts?” His fingers feathered over her shoulder, not touching the freshly healed injury this time.

“It does when you jab your finger in it.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged his hand away, throwing him off balance so that he fell into her and she managed to catch him and ease him onto the bed, right where she wanted him.

A chuckle escaped him and he smiled, making something flutter inside of her. And then he was reaching for her, pulling her close.

His embrace was everything she’d never known she’d wanted. His hands stroked her back and he buried his face in her neck, nuzzling a sensitive spot just behind and below her ear.

She sighed, wrapping an arm around his middle and burying the fingers of her other hand in his messy, soft hair. She pressed gently as she massaged his scalp down to his nape, eliciting a hum of pleasure from him that vibrated against her bare skin and into her flesh.

If this was to be her last moment, Jyn held no regrets. It was a good moment.

“Jyn?” His voice had a lethargic but happy edge to it, thick and low and sleepy. She could sympathize.

“Yes?” She twisted her finger in a lock of hair curling about his neck.

“Please don’t let me sleep so long this time.” His whisper tickled her ear. “No more than 10 hours. Okay? Please?”

He wanted her to wake him up in 10 hours… Like there wasn’t a battle raging in space nearby… Like he didn’t believe they were quite probably going to die soon, incinerated by a weapon her own father helped design. Like he didn’t believe they were going to lose, after all. Somehow, he believed they would be there, together, ten hours from this moment.

Hope.

Such a man as Cassian… The most unexpected thing she’d discovered about him was his belief in hope. That he possessed any at all after all he had done, all he had seen. And then he’d given it to her.

And again, it warmed her, deep inside, that small seed of hope. She snuggled closer to the man, hoping for something she couldn’t even begin to conceive of. But yearned for it, with every fiber of her being.

#fic: Give Me A Reason #Rogue One #fanfiction #rebelcaptain #my fic #Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #Cassian x Jyn

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rostovs-lover · 4 years ago

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settle

din djarin x reader | a bounty, smooching, way too much flowery language| gender neutral | fluff | wc.1594

this is all flowery writing and i still haven’t watched the second season, so. also, researching for this somehow led me to a 2017 1D gangbang fic on ao3 so that-

hey hey, if you want some requests, i’d love some first kiss fluff with Mando??? however you want to handle the mask thing go for it, i just need some tlc from Din 🥺 if you wanna of course

despite how connected you are to each other, you and Din have only limited yourselves to mere hand touches. but he’s in love and it needs to come out.

The Razor Crest shifted in the air, shaking the bundle of flower against the windshield. They had been picked in a small village, temporary lodging for you and the Child while Din tracked a smuggler from several planets over. It was calm and lush and green and you had been thrilled to present your companion with the little purple bouquet. It wasn’t much, small, half wilted, and tied off with a thin piece of sewing string from your pack but he’d taken it gently in his hands and vowed to put it somewhere he’d always see it. To always have a reminder of you.

When all was said and done, the bounty caught, and you’d found your way back into the ship something had seemed different, more domestic. Floating around in an endless expanse of darkness, just talking. It was so simple, so innocent. Din wasn’t accustomed to the gentleness of domesticity, with his legs stretched out onto the dash and your soft presence floating around the cabin. He sat, still and quietly, listening to your voice, absolutely entranced. He had lived years, decades, on his lonesome, lone bandit doing as he pleased with a lack of regard to anything else. He could go and do terribly risky things. He could almost get himself killed and then thrive off of the adrenaline of living and no one would say a thing. But then there was a child, something small and fragile. He had a life in his grasp, something that would only flourish if he fed and watered it and gave it the right amount of love and sunlight. One lapse of judgement and suddenly the entirety of the universe rested right against his cold leather gloves. Gloves that did unimaginable things, cruel and incredible things. They smelled of blaster residue and guilt, payment for taken lives. He was ruthless until he wasn’t. Until he found a baby, alone, and saw a mirror, saw himself. It had softened him, reduced him to positively nothing.

The child was all he vowed to have, the only thing he would allow himself to love. And Din refused to believe he could open himself to anyone else, refused to let himself have anything else that could hinder him. But Maker, if the body really was made of stardust then a constellation had to give up two pieces of itself for the both of you to be here, together, perfectly aligned. He had surrendered himself entirely at your first words to him, fallen to his knees instead of replying and from that moment forwards Din Djarin, the feared bounty hunter in all his hard, hand-forged armour, had belonged to you. His soul melded into you.

The term “soulmate” was to be used lightly, and as much as he’d thrown the possibility around it wasn’t plausible. Impossible even, that you could be soulmates. Twin flames were more akin to what he felt you were. After one night in a murky inn, it seemed the feeling was mutual. As you’d pressed your hand to his, bare, ungloved, the only part of him you’d allowed yourself to touch. But it had been everything to him. Din had yearned for contact, and when the warmth from your palm bled into his something burned all through him and it still hadn’t left. You hadn’t left, you had burrowed yourself into his heart.

Din sat back in the pilot seat of the Razor Crest, feet propped against the dash. You were talking about a book you’d picked up in the village. It was on botany and certain botanical environments in different parts of the galaxy. You’d known most everything in the book already but it was still interesting and it contained a new tincture. It had also aided in putting the Child to sleep on several restless night. A habit he’d picked up since you’d been the one to put him to bed, only going down with a story, regardless of what it was you were reading. It was something so sweetly domestic, pure and untouched by anything happening through the galaxy.

Din’s life, from an impressionable age, had controlled by a creed. He had grown up loved and cared for but not with parents, he hadn’t ever had a textbook definition family. And in his line of work he couldn’t afford to be familial, let alone paternal. The child was accidental, at best. A cruel twist of fate had put them in the same path, The Child who owed his life for merely existing and Din, who was so feared that sometimes, the terror seeped into his own conscious. But you. You made him want to give up all the violence. He was willing to set his blaster down and never pick it back up. He would shed his brutality, pull himself from a rouge nomadic life if only for a moment more of this life. To be in love, to have a child, to nurture a family for himself. He wanted, so desperately, to have and to hold. He had also never divulged any of this to you.

“Its late-” You paused to look into the dark space outside of the ship, “In theory. We’ve been awake for a while is more accurate,”

“You can go to bed, I’ll manage with the kid.”

“We have Din, you’ve kidnapped someone since you slept last,”

Din scoffed, “Kidnapped is a little bit heavy, also incredibly incorrect. I do not kidnap, I get paid for what I do.”

“Kidnappers get paid, I think that's the point?” You pushed yourself out of the chair, “Are you coming?”

Din looked back to the console, “Fine, let me just put in the coordinates then I’ll be down, okay?”

You nodded, “Make sure not to get us lost.” You gathered your book and the blanket thrown over the headrest of The Child’s seat before opening the doors to the hallway.

You were settled into bed, pajamas on, afghan wrapped around your shoulders, and book in your clutch, when Din came down the ladder. He shuffled through the room, setting things in their rightful place, blaster under the bed, gloves on the nigh table.

“I’m turning the lights off, is that okay?”

You nodded, “Yes, yeah I’m done with this chapter.” You dogeared the page as the room was cast into darkness. The thick quilt on the bed was pushed back and the mattress sunk under his weight. There was a quiet shuffle as he removed his gloves, his helmet, and the rest of his heavy armor.

He was warm, it seemed to radiate from him. Even as he lay a lifetime away from you, only touching hands. It was pitch black and his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Did you see much of the village when we stopped?” You asked quietly, playing with his fingers.

“Enough.”

“What does that mean? Enough,”

“I saw enough of it, it was nice, lots of farmland. Did you like it?”

You nodded, moving to run your fingers over the palm of his hand. Despite how rough his line of work was Din’s hands were soft, all the years spent under thick leather gloves, “It was stunning, the baby liked it too. He really likes playing with other kids, he’s good at making friends.”

“Do you think he gets lonely?” You felt the tips of Din’s fingers shyly prod at the delicate skin on your wrist. The excitement that bubbled into your lungs seemed almost pathetic, like a schoolgirl holding hands with her crush for the very first time. But you’d never had his bare hands anywhere but your own and now he was moving up your arm.

“No, he seems content here, with us.”

His fingers were at the crook of your elbow now, pressing into the soft flesh and he almost seemed to tug at you, tug you closer, and you gave. His voice had quieted to accommodate the closed distance, “Friends couldn’t… hurt? Other kids to be around for more than just a couple of days.”

You let one of your fingertips start to dance up his bicep, “What exactly are you insinuating Mando?”

“It would be nice to settle in,” He gingerly settled his hand against the curve of your neck.

Your heart raced and you crooned into him, a soft shudder rolling through your shoulder, “Settle in?”

He carefully pushed a piece of hair from your eyes, “To be somewhere, permanently maybe,”

“Like to have a home, you mean?” You reached to hold the back of his hand against your cheek.

“Yes… maybe. Not necessarily, I mean not if you didn’t want to. Not… you but just in general.” He paused, thumbing at your cheek, “Yes you, if you wanted.”

“Din,” You murmured, reaching into the dark for him.

He caught your wrist, “I’m here. Right here.” And it was very quiet, practically silent besides the soft whirring of the engine. The air changed as he leaned closer, hair brushing against your jaw, “Is this okay?”

“Its perfect,” You whispered back up to him.

Slowly, very slowly, he pressed his mouth to yours. The stubble dusted against his jaw scratched your cheek as he tilted his head. His breath, softly flitting against your skin was warm and the hands your face made you feel safe, grounded. He smelled like leather and sweat and the freshly laundered shirt he wore. Din was home. He was soothing and familiar and home. Absolutely perfect. Absolutely wonderful.

Pulling back slowly you looked up to where you assumed he was, “Din, where exactly would we be settling in?”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the child #baby yoda #grogu #Mando #lennie writes

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shimmersing · 4 years ago

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“Ah, Lieutenant!” Erithon swallowed hard against the wave of apprehension that was gathering in his throat as Duke Organa flagged him down. “A most splendid representative of our allies in the Republic. Come!”

He managed not to squirm like a cadet when the Duke clapped him on the shoulder, turning him toward the ballroom’s grand stairway. It wasn’t that he didn’t like parties. This was just a few steps away from the usual military shindig: salute a few times, don’t spill anything on the dress uniform. Nobility wasn’t that far removed from the brass, right? Same kind of handshake deals that meant something a little different to each party, and something else altogether for the people under them. He shrugged inside the stiff sleeves of his jacket, not exactly uncomfortable, just… unfamiliar. It fit fine. But it didn’t feel quite right. Like this whole scene.

“Ah, excellent,” Organa drawled, slowing as a commotion drew everyone’s attention. Flashes sparkled as various holocams swarmed like killiks around the newest arrival. The duke glanced sidelong at Erithon while the soldier craned his neck to get a better view, squinting past the glare.

He knew – obviously; he wasn’t a complete nerf herder – that it would be his Jedi, the same way he knew when a blaster was about to overheat. He just knew. Was that how the Force worked? He didn’t think so, and a question like that seemed so utterly childish he almost laughed aloud. Would she, if he asked? Nah, she wouldn’t. She’d smile and offer him a gentle analogy like that morning, when he’d gathered enough nerve to ask her how he came to be sitting next to her on the transport and not in a body bag.

“Force healing is…” Aitahea had replied, their shoulders nudging companionably as the transport rumbled back toward the palace, “…hard to explain.” Her cheeks had flushed a little, the darting glance from below her lowered lashes full of shy apology. “But I’ll try.” She’d explained her method, which to him didn’t sound all that different from any other medical scanner he’d been in, only a lot more pleasant if his experience was any example.

“My sister on Brentaal is a nurse. Thought it was a little funny when we were younger. We always had medical droids to take care of everything, right?” The Jedi had bobbed her head, eager to hear his next thought. “But after I woke up in a kolto tank the first time alone, I mean, no personnel…” He’d flailed for some explanation of the isolation he’d felt, but it had been hard to recall while her shoulder had been jostling against his. He’d shrugged, grinned, and continued, “Now I think I prefer seeing someone friendly on waking.”

She’d gazed at him with a solemn wonder that had quickened his breath, had him doing everything he could to memorize the ever-so-slight parting of her lips before they curled into a smile.

Just like they did now.

Erithon was so preoccupied with following her gaze that the sudden smile blooming in his direction took his breath away. Again. Aitahea was resplendent. Gossamer enshrouded, bound hair freed from utilitarian plaits and tumbling over her bare shoulders – he throttled back a ridiculous urge to elbow Duke Organa and point out that she had shoulders, and weren’t they nice, too?

Organa smoothed his hands over his lapels, looking pleased with himself, while Erithon struggled to recall his higher vocabulary. “I expect the press will want a holo of our heroes.”

“A holo of-” he began, but she floated over to them right then, luminous and exquisite. It became quite clear who the press would want a holo of. The Jedi offered the duke a generous curtesy, and Erithon found his looming panic - particularly at the words “press” and “holo” - replaced by fascination with the way her earrings brushed against her jawline. Duke Organa caught her hands as she rose and enfolded her in a paternal embrace.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful,” Erithon heard Aitahea whisper to the duke.

“Superb timing, my dear.” The duke’s eyes crinkled merrily around an affectionate smile. He turned to nod at Erithon, adroitly pressing one of Aitahea’s hands into his, then stepped expertly into the background with a final, grand pronouncement: “Our Paladins!”

A cascade of flashes set Erithon’s vision shimmering, but training swiftly rose to meet unfamiliarity, and he managed to remain stoic even as his heart clanged wildly against his ribs. Clever fellow, that Organa, he mused, and with a smirk as bold as he could muster, he deftly hooked his arm under the Jedi’s hand and guided her away from the press. The Duke’s laughter echoed through the hall behind them, but Erithon couldn’t hear it and wouldn’t have cared anyway; he was busy memorizing the sound of her restrained giggle at his shoulder.

“That was a bold move, diplomatically speaking, Lieutenant,” she said playfully, drawing them to a stop to hold him at arm’s length. Flashes sparkled again, unnoticed by either. Her scrutiny didn’t bother him, and it did give him an opportunity to reciprocate.

“You’re… you look amazing,” he breathed, unable to push his awe aside. She could have been a daughter of any of the noble houses on Alderaan, only she couldn’t because none of them were as radiant, as otherworldly. She couldn’t, because even without her lightsaber (that he could tell, anyway), she remained a veritable force of nature. Unexplainable and irreplaceable, flushed cheeks and wide eyes and little white flowers caught up in her hair. Because when he’d said something as trite as ‘you look amazing’ her eyes lit up like she’d never heard anyone say it before this.

“Pardon me, Master Jedi? Lieutenant?” A fidgeting Haley Organa interrupted as politely as possible, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We’re ready for you.”

Erithon blinked, overwhelmed with the sudden lurching feeling that he hadn’t studied for a test. Hadn’t he just deftly navigated them out of this nonsense? “For…us?”

Before the young page’s nervousness could escalate to panic, Aitahea intervened: “An introduction. The formal presentation. It’s mostly for the holonet, so they can put a name with your holo, and hopefully spell it correctly.” Her brows lowered, and he caught a glimpse of solemn concern behind her light tone. “It shouldn’t be unlike one of your military events.”

He inclined his head, discomfort ebbing away. He didn’t think it was a Jedi thing, not this time. “Smile, but not too much.”

“Just so,” she replied softly, reaching up to brush away some unseen particle from his collar. He straightened, willing his face back into a mask of quiet confidence. Her own features settled into practiced serenity, but her eyes, fixed on his, danced.

Just another kind of battlefield.

[BREAK HERE]

“Republic Lieutenant Erithon Zale of Havoc Squad and Master Aitahea Daviin of the Jedi Order.”

The cluster of press at the foot of the grand stair disappeared momentarily behind the coruscation of flashes. Beyond them Aitahea briefly glimpsed, through the sea of elaborate costume and outlandish headwear, the dancers at the center of the hall. Over the buzz of voices, she could hear the notes of a familiar waltz. Haley Organa gave her a relieved smile as he slipped away to his next charges, leaving the Jedi and the soldier to descend the gauntlet together. Beneath her hand, Erithon’s arm was reassuringly steady.

Uncertainty flickered in his eyes only once they reached the last stair and the press drew close again. Erithon looked down, one brow raised in a wordless plea: What now? Aitahea laughed and nudged him toward a knot of familiar faces.

“Guess we made an entrance,” he admitted, sparing a last glance toward the lingering press, and turned toward Elara Dorne and Arik Jorgan, both in military dress like their commander, and a beaming Brant Sonn. “Hey, we know them.”

They exchanged greetings; the more formal commentary was punctuated with the chatter of battlefield allies good-naturedly enjoying each other’s company. Aitahea listened to the companions, struggling to keep her eyes on the others and not so frequently on Erithon. Grasping rather tenaciously to his arm was helping but had to be forsaken well too soon for her preference when Tharan and Holliday approached, asking that the Jedi make introductions for them, it wouldn’t take but a moment.

“Of course,” Aitahea agreed, all politeness, turning back to Erithon to excuse herself. He winked at her and caught her free hand in a quick squeeze when she began to pull away. Aitahea found herself suddenly and agreeably conscious that neither of their finery required gloves. His hands were warm.

“Hurry back,” he said, eyes crinkling with mirth, and Aitahea nearly forgot to let go before being ushered away by a harassed-looking Tharan.

‘Hurry’ became three different conversations with seven different nobles from at least two houses and a science corporation headquartered on Organa lands. At last, Aitahea was finally able to withdraw from the conversation, wandering over to where dancers traded partners and minced steps rather than words or plans. It was one of her favorite court dances, learned and practiced enough in her youth that even now she felt muscles tensing for steps she hadn’t taken in years. Orderly and precise, patterns were traced and rewritten, dancers finding each other again, over and over.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Aitahea was so entranced that she startled when Erithon spoke at her shoulder and laughed a little breathlessly. “Forgive me, I was so preoccupied with the dancers.” He offered her his arm and another charming grin, and she accepted, grateful that only she knew how an adolescent glee had settled so comfortably under her superficial calm. “I haven’t heard this since I was a girl – an initiate, in the enclave, that is.” She winced at her rambling explanation.

“Pretty.” He hadn’t seemed to notice her discomfort, occupied with carefully watching as the dancers divided, exchanged partners for a cursory bow, then returned to join hands. “Do you know the dance, too?”

She nodded. Well, if you’re going to be preposterously transparent may as well carry on, she thought vehemently, but her voice and expression remained blithe. “It’s traditional on Alderaan. Are you familiar with it?”

He grimaced at the dancers, chagrin drawing his brows low. “Um, no. But,” he offered cautiously, “I’m reasonably good at following orders. And you’ve kept me from embarrassing myself so far.”

“I’ve never… I haven’t in years, I don’t know if I can recall all…” Aitahea focused determinedly on his eyes while she tried to hold fast the wild fluttering in her chest, something delicate and precious that had lingered, and after a moment she found she liked it there simply fine. She inhaled slowly, then asked, “You’re certain?”

“I trust you.”

Erithon had made his mind up to ask if she wanted to dance before he’d even spotted her. He might not have any empathic sensibilities, but he’d watched her seek out the dancers even while they were walking down the grand stairs. Even he could tell she’d wanted to be out there, and if he could just manage to stay on his feet long enough to give her the chance, he’d handle any ribbing from his crew later. She deserved it.

“Listen,” she murmured over her shoulder as they waited, poised at the edge of the dance floor. “Can you hear the rhythm? One, two, three?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded, swallowing hard when she stepped back against him. “Got it.” He shifted, hovering at her side, and hoping his heart wasn’t thumping in her ear like it felt like it had to be. “I think.”

Humming her amusement, she turned herself expertly into his arms and placed her left hand in his while she raised their right hands to her shoulder, fingers entwined. “Just start walking in time with the music.” She tapped a finger into his left palm. “Begin with your left.”

He took a breath and nodded. The dance was stately but leisurely, giving Erithon plenty of time to hear the next step whispered over Aitahea’s shoulder. She made it effortless, her body easy to follow, featherlight touches guiding his motions.

Good thing that was all he had time to focus on.

After a few minutes of mostly successful instruction, Aitahea uttered a warning about the impending partner change. Erithon swallowed hard, nodded, and next thing he knew, he was tripping over the shoes of an unfortunate noblewoman with what looked like an entire miniature thranta nest perched precariously on a tower of powdered curls. Thankfully, the exchange ended quickly and Erithon was relieved to have Aitahea guiding him once again.

“I didn’t think anyone in the whole Core was still powdering their hair,” the Jedi bubbled unexpectedly into his ear. He laughed a little too loud and swept her gratefully – though perhaps a little too enthusiastically – back into the progression. He liked this part best, he’d quickly discovered. The leader – his role apparent, though he might have disagreed technically – picked up their partner for a little lift and turn. Aitahea had warned him verbally the first time, but the second time he’d wrapped his hands around her waist he’d been too busy looking into her eyes and had missed the lift.

Erithon was determined. This round he got everything perfect: an effortless lift gave him a few moments to enjoy when her eyes widened and smile bloomed. If he put her down a second or two late, she didn’t seem to mind.

The song wasn’t quite through when Aitahea’s steps slowed, drifting out of the pattern. Erithon tensed, an arm already around her waist, and opened his mouth to ask if she was all right when she stumbled. He caught her easily; she was breathing much harder than one should be for a Jedi in fighting form – and the shadows beneath her eyes seemed suddenly more pronounced.

Alarm buzzed through him. “Are you okay?” She still had her feet under her, so he kept hold of one of her hands and curled the other arm securely around her waist. Just in case.

“Yes!” she exhaled quickly, leaning into him, and added a breathy laugh. “Perhaps we should get some air?”

“Here, come on.” Guiding her past guards in Organa livery, the terrace appeared mercifully empty while the festivities continued inside. Erithon led Aitahea to one of the benches by an elbow, easing her down first before sitting beside her, keenly aware of his now-empty arms. “Better?”

“Much, thank you,” she replied, swiping at her hairline with the back of one hand before she lifted her face to smile at him. “That was lovely. I’m so sorry it had to end that way, and so soon.”

“Me too.” He smiled, unexpectedly pleased with her response. “You learned that here, as a kid?”

She shifted, easing back against the stone. “Yes.” She glanced sidelong at him, a droll smile playing across her lips. “No doubt the Duke has already regaled with you with mortifying stories from my youth.”

“He didn’t get to that,” Erithon said with a roguish wink. “Not that I’d believe a word of it, of course.” Erithon frowned back at her, worry wrinkling his brow. “You look tired.”

She sighed noncommittally and closed her eyes, leaning back against the cool stone behind them. Underneath the surface flush, she was still pale, almost sallow. When she opened her eyes again, the glitter in them was past the dazzle of a party and looking almost feverish.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Erithon shifted uneasily as the silence stretched out, trying not to guess at her silence and just leave her some space to breathe.

“I am… carrying a burden.” She paused, twisting her fingers while she seemed to search for words. “I’m shielding several masters who were infected with a Force plague, standing between them and madness, perhaps worse. Even my own master…” She trailed off, staring into her hands, dropping them to rest open in her lap.

“Anything I can do?” He meant anything. He’d face down more Sith, however many it took to disengage her from this burden and give her some peace. Anything.

Aitahea looked at him with eyes suddenly glittering with tears; her expression nearly stopped his heart. Her voice was a whisper, her eyes dancing again. “Erithon…” Her focus shifted, gaze flickering past him just as Erithon himself caught the sound of approaching footfalls. He ground his teeth to keep from muttering the curse he caught grumbling in his throat, instead giving Aitahea a bemused grimace as he rose and offered her a hand.

The Jedi was a portrait of ethereal serenity again, eyes that only moments before had shone with desperate anguish had shuttered, hiding the woman who’d whispered his name like a plea, leaving only the Jedi, glorious as she was, incandescent but incomplete.

“Ah, Master Jedi, I’ve been hoping to track you down all evening. I’m Hallam Organa, head of House Organa’s diplomatic corps.” The broad fellow made a brief bow, then indicated his companion. “This is my younger, more handsome brother, Lew.”

Lew Organa gave his brother an indulgent look. “Please, Hallam. You do yourself an injustice.” His lips twitched. “Your age gives you a stately difference.”

“My lords, it’s an honor to make your acquaintance,” she replied, eyes crinkling with amusement, then turned to Erithon. “Allow me to introduce Lieutenant Erithon Zale of the Republic, commander of Havoc Squad.”

“Ah, the liberator of the Spears! What an opportunity, having our newest Paladins side by side, such fine company!” Hallam exclaimed, offering Erithon a deep bow that Lew also made. Erithon glanced at Aitahea, uncertain how to respond, and she inclined her head, giving him an encouraging smile. He copied the motion, appreciative but still a bit mystified by all the pomp and circumstance.

Rising, Hallam returned his attention pointedly to Aitahea. “Master Jedi, I’ve been told you’re seeking Master Sidonie Garen.”

She hovered close to Erithon’s side, her hand curled around his arm. “It’s urgent that I speak with Master Sidonie as soon as possible.”

“You just missed her, I’m afraid. She’s already left for the peace summit,” Hallam explained. “A peace summit on Alderaan! Imagine that!” He slapped his thigh, shaking his head incredulously at Lew, who nodded thoughtfully in response.

Erithon watched Aitahea’s lips thin almost imperceptibly, but the next moment she was tilting her head, tranquil and erudite. “Indeed. Can you put me in contact with her?” Erithon could feel her tensing, fingers tightening on his sleeve. Master Sidonie must be one of the infected Jedi masters she’d mentioned a few moments ago.

“I can call her, certainly.” Hallam flicked another glance at Erithon, considering. “The location of the summit is a secret for obvious reasons, but I’m sure she’d welcome your assistance. Meet us first thing tomorrow morning, diplomacy wing?”

He felt her shudder, but she nodded affirmation. “Thank you, my lord, the Council will be eager to hear any updates.”

Their shoulders brushed again and again as they walked, sending her heart skipping every time. He hadn’t let her go further than arm’s reach since she’d stumbled out of the dance progression, nor as they wandered back to their suites after finishing the stilted conversation with Hallam and Lew Organa.

She slowed, eyes flickering to the nearby door of his suite, then back across the hall to her own door before she turned to face him. “We’re here.”

“Right.” He caught up the hand she’d left lingering on his sleeve and offered one of those extraordinary lopsided smiles. “I’m glad we found each other again.”

She returned the expression with delight. “As am I. Thank you for…” She began the elaborate thank-you she’d begun contriving as they’d walked back to the guest wing, but when he reached up with his free hand, twining one of her loose curls around a finger, every word fled her all at once. The silence between her heartbeats was impossibly sustained, well more than enough time for him to notice her gaze lingering on his mouth. When he drew closer still and smoothed his thumb over the curve of her cheek, she lost track of them entirely.

“Do you think we’ll ever dream of each other again, like Taris?” he asked, low and earnest.

Some resolve she’d fashioned in the wake of their dearly-won victory, Yuon’s coy encouragement, and the bravado of familiar surroundings fractured at his innocent question. The connection that often lingered after healing blazed with unfamiliar sensations that she hadn’t the strength to unravel now. Even without the physical contact, even with all her practiced resolve and Jedi training, his emotions wound around and through her, as impossible for her to ignore or deny as a starship could the pull of a gravity well. Waiting for her answer had allowed him plenty of time to sweetly tilt her face up to his.

With an austere resolve she was distantly surprised to find intact, she pressed a hand to his chest, where not long ago she’d smoothed her palm over his bare skin in the wake of the most desperate healing she’d ever undertaken. Aitahea answered, her whisper breaking on a last fragment of jagged verity: “I never stopped.”

She closed her eyes against the onslaught of overwhelming, unshielded, achingly reciprocated need, and pushed him away. She bit down hard on the soft sound of loss that threatened to escape her throat when he jolted back, the sudden distress and regret that tolled through her – no, him – no. Through them both. She struggled to inhale a tremulous breath.

When she could bear to open her eyes again, Erithon looked physically pained, his confusion and concern shearing through her own exhausted disappointment. He’d stepped back, hands open and empty, doubt beginning to tarnish the bright threads that had encircled them. “That was out of line, I’m sorry.”

“No, I was… You – I’m not –” Aitahea pressed her lips together hard to keep them from trembling, but it couldn’t stop the stinging in her eyes, the ache in her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No. No.” He shook his head, vehement. “Don’t be. Please.” Erithon hesitated, trying to work up a friendly grin in contrast to his stiff posture, but only managed a wan quirk of his lips. “I told you on Taris that we’d do something better.”

She exhaled in a rush and allowed a smile to flutter across her face. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, you did. Thank you.” Better! It was wonderful. Too wonderful. I never wanted to stop. We should have finished the song. “I should… retire for the night… if I’m to pick up Master Sidonie’s trail tomorrow.” She glanced toward her door, promising the solace of isolation and hopefully sleep. She was exhausted, utterly, but couldn’t resist one last watery smile. “Thank you, Erithon.”

His usual ebullient charm at least marginally recovered, he offered her a bow as crisp and practiced as any noble in the castle. “Goodnight, Aitahea.”

Aitahea waited for the door lock to engage before she sank back against it, hands over her face, about to release the pent-up sob clawing at the back of her throat.

On the suite’s balcony, Qyzen Fess shifted carefully but deliberately, his armor creaking in the silence. The door rattled noisily as she flattened against it in disbelief, reaching for a lightsaber that was not there. Of course not.

“Apologize if I startle you, Herald.”

Disquieted by her own panic, Aitahea bit back an uncharacteristically sharp retort, closing her eyes to draw a calming breath in its place. After releasing it, Aitahea raised a carefully neutral face to her friend. “I’m sorry, Qyzen, I wasn’t expecting you. Well done, you successfully snuck up on a Jedi.”

“Was not aware of such challenge.”

She sighed. “An attempt at a joke, Qyzen. A failed attempt, apparently. To add to the rest I’ve made this mission.” Aitahea sank gratefully into an overstuffed chair, letting the beautiful but unfamiliar shoes slip off her suddenly aching feet. “What changed your mind about the castle?”

“Mind not changed. Will return to ship after speaking.” Qyzen hovered near the balcony doors, clearly uncomfortable and anxious to depart. “Must see how Scorekeeper’s Herald fares.”

Aitahea tenaciously schooled her expression to serene but was unable to shake the tendrils of failure and regret that clung like shadows. “Tired, Qyzen. Thank you for checking.”

“Herald will rest.” Aitahea couldn’t decide if that was a question or suggestion, but either way, she agreed.

“Yes.”

AN: It's been such a journey to get here, to this chapter in particular that I’ve been imagining for such a long time. I’ve been stuck here since 2020; I’m so glad you’re still here with me. With us, I suppose. Enjoy. May the Force be with us all. Thank you.

Thank you to the ever-present, dependable, and brilliant Taraum for beta-reading.

#swtor fanfic #swtor fanfiction #star wars the old republic #fanfiction #jedi consular #republic trooper #alderaan #adventure #romance #fluffy #oc: aitahea daviin #oc: erithon zale #erithon/aitahea #chapter 8 #chapter eight #NEW CHAPTER #UPDATED

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maulsscream · 5 years ago

Photo

(gif by obimauls)

HOPE Maul x Ahsoka

First of all, I’m so sorry for using that gif. Second of, don’t know what this is. It was supposed to be a Hurt/Comfort fic but then it... became this and lost its purpose. All I can say is that I can write everything you want but I could never bring myself to retcon “Running away again, Lady Tano?”.

SUMMARY Rated G - 2,007 words

There is a gap. A moment in which neither of them know what to say, but they know what to do. The fate of the galaxy is on their shoulders.

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

Ahsoka had sent Maul to his death. She could never have brought herself to inflict the kind of atrocities Maul was unleashing upon the clones. They had been her friends, all of them. By not providing the former Sith with a weapon, she had hoped to even the fight if only a little. Still her conscience didn’t feel clear. She felt sullied by the implications of the chaos she had asked for.

As she made her way down the hallways with caution, she clearly understood just how much she had doomed her troopers. It was what Maul had been raised to do after all. He was an unrelenting killing machine on a mission. If the scene in front of her was to draw any conclusion, it was that it had been a slaughter. The clones had stood no chance against him. They had been decimated.

She walked across dismembered bodies, a feeling of darkness overtaking her. She had been witness to the horrors of war. She had been victim to it. This was different. This reeked of carnage and destruction. There was no necessary evil in what she saw.

The people she had called friends minutes ago were laying dead on the floor, limbs scattered across the hallway. She was thankful that their helmets were still on. It was hard enough having to deal with their betrayal, even if she knew how blameless they were, she didn’t want to add insult to injury by having to take their death in one by one. They were casualties of war nothing more, she reminded herself.

She reached another corridor and halted. Rex was right behind her as he always had been, making sure they were covered on all sides. He didn’t trust the renegade to not kill everyone, Rex and Ahsoka included.

“Maul?”

Her voice ringed in his ears. She sounded surprised to find him slumped over a wall but still standing. He was aware of what her words had truly meant when they had parted ways. She wanted him dead, just as much as the rest of them. Whether he survived the battalion of clones was none of her concerns. She had needed him to clear the way for her escape and he had done exactly as she had ordered. Perhaps he was hoping for her to see his value as an ally so that they could survive this. Clearly they couldn’t do it alone.

Maul sank down to his knees on the floor as Ahsoka rushed to his side, kneeling down as well. She could see he was wounded. The injury wouldn’t be fatal and knowing Maul he could recover from it. He had recovered from behind cut in half. This was merely a blaster shot to the chest. Still, if they didn’t bring him to the med bay, he would have been picked off by clones easily. Right now, he was their only chance to escape alive.

“Can you walk?”, Ahsoka asked.

There was no concern or care in her voice. Maul scoffed, causing him to go into a coughing fit. Out of pure spite, the former Sith tried to stand but quickly fell into her arms. Could he walk? Ridiculous... Pain was simply a state of mind that he didn’t even register anymore.

“I’m fine.”, Maul hissed.

He wasn’t. As Ahsoka took hold of his side she could feel a warm wetness dripping down through her fingers. There was no doubt in it, he was bleeding. Upon further inspection she saw that a piece of metal had lodge itself in between Maul’s ribs. The cut seemed to run deep enough to make him hack up blood again.

“Rex, make sure the way to the medbay is clear.”, Ahsoka instructed.

Maul glared down at her. He didn’t need to be coddled like a child. Especially not by someone who didn’t care if he lived or died unless he was useful in doing either. Why was she trying to save him when he was clearly a lost cause? He would only slow her down. One of them had to survive and it was not going to be him. He had resigned himself to his faith.

“You have to go. Now.”, Maul groaned.

“I’m not leaving you.”

So she had changed her mind. Ahsoka was aware that Maul was her ticket out off of that ship. She needed someone to hold off the clones while her and Rex jumped on an escape pod. And Maul had just proven himself to be a more than valuable meat shield, if nothing else.

Ahsoka tossed Maul’s arm across her shoulder. He was ridiculously heavy and massive, something she hadn’t accounted for. If they were to make it back in time, they’d need to hurry. She could tell he was trying his best not to be a burden and was carrying most of his own weight while holding his bleeding side. It was a true testament to his strength. With the injuries he had sustained, Ahsoka wondered how the Sith was still conscious enough to talk. Let alone do it while making sense.

“Don’t waste your time. You and I both know I will only slow down your escape. You need to hurry.”

After all she had said to him, Maul was still trying to help her. This time felt different. He had nothing to gain by telling her to abandon him there and flee. It wasn’t his style to be selfless. Perhaps what they had felt in the Force had given him a change of heart.

Ahsoka didn’t even reply to whatever rambling were coming out of his mouth, too busy focusing on dragging herself back to the medbay where the trio of droids still were. With the help of Rex, she loaded the Zabrak onto the table. One astromech guarded the door while two others were running diagnostics.

Maul grabbed her hand tightly as she moved to set up his surgery. Kriff knew what she was going to find out about his anatomy and all the modifications he had suffered over the years. But this wasn’t what concerned the former Sith. There was a beat were they stared at each other.

“Lady Tano, a favour please.”

She cast a glance to Rex who got the hint. This was a private conversation. The trooped took a few paces towards the door, his back turned to them. Ahsoka leaned in closer to Maul who had a resigned look in his eyes. There was no doubt about it, he had seen death before. It didn’t scare him. She wondered if anything in his life had ever truly frightened him.

“I’m going to do my best to fix your injuries so that we can--”

“In case you don’t...”, Maul interrupted.

He could tell the former Padawan was talking to reassure herself rather than him. She had a wild look in her eyes, panic settling in. She was scrambling to hold to the old world she knew where she needed to save everyone. This had never been Maul’s reality. Death was inevitable and welcomed if the time was right and enemy was worthy. But to a Jedi, the lack of control and certainty created a void where she couldn’t even trust the Force to guide her.

“Destroy the ship. There can be no trail left for him to follow.”

His grip on her hand tightened and Ahsoka brought her other hand to hold his. It was a strange act of comfort but she simply couldn’t help herself. He was a being in pain and against her own judgement and instincts, he deserved a chance... maybe. He had proved himself to be useful and even when he had had no reason to follow her orders, he had done as he was told. If anything were to happen to Rex, Maul would be her only reliable ally on that ship. She knew she couldn’t lose that.

She also knew that Maul wasn’t talking about the trooper in the room. If she was to be hunted down after her escape, it would be by Darth Sidious and his new army. The only mention of that name had terrorised the former Sith down in the tunnels of Mandalore. Only he knew what he was truly capable of.

Maul didn’t let go of her hand throughout the procedure. It wasn’t so much for comfort as it was for assurance that she wouldn’t terminate him on the spot. He could feel her energy through the Force linked them together. It was an unspoken understanding. They could guess each other’s intentions and how desperately they wanted to survive. Maul reached out to her and it took Ahsoka a moment to decide wether she wanted to respond to his call or not. Yes.

He rose from the table with a snarl, stretching his side. Ahsoka stepped back and observed. She had concerns about teaming up with someone like Maul and it read on her face. But what choice did she have? She was incapable of ploughing through squads of clones as he had, it wasn’t her style. They’d have to rely on each other.

“Lead the way.”, he said as his hand extended towards Rex and the corridor before them.

None of them had a good feeling about heading back out there. Who knew how many clones were still out there, hunting them down? Were they planning an ambush? The way to the escape pods wasn’t an entirely straight line and they would have to trust each other not to get slaughtered.

They made their way through quietly and rather unbothered by any troopers. Maul and Ahsoka exchanged looks. Something was up. As they reached the hangar, it all made sense.

Blaster shots were coming at them reluctantly, barely giving them a chance to strategise about their best option. Maul had his back to Ahsoka’s while Rex was flanking them. They deflected as much as possible but it was clear that they were outgunned and outmatched. The clones had had time to set up their ambush. Ahsoka felt glad that she had her back turned and didn’t have to witness whatever Maul was doing to the them. She could only hear shouts and bones being crushed underneath their armours as their bodies got tossed against the walls of the hangar. Maul grunted as he took another blaster bolt to the shoulder, only enhancing the anger and speed with which he fought. Ahsoka could feel his presence in the force, shrouded with darkness. He was almost having fun.

“This way!”

She shouted and the three of them broke from the troopers swarming them. They weaved through shots fired in every direction as they reached the other side of the docking bay. The escape pods were right there, two of them still locked into their compartments. They were so close!

Maul was sealed the doors behind them, clenching his fist and causing the metal to bend on itself. It wouldn’t hold them off for long. He could already hear them trying to break down the door. Maul turned around slowly to observe Ahsoka who was scrambling to unlock the pods.

Her hands were shaking, her aura unsettled. She stopped as if she’d been hit by a freighter. She was drowning in her own panic while Maul had never been so calm in his life. There was no longer rage and anger in his eyes when they locked with her. He knew what he had to do.

“May the Force be with you, Ahsoka Tano.”

His arm rose and before she had time to shout at him to stop, Maul had force-pushed her into the pod. The door blasted open in a flash of light and dust.

The last thing she saw as she tripped into an escape pod and onto Rex was Maul looking back over his shoulder at her, his hands outstretched in front of him while pushing back an onslaught of clones.

Ahsoka remembered his words. They swirled in her head. She owed him as much for saving their lives.

Destroy the ship.

#maulsoka #ahsoka tano #darth maul #maul #ahsoka #ahsoka x maul #maul x ahsoka #tcw #tcw spoilers #fics

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thesundropfalls · 5 years ago

Text

Unprepared, untrained, and fatally unskilled (Poe Dameron x Reader)

Word count: 6.5K

Setting: PreTFA (The Force Awakens)

Summary: You've lived a quiet life so far in Naboo, coming from the Naberrie household. When a deadly mistake turns you into an informant for the Resistance, you're forced to go into hiding. As if that weren't enough, a particular Pilot's interest in you is piqued. Navigating an affair with a hot-headed flyboy and an Empire's downfall, you learn that no one is truly on your side.

Warnings: 18+ This is a violent, smut heavy series. It features Punishment, Dubious consent, Non-consensual sex, Mentions of rape, Masturbation, Oral sex, Praise kink, Slight Yandere, Violence, Gore, Drugs, Character Death, and way too much personification of nature. If you are uncomfortable with any of those, please DO NOT start this series. They will be featured in the next few chapters.

"Shuttle stop... eight thousand paces... Entry borders..." You mutter, repeating your Master's directions. It has to be here. It has to. What else were you to do?

"You will make it to the resistance base." You hype to yourself, lifting your chin. "You won't die a sweaty death on this Maker-forsaken planet." You weren't sure whether saying it aloud was an attempt to self-soothe or to boost your determination, either way, you didn't buy it.

The pilot droid had informed you that a mile of jungle separated the base from the shuttle stop. Was it joking? Can droids joke? It must have been. You could cross a mile in fifteen minutes, yet you've been maneuvering through forestry for half a day.

This steamy muck maze was loud. Distractingly loud. The low humming and chirping of critters drone in your ears, warning you of their presence. Every living thing could sting, poison, or kill you if they wished. Vastly different from your calm shores of crystal in Naboo. You came knowing that, but just how different they were, your Master never could prepare you for.

Your toes ached from being bashed into roots, the soles of your once new shoes had worn through hours ago. However, tripping and not falling flat on your face was an achievement you let yourself be proud of.

You couldn't even walk on this planet, let alone breathe. A blanket of moist air engulfs your body, filling your lungs with a dense humidity. It was sickening. Yet, onward you trudge. Maybe there was a path just behind that brush, or that clearing, or that tree. Maybe.

Looking up, you try searching overhead for the suns, attempting to find a navigation point. Still, all you were met with was a high canopy of thick vines and branches. It stretched for miles, sunlight only peaking through cracks the vegetation left vulnerable.

A buzzing grew loud in your ear, making your stomach drop like a stone.

"Mother of moons-" A surge of adrenaline shoots through your body as a mosquito lands on your bare shoulder. It was huge-at least the size of a small Voorpak.

You barely have a chance to squeak before it sinks its proboscis deep into your muscle tissue. With a smack of your palm, you burst it's engorged stomach sack on your skin, spewing its juices over your collar.

You gag and scrape the fluid off of your hand onto the bark of a poor nearby tree. The liquid is thickly viscous for some reason, but you weren't about to investigate and find out why. Now you regret discarding the D'qar environmental manual on your shuttle from Naboo. At least it was dead. The proof was on your shoulder.

You reach into your satchel and slip on a patterned kaftan of your own design. You couldn't have insect guts smeared all over yourself when you meet with General Organa, could you? If you ever did make it there.

As you walked, you allowed your conscious to amble backward through your memories. It showed you a glimpse of the mistake that brought you to the jungle in the first place.

....

You scurried down the hall, skirts balled in your fist as not to trip over them. You've never been late. In all eleven years of working for The General, your Master, you've never been late. There was a chance, though. That he wasn't already in his quarters, you could work at triple speed to clean all of the surfaces before he arrived.

You prayed you wouldn't find him there as you turned the corner and pressed the door's opening hatch. Sure enough, the room was empty.

"Thank the Maker." You sighed in relief, shoulders slumping. You got to work as quick as lightning. Cloth in hand, you scrubbed the woodwork, decorations, counter surfaces, and wiped off anything with a coating of dust.

Despite your daily efforts, all your Master ever noticed was if the rooms smelled cleaner than he left it. You made a mental note to hide a different vial of herbs in his wardrobe each morning. The last task was to replace it, and then you could scoot away without penalty. Lady luck was on your side this morning, you thought. Being much too short to reach their designated place on the upper shelf, you stepped into the closet and shut the doors behind you.

That's when you heard it. The sound of the door's hatch flying open. Your Master.

Dread melted a pit in your stomach. You wanted to shrink out of existence, to dig a hole and crawl in to die. You contemplated revealing yourself. But what would you say to him then? You'd have no excuse for it. Surely he'd send you away. It would cost you your job, and you'd be back begging on the streets. So you stilled, the force of fear stopped your hand from pushing open doors.

Your Master began to speak, and a static voice replied.

"General Pyrus. They've taken over my cruiser. I haven't much time--"

"Quickly now. Tell me."

"Eighteen point two thousand-- two hundred and eight degrees north, sixty-six point five thousand nine hundred and one degrees west. Star system collective--" The static voice cut in and out. "Passkey--Saint Alchemy."

"And the code?"

"--Digits MC-32809. I can't hold them off-- I failed her."

" You haven't. You followed orders. You did everything right."

"The base is on D'qar, find Leia-- Find the resi--" Blaster fire overtook the static intercom. The line ended.

The gasp that escaped your lips was less suppressed than you realized.

Did you just hear someone die? Was the man on the intercom shot? What was your Master talking about? Who shot him?

Your head swirled with unanswered questions, distracting you from the volume of your stunted breathing. Your second mistake.

A gloved hand shot through the crack of the door and yanked you from your hideaway. With a shriek, you spilled out onto the floor of the office. You made a feeble attempt to scramble to your knees, but your Master held you down by the neck of your collar.

"Traitorous bitch!" He spat on you.

You shook your head rapidly in denial, eyes wet. "Please, Sir I-"

"Who do you work for? Shadow collective? The First Order? Imperial commandos? Speak!" He ordered.

Shock shot up your veins and froze your system. You stared at him, agape and quivering. You forced the words to pass around the stone in your throat. "I-I... I do- I don't know-know. I don't know... Master, please plea- please." You choked.

Your Master grew impatient with you and tightened his constricting grasp, "Tell me at once, spy!"

"I work for you!" You finally shouted, eyes screwed shut for protection. "I have for eleven cycles, Master." You put your hands up in defense, who betrayed you with how vigorously they trembled.

"And I'm- I'm no... I'm not a spy, please, Master. I-I... I overslept and came to work late. I didn't mean to intrude. I was cleaning your quarters, and then you- you came home." Your lungs cried for a gulp of air, spent on stuttering.

He stared down at you, seething. You couldn't read his expression as it was teetering between sincere regret and anger. You didn't know which one you least preferred, either way, it was mortifying to be cast such a look. You prayed for him to recognize you, to see past the vulnerability, and identify you as you were-one of his handmaidens, his best.

"I was going to come out and apologize, I swear it!" You begged him. "But, you started to speak to someone..." You hesitated, wondering if you should admit to what you heard. You decided upon it against your better judgment. "...Someone that was killed, Sir."

Watching his eyes fill with slight sorrow, you bit back tears and pipped up again, "But I am no spy, I am no traitor! I swear it on my mother's name."

"Of course you aren't," Pyrus released his grip, letting you fall back to the floor. Your hands shot up to your neck and held the strangled area as a sweet breath of air filled your lungs.

"Much too stupid to be a spy. Do you have any idea what you've just done?" He boomed, his spit rained over your red face.

"It was nothing I heard, nothing at all!" You defended, holding your hands up to him for grace.

"You dare lie to me, that message was highly classified, higher than your comprehension, you foolish girl." He hovered tall above you, "I should have to kill you. I cannot risk the possibility of having you captured by the First Order."

"Please, please..." You fell on your chest, face smashed against the abrasive carpeting. Tears streamed hotly down the sides of your face, burning your skin.

You wept for a long time. Minutes passed, and still, Pryus looked down upon you pitifully. He gave no response to your cries, weighing his options grievously. All the while, you prepared to be shot.

"Get up," He commanded, breaking his silence.

"Master?" You croaked, peeling your cheek from the floor.

Pyrus stamped the heel of his boot, "I said, get up."

You wasted not another second to scramble to your feet, yet you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, tears steadily trickling down your flushed face.

"No more blood will be spilled over the safe delivery of this code. I have a task for you." Pyrus said and stalked across the room to his desk. He leaned over its polished surface and shifted weight upon his knuckles.

"Originally, I was to deliver the code to General Leia Organa via intercom. However, I haven't been able to reach her." He raked a hand through his scalp, "I can only assume that they've been working underground to evade the First Order. We must pray that they've been successful."

You stared at your shoes, still sniffling and wiping the damp mess from your face with the frill of your sleeve. The First Order, The Resistance, General Organa, all those which you heard about through heated debates or hushed rumors. Up until this point, you never honestly considered them to be real things and not the gossip of the serving class.

Pyrus turned to face you, "It appears that I need a new messenger. And now that you've heard the code, I can't let you go. You're sure to be captured."

You cradled your opposite forearm, "I swear it, Master. I can't remember any such code. I wasn't trying to listen." Besides that, it didn't make sense as to how anyone could find out your attachment to this, this code thing. Whatever it was.

"It's not what you can remember. It's what they can pull out of you." He corrected, folding his arms across his chest. "The First Order possess the power of the dark side, the power to reach into your mind and pluck any information they need."

Dark side. Power. These things shouldn't be spoken of in such a setting. You were wary of believing in them, but for argument's sake, you didn't question it. "Master, if that is the case, you are no more safe than I. They could capture you too. What makes it so that you could not deliver it yourself?"

"I am a General of the national court. I have a battalion to command. The importance of your life is but a grain of sand compared to mine." He snapped. "You can be spared, the people of Naboo depend on my lead." He held no emotion in his voice. There was truth in his statement, irrefutably there was truth. It made his words sting no less.

Pryus sighed and crossed the room to you, "Howbeit, the burden of this information gives you more substance than yourself alone. An informant you will be. You have no such skill to have been granted such a task, but as fate would have it, you have been."

"Am I still... I still have a job here?"

"If you cooperate." He nods, "Now, repeat to me what you heard."

"Coordinates, yes. It sounded like coordinates, Was it?" You suggest, seeking his approval. He stared at you simply, his silence beckons you to reach farther.

"Also... Maybe a-a pass-... um... a passkey of some kind. Saint..." You begin to rack your brain, the flutters of your heartbeat picking up into a pound. Nothing else in your memory, nothing but the static sound of blaster fire. Giving up, your chest fell, "Master, I just don't remember."

Pryus bid you closer, "Listen carefully now. I"m going to give you the rest of the code, but you'll need to do exactly as I say."

Your heart sank deeper, "I have to comply, I can't refuse?"

"You're certainly allowed to refuse." He clenched his jaw, "But, I would deem it most unwise."

...

It pulls you from your thoughts, and at first, you think you imagine it-faint sounds of machinery that fill your ears. And then you see it, hints of civilization sparkling in the distance. Filled with delight and newfound faith, your pace quickens. You're almost weightless as you speed to what must be the borders of the base.

You, unknowingly, were about to be smacked with the reality of the universe. Merrily skipping into a stark ambiance of war and battlefront lines that you were strictly unprepared for. Of course, you understood the circumstance. Warfare massacred the outskirts of your own homeworld. You spent a portion of your youth hearing about the slaughter of millions and the depopulation of planets. You understood the urgency.

Maybe a call to action or perhaps a way to pull yourself from poverty, your intentions were muddled. The very moment you became of age, You took the position to serve a General of the political guard, Master Ranrat Pyrus. Acting as a servant to his beck and call, you were made a Handmaiden. From your impoverished point of view, it was an occupation of luxury, easy money with a decent prospect of living.

And that's what it was, at first. Your Master was decent to you, so you remained in his staff.

Despite the direness of war, the way of life on your mother world had bound itself to your soul and engraved clearly into your features. Your skin had memorized the way the Naboo suns kissed you, replicating the glow for others to covet. Your feet grew up wading in cool liquid crystal and traveling naked across cushy sandbars. Every cycle, the renewed sky sent her gusts of wind to tussle and play with your hair.

Your fingertips knew the intricately woven fabrics of lakeside merchants. Who's real craft was haggling prices. Their wrinkled faces used to light up at the sight of their oldest customer combing shelves for a bargain of delicate satin. Lakeside lifestyle proudly shone on your body, and it's culture woven into your hair like ribbons on royalty.

You would miss that life dearly, once you realized it was gone.

Passing the border, you stepped into a clearing of roaring engines and the working of machines. Beeping droids busy with their tasks hustled past you. Mission alarms rang out overhead as X-wing pilots wrestled the motors of old beasts alive. Gusts of wind exploded in your ears, and Welders sent sparks of fire outward in a show of skill. All the while, tubes of engine fuel decorated the floor, pumping the metal to life.

The sight of it took your breath away. Absently, you stepped backward, overwhelmed by it all. You've never seen so many machines in one place, all working furiously for their created purpose.

Is this where you've been sent? Among pilots for weapons of destruction? Masters of war? Decorated soldiers with bravery and-

Metal rammed into your calves, knocking you off your feet. The ground swiftly rose up to collide with your backside.

"Oh," You were on the floor.

Shifting your gaze, you sucked in a startled breath, coming face to face with a droid. It chirped at you. You must've run into it.

It whirred and blinked once more, rolling forward and bumping your kneecap accusedly.

Should you apologize? Would it understand you? You didn't understand binary, let alone speak it.

The shock of the situation began to roll off your shoulders, staring at it wouldn't do you any good.

"I uh, I'm sorry. Are you alright?" You inquired slowly, testing its comprehension.

It circled you, chirping at you frustratedly.

It wasn't alright.

"Hey!" You heard a shout over the working of machinery. Your attention snapped to an orange figure charging towards you.

Yeah, that was definitely directed at you.

You promptly stood and dusted off your pants. Thinking the figure to be a superior, your tongue hastily began to gather apologies, preparing to spit them out in your defense.

Kriffing hell, were you really about to get reprimanded? You hadn't even finished walking to your destination, how useless were you?

"What's your problem?" The man barks, not sparing you a glance and bending down to search the droid of any injuries.

"I'm sorry! Sir, please. I apologize, I just- I didn't see it." You stammer, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

Maybe if you bat your pretty little eyelashes, he wouldn't stick you on the first shuttle to Mustafar before you had a chance to meet with the General.

He whips his head back around, fully prepared to chew you out for all you were worth. His eyes, full of annoyance, lock with yours.

"I'm sure you di-" He hesitates, the anger he once held seems to vacate his expression. He let his eyes drift down your body, if only for a second. They come back up briskly, connecting with yours once again.

"I, uh, I don't..." The droid beeps and whirrs to him. He shrugs at the droid and then shifts his focus back to you as he gathers himself.

"Are you okay, miss? M'sorry, my buddy here can be somewhat of a rustbucket sometimes." He encouragingly rubs the side of his droid and stands, extending his hand to you. "My name's Poe, Poe Dameron. Black Leader, Commander of Rapier Squadron."

His tone was relaxed; he wasn't going to reprimand you. Your shoulders drop in relief. His eyes strike you, the intensity of his stare was almost uncomfortable. Almost. You step back out of respect and secret intimidation.

"Well met, Poe Dameron. Y/n Naberrie." You swallow stones. Your palm opens to accept, and his calloused hand envelops yours in a gentle squeeze as you tell him your name.

Poe seems to focus on you as if he'd never been introduced to someone before. You watch his lips repeat your name no louder than a whisper, playing with the sound on his tongue.

Growing impatient, the droid below him started to whirr and rolls straight into his shin.

"Shit! Calm down, BB." He nudges the bottom of the droid with the heel of his boot, silently communicating with his droid to stop shaking his game. "This is BB-8, astromerch unit. For a piston head, his circuit board must be cross-wired over the moons today. So much for ninety-eight suit programmings. I just..." Poe trails off with a laugh, his mouth seals when he recognizes confusion in your eyes.

Sod it. He knows you didn't understand him.

You cough a short laugh, praying that he'd take it as a delayed response. "Oh yeah, totally. I just, I'm new." You explain, "I'm uh, actually not supposed to be out here, I don't think."

Your eyes dart around the courtyard, debating whether to explain your situation to him. Poe seemed kind for a Commanding Officer, maybe a little hyper-fixated, but kind. You could trust him in pointing you in the right direction.

"I'm looking for the Control Center," You breathe, "I have business General Organa." You'd let him know that much.

"Oh yeah, that's in the Eastern Sector over..." He pauses to think it over, "Why don't I show you?"

"You aren't terribly busy, are you?" You shift your gaze down to BB-8, who was silent but beginning to vibrate out of frustration.

"I was assessing some damage on a processing unit, but BB'll take care of it, won't you bud?" Poe makes an expression to the droid that you couldn't explain, and with a whirr, BB-8 scooted away.

You'd never seen a droid of that model before, not that you had seen many before. This one was just a ball of steel with an attitude.

"He's kinda cute, your droid." You muse after he rolls around the corner out of earshot.

"He's adorable," Poe corrects. "But don't tell him that," the corner of his mouth tugs up into a smirk. It rests so comfortably on his face, and you could only imagine how many hours of the day he spent wearing it.

"Shall we?" He holds his arm out for yours to slip into. To that, you stifle a laugh, waiting for his lead. He waited too.

Oh, he's serious.

"Maker, I'm sorry." You hesitate, then slip your arm into his. This is awful cordial for a military fort, was it not? His grip is soft but firm. The padding of his jumpsuit acts as a barrier between his skin and yours. For a moment, you imagine what it would feel like bare, probably the same as his grip.

He pays no mind and leads you out of the yard and down to a concrete runway. A neverending lane of battleships, a full fleet of them were parked in several rows. They stood so tall, taller than you ever would've guessed. These couldn't be the same ones that passed through your village. They seemed so tiny in the sky. Every few cycles, you would see an armada of spacecraft torpedo through the air. They were pilots of the republic, and they were right in front of you.

They weren't new, though. As beautiful as the beasts were, they ran half as well as they did in their prime. Ladies of war now in their sunset years, called to action one last time. Leave it to you to think rustbuckets to be poetic.

Poe noticed your taken expression with each passing ship, "Never seen an x-wing fleet before?"

"I can't say I have. Where I'm from, we don't get many fleets of anything, let alone pilots. It's a bit of a nowhere." You say, trying your best not to get whistful.

"A nowhere, is that where this is from?" He gestured to your brightly colored Kaftan, "Because I gotta find out where I can get me one of these things."

A giggle slips past your filter. Pupils mooning, you bring your hand impulsively over your mouth.

You giggled. In front of a Commanding officer, no less. Not that Poe acted very commanding.

He turns his head to squint at you, "What's the matter, you don't like your laugh?"

You shook your head quickly and smiled, "No, I'm fine with my laugh. That one was just- I dunno, it wasn't my normal one."

"I think you're lying." Poe unlinks your arms and shifts his weight against the side of the Hanger bay. "I think you're trying to spare me of how weird your laugh is." He beamed.

Did he just-

You stare at him, amazed by how brazen he is. "Wow." You scoff, deciding to join his banter. "You accuse me of lying, and you call my laugh weird? You're making an enemy with the wrong person here, Commander." You warn.

He huffs a laugh, "You gonna trip over my droid again? Threatening."

You gasp, "That's too soon."

"Did I offend you?" He asks.

"Oh, greatly, Commander. Y'know you're the first person I've met so far, and I already don't like you." You smile sadly.

Feigning offense, he places a hand over his heart, "You don't like me? Oh, you're breakin' my heart, Princess. Maybe if you just got--"

"Am I interrupting something?" Her voice rips Poe's attention from you as she enters the room. You only then realize that you had stopped walking. Corridor walls surrounded you with panels of directory projections, the Control room.

The Commander stiffens like a board, greeting his superior, "General Organa."

Leia dressed in blue tactical robes you gape at. The material was exported from Alderaan, a planet destroyed not forty cycles ago. You've scoured fabric shops in the markets of your city every chance you got. Seldom did you ever come across material procured in Alderaan.

You bit your tongue to keep from expressing your excitement. Another time, not now.

"Commander." She addresses Poe, waiting for an explanation.

"I have someone here to see you." He steps aside, uncovering you for her to behold. You scrounge up your courage and approach her, "General Organa, my name is-"

"Stop." She cuts you off, a wary look in her eyes. "I know who you are."

"Oh." Your gaze nervously flickers between Poe and her. "You do?"

She gives no reply and turns to Poe, "Dameron, leave us."

"General." Poe gives a curt nod to his superior and flashes you a quiet smile before slipping out of the corridor. His reassuring glance eases your nerves only slightly.

"Come, Naberrie." The General pivots on her heel and strides down the hall. You follow closely; anticipation sits heavily on your chest. She doesn't take your arm as she leads you, it must be a Poe thing. You pass through narrow vestibules with stark white luster. She doesn't say a word the entire way.

Stopping at the room's opening hatch so abruptly you almost ram into her, She grabs the cuff of your sleeve and pulls you inside. It was a small space, only equipped with an empty bunk, a table, and two chairs-no lights, no windows, only the iridescent glow that spills in from the hall.

You begin to make your statement, "General-"

"Call me Leia. We're much past that now." She asserts and closes the hatch.

"Right," You start over, "Leia. I have something to-"

"Please, do hold on. I must make you aware of the gravity of this situation. Sit." Leia gestures to a chair, you comply. This woman loved to interrupt people, you could barely get a word in. You could tell that she was less than thrilled to be meeting with you, and you were more than prepared to deliver the code and take the first Port Shuttle to Naboo.

Leia sat across from you and garnered your attention. "Now, what you carry with you is a code, one of three. It was made by the original crafters of the SSI-U vehicles. That includes X-wings, TIE fighters, boarding craft, land assault units, hyperspace probes, and Star-destroyers. Are you familiar?"

"Not really, no." You answer, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Why did she bother explaining? You were oblivious to the origins of the code, and you preferred it that way. It wasn't your assignment nor something you wanted to get further tangled up in. The faster you could rid yourself of it, the faster you could come home. Being hesitant to listen, but much too terrified to interrupt, you remain quiet.

She waves her hand in dismissal, "It's not that critical, but the maker's code is. When entered into a central command board, which all fleets have, it overrides the system to self-destruct. All of it obliterated."

"That's- That's why you need it? To destroy the First Order's fleet?" You inquire.

She shakes her index, "So they don't destroy ours. See, the code applies to the Resistance, as well as the republic. If the Order had gotten their hands on it, it would've cost us greatly. They would have terminated our fleet, and we would have no resources to fight against them. The war would end."

"So why, um... Why not use the code to like- destroy their fleet instead?" You cautiously suggest, your nerves audibly slip into your tone. "You can do that, right?"

"Their central command board is in the middle of the Starkiller base. As skilled as we are, we could never infiltrate their ranks. That's not to say we aren't working on it. Someday we'll be able to, but until then we cant use the--" Leia trails off, her eyebrows scrunch with concern.

"Stay with me, Naberrie." She orders.

Her voice is distant. You pull yourself from your fixation to the spinning room, which was much darker than it was before. She must've noticed your gaunt expression. Your eyes snap up to meet hers, and after a breath, you nod for her to continue.

"Again," Leia restates, "We can't use the code, but we can protect it. And it's best protected with very few people knowing. Which is where you come in." She gestures to you.

"So, keep it under wraps." You pat your hands flat over your lap. "I can do that."

She lowers her chin to her chest and looks at you sternly, "It's a little more complicated. But before we come to that, I need you to agree to some terms."

"Anything." You nod.

"It's easier if you remain calm for this part. Yes and No answers are acceptable. Hold your questions until the end." She began, sealing the confidentiality of the conversation. "What you say to me now cannot leave this room. The content of the information you carry has the capabilities of genocide to the trillions. Should this information fall into the wrong hands, that is exactly what will happen. Do you understand?"

You nod again.

"I need a verbal response."

"Yes, I understand."

"At any point, did you reveal the code shared with you by General Pyrus to a third party?"

"No."

"At any point were you bribed to reveal the code?"

"No."

"Are you aware of anyone besides yourself, General Pyrus, or his informant sharing the code?"

"No."

"Are you aware that there could be any number of bounties on your head as a means to get to this information?" Leia deadpans the question like it was similar to the ones she had asked previously.

Your heart stops beating, and you blink at her, "What? What bounties? Like bounty hunter bounties or-"

"Yes or no, Naberrie." She stresses frustratedly.

You exhale in defeat, "I am now, yes."

Maker, she must be disappointed. You could almost hear her blood pressure rise as she tightened her jaw and began the next question. "Are you willing to accept the Resistance's protection for yourself as an informant?"

"What does that-" You stop yourself, hands raised apologetically, "Yes, I am."

"Good." Leia shuffles to the edge of her seat, "Now tell me the code."

There it is. She asked for it. The code. You knew this. A long-anticipated shiver crawls up your spine, and you clear your throat. "I was sent with the coordinates to eighteen point two thousand two hundred and eight degrees north, sixty-six point five thousand nine hundred and one degrees west. Star system collective, passkey Saint Alchemy. Digits MC-32809." You breathe, an immense weight expels itself from your chest, you breathe deeper.

Leia casts her stare through your person, to the end of the room. "Say it one more time."

You didn't register her command, "What?"

"Just say it one more time."

You nod and repeat yourself. "Coordinates eighteen point two thousand two hundred and eight degrees north, sixty-six point five thousand nine hundred and one degrees west. Star system collective." You took another painful breath of air. "Passkey Saint Alchemy. Digits MC-32809."

The General's eyes were empty, she sat deathly still. You witness her silently burn the information in her memory.

"Shouldn't you write this down?" You break her stare, immediate regret started to prick your fingertips.

Her gaze fell to the floor, "It isn't worth the risk." Meeting your eyes again, she asks, "You're sure it's correct? There hasn't been an opportunity for it to have become tainted on your behalf?"

You shake your head, "I've memorized it for months and told no one, It's valid."

"I realize you're not an official informant for the Resistance, I wish to apologize for the burden that has been placed on you. I understand more than most." Leia pauses, train of thought halted. You wait.

She breaks it and sighs, continuing. "I want to thank you for your sacrifice. You've served the Resistance and your people more than you could know. You've sacrificed a normal life to live in hiding until the course of war ends in our favor."

Her flattery warmed your center. No one ever thanked you for this, putting your life on hold someone else's war. Going into hiding-- Wait. "In hiding? General, I don't understand, I'm not in hiding." You smile faintly and tilt your head, "Unless I am?" The thoughtful expression disintegrates from your face.

"You weren't told much, I know. It was agreed on by both parties that explaining this aspect of the assignment could affect your willingness to comply." Leia explains.

Both parties... Comply...

Slowly it came to you. "I can't go home, can I?" You search her face for an explanation, praying she'd deny it, but she never did.

"No," For the first time, Leia didn't meet your eyes. "You must remain with the Resistance. Our ownership of that information is one that was paid for in blood, and we will remain to do so if necessary. Even yours."

"I don't- That's not what... I'm supposed to go home after this, I have a shuttle to- General, this... Leia, I need to go home. I can't stay here." The words caught in your throat as you rushed them, desperate.

"For your sake and mine, please remain compliant. We will keep you protected as long as you stay with us. And if not," She falters, "We will send out a bounty for your head."

Your heart sank to the floor, "You'd kill me?"

"You'd be killed anyway." She counters, appealing to your rationale. "If the First Order found you, they would torture you within an inch of your life, take the code, and then kill you."

You stammer and point an accusing finger at her, "You'd kill me."

"It doesn't have to come to that," Leia took your hand in hers earnestly, "Only you can make that choice. Be wise now, child. Let us keep you safe."

Staring at her dejectedly, any semblance of trust in The Resistance General had fled. "But I don't have a choice, I can't go home ever?"

"No one's said that. During the war, you must remain with us. That is all." Leia held your hands comfortingly, the creases of her eyes showed you mercy with each kind gaze. For all you knew, Leia could've had the exact same 'confidential conversation' to any number of informants. And if that was the case, her threats held no substance. If it was a hoax, you could walk out of here with your freedom, scotch free.

It was admirable in a sense. This woman had sugar-coated her intentions to kill you, and you just, What? Accepted it. You understood. Agreed, even. It would have been all too easy for a Rebellion General to have you killed. Your little life didn't count at all. There was a war to be won, and you were a liability. You were a threat.

These woes battle in your head so torturously that you don't recognize your airways constrict. You don't notice the sheen of sweat that coats your brow or the fingernails that cut into your fleshy palm and turn your knuckles white.

You only notice how suddenly they go away.

A wave of calm washes over your shoulders, it's warmth begins to melt away the icy dread sitting painfully across your chest. It shallows your stunted breath and spreads heat in vines down your spine and out to your fingers. The unknown force softens every muscle, every bone, and every tendon that connects you together. It's overwhelming peace. You can't help but close your eyes and release a tired exhale as the wave floods down to your toes.

"We all get to go home when this is over." Leia's gentle voice draws you back to reality only slightly. You couldn't make out her face. The human shapes had blended into a grey fog, yet you thought nothing of it. The fear you once held was nowhere inside of you, doubt had completely expelled itself from your thoughts. All was well, all was right.

"I suggest you law low as an apprentice and keep out of trouble. Best to be discreet, be careful of what you say." She spoke through the mist.

You have the most intelligent fleet and crew in the galaxy, I can't compete with them. Wouldn't it be easier to tell them the truth about why I'm here?

You were almost positive you hadn't said it aloud. Be that as it may, your inner thoughts no longer discerned themselves with spoken words as Leia replied to you, unbothered.

"They mustn't find out, it puts a target on their backs. I entrust you solely. No room for error." She speaks.

But what if they ask?

"That's enough, young one. Don't tell me you've never had to lie to a man. Now report to the main hanger in the morning. Settle in for now."

Yes ma'am.

"Make some friends, you're in good company. But, place your trust wisely. As of now, that information is your life."

You hum in response

"Rest now."

The fog fades to darkness, and your mind goes blank

#star wars #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #x reader #self insert #naberrie #Naberrie!reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader

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elmidol · 4 years ago

Text

Layer by Layer (NSFW)

Three Blind Tooke Part Three Death is an Art

Read on AO3

Warnings: emotional turmoil, vaginal sex, voyeurism, cum eating

Three Blind Tooke

Part Three: Death is an Art

Chapter Fifty-Five: Layer by Layer

Of all the shades I’ve had to wear,

This is the one that makes us a pair.

It was not only Kylo Ren and Luke Skywalker that had been affected by the Sith amulet but you as well. Though your contact with it had been brief on each occurrence wherein you held the object, you had held it. Your damaged body was not healed completely, however you did note an increase in your stamina and a decrease in the strain certain movements caused. It was Kuruk who brought your attention to these changes as he stood at your side in the training area aboard Kylo's flagship. The ship was reminiscent of his TIE Silencer. As for Kuruk, he reminded you a little of Ip. He was the Knight of Ren's rifleman, the man that had helped to take down Phasma. He was also the only Knight of Ren that Kylo trusted to not kill you if you were left alone in his presence. You lowered the blaster and carefully offered it to Kuruk, who accepted the weapon. His weapon. That was a sign of trust you had never expected, and it hit hard that only a handful of your Resistance allies would have behaved similarly.

Truth be told, the Knights of Ren had scared you and left you feeling on edge in the past when you and Rey had worked with them. The mistrust that you had felt stemmed from repeated betrayals and your time as a captive in the First Order. Returning to the Resistance had yielded minimal changes in this mistrust, although you had denied this to yourself. The revelation hit after you had been with the Order of Ren for an extended period. That you missed only a select few individuals was unlike before. You had barely spoken of your father and his death with any of your Resistance allies. Your mother had not wished to speak of him much either. It pained her to do so. It had been Kylo Ren to offer you comfort in his own way.

The loss of your father’s grave reignited the longing for him. You would have wanted to spend more time with him in the days leading up to your departure from Naboo--you worked to not imagine scenarios wherein you never left to join the Resistance. Still, if you had known that he was ill, you would have made more of an effort to send him a message somehow. If there had been a sign that you could see. To this, Kuruk had snorted and you had flinched, feeling both self-conscious and furious at the perceived cruelty. “You believe that a physical sign would help? Sitting there unable to do anything at all as it worsens. The focus on the disease, not him.”

You would be powerless to change anything. Kuruk’s words were an echo of Kylo’s. You did not know the Knight’s age nor much about him away from the battlefield. That was, in some respects, hardly any different than the members of the splinter cell that you had once belonged to. It best explained the reason that you had invited Kuruk into your quarters to share a meal with you that first time after you had trained with him present. He had not eaten. His reluctance to remove his mask in front of you served only to increase your curiosity.

Here you walked side by side with him to again share a meal--or at least eat in front of him--within your quarters. Its size was comparable to the previous room that you had been given. At times he reminded you of Poe Dameron with how he treated you. There was a guardedness to his demeanor that extended beyond his relationship with you, and Kuruk was quick to remind you of the various skills that you had developed during the course of the war. The two of you did not speak as you walked to your quarters. The door slid open to reveal that food had been delivered while you had been away. You lifted the lid off one of the trays meanwhile Kuruk took a seat on the chair in one of the corners of the room.

“Trudgen has offered to train you with blades.” You dipped your finger into a mashed vegetable while processing his words. The training that you had received from the Resistance had included multiple bladed weapons, however the focus had been primarily on blaster rifles. Close combat would be beneficial, you mused. That was where Kylo Ren had gained the upper hand on you numerous times when you had been enemies. That another of the Knights wished to work with you did not escape your notice either. The heat from the vegetable mash did not burn your skin. The food had been cooling for too long for that. How long ago had it been delivered?

You raised the finger to your lips and slid it past them, sucking off the bits of food that had clung to the digit. It felt cooler in your mouth than it had on your skin. Disappointment coiled. Your stomach, though, craved food as did the rest of your body. You lifted the fork next to scoop up a more generous portion of the mash. Taking a bite, you looked over your shoulder. Kuruk was cleaning his blaster, wiping it with a cloth that he must have had somewhere on his person as you did not recognize it as one belonging to you. You worked to put a mask to Trudgen’s name. When you did, you grunted and took a second bite of the lukewarm food. Trudgen was the one with the giant blade and a second, smaller one. You had in the past thought how you would slip past the Knight’s defenses to take hold of that second blade and use it to gut him. It was not out of malicious intent that you had considered such things. The mistrust from the Knights of Ren had you forever on your guard.

After absorbing the information and consuming the meal that had been provided, you held off making a decision to accept the offer or not until you were able to speak with Kylo. Force sensitive stormtroopers and officers within the Order of Ren had taken to ignoring your presence. This left you free to walk a set amount of corridors with a lessened worry of ambush. Trudgen’s offer emboldened you. The fourth corridor where your previous walks had ended led to an intersection that allowed you to take three different routes. As far as where they led, that was a mystery to be solved.

The solution was this: your world spun when you tried to take a step in the direction of the leftmost passage. Stumbling backwards towards the right had resulted in a sharp pain behind your eye. You had pitched yourself towards the final direction, what would have been forward had you chosen it the first time. A high pitched whine sounded in your ear then slowly, slowly faded. You were on your hands and knees upon the ground. The cool metal felt like ice on your flesh and you felt glued to its surface. Frozen in place by an invisible Force. It was the Force. Unable to explain how you knew, all that you could tell was that there was a wrongness to it. It felt as though something had been ripped from your chest. An invisible hand clutching your heart, tearing it out from your ribcage as the organ continued to beat, and slamming it. Loss.

Your mind supplied that single word as the high pitched whine returned, crescendoed. You breathed through your nose. Squeezed your eyes closed to help stop the spinning. Light was too much for you to look at. And Maker-forsaken boots pounding on the ground as multiple individuals ran towards you did not ease the pain. It would have been preferable for their continued shunning. Or was it that, as Force sensitives, each of them had felt it as well?

Hands touched the small of your back. They were small in comparison to Kylo Ren’s. Larger than Rey’s. Gentle, soothing, rubbing up and down along your spine. Another hand touched the back of your neck. It felt as though someone had taken a hot iron brand and placed it on your flesh. You cried out in pain, hating the sound as it left your lips.

The invisible hand squirmed back into you, this time aiming for your stomach. Nausea made you gag, but you did not lose the food that you had eaten. You squeezed your eyes more tightly together. Let yourself pant, breathing so hard that your shoulders were rising and falling in exaggerated movements that somehow helped you to center yourself. It was emptiness that you were feeling, which left you so vulnerable to the touches of others.

Much like Kylo Ren, the Knights of Ren stomped when they walked. It provoked fear, encouraged others to recognize the fact that they did whatever they wanted and answered to no one, aside from their Master, for their crimes. Two sets of such stomping feet were drawing nearer to you. The hand that had been rubbing you stilled without leaving your back. The other one on your shoulder squeezed encouragement.

“Ah.” You recognized the voice though you could not place it. A Knight of Ren. If you were not so afraid of the light hurting you, you would have opened your eyes to learn the identity of the speaker. The hands on you slipped away, replaced instead by two larger ones that manipulated you into a position that best allowed their owner to lift you into his arms. You moved your own hands to your face, covering it.

You felt so empty. As though someone had closed a door that had once granted you freedom. It hit on the same level as a death, however there was this difference. The knowledge that the individual was still out there. You tried to grasp at the threads that were dwindling away, at the invisible hand tearing you apart. Your fingers bunched up the shirt that you wore.

Ignoring your actions, the Knight of Ren that had you in his arms began to walk with you in tow. His companion followed, both of their footfalls all that you could focus on as you recoiled from the pain within. You rested your head on the chest of the man. His clothing did not smell like dirt, although it lacked a clean scent as well. Smoke was the one thing that you could identify. This, too, you began to grasp at to escape the discomfort. Mouth open, you parted the heels of your hand to gulp in more air. His name came to you as you breathed. Navrin.

Knowing his identity brought you comfort, which was strange considering you took into account he had betrayed the Resistance. Was that a second betrayal for him, or had he been loyal to Kylo Ren all along? There was no need for you to ask these questions aloud. Answers were received as Navrin and the other Knight of Ren arrived before the Supreme Leader, who greeted them by name. Navrin was again Ap’lek, whose mission it had been to ensure that you were not killed and that Rey would remain interested in the Knights of Ren should she ever leave Kylo’s side. The Skywalkers hadn’t been fooled by them at all, had they?

You lowered your hands from your face and squinted. All six Knights of Ren were present. Their Master sat on his black throne, a large thing that allowed him room to lounge. It was the first time that you had been in his throne room, and you could not help but notice both the similarities and differences it had with Snoke’s. There were reds here, but there was white as well. The grays caught your gaze. You remembered his words, his claim that he would be the Dark and the Light.

That was what was missing. That was who had been ripped from you: Rey.

Curling into a tighter ball, you felt Ap’lek tensing before he adjusted his hold on you. Kylo waved him closer. The Knight of Ren obeyed, depositing you into Kylo’s lap. “She is rejecting the offer to join us.” You thought of how Rey had been tempted, how much she had pushed, whether intentionally or not, for you to forgive Kylo Ren. To accept him. To find that gray area. You felt like the biggest fool in the galaxy. Baring your teeth, you snarled and pushed yourself away from kylo. Or at least tried to. With just a twitch of his finger, he summoned the Force to lock you in place on his lap. “Is there more?”

“Some of the stormtroopers have remained behind. One who calls herself Jannah among them.” Ap’lek met your gaze. “With Skywalker’s passing, Rey refuses to join the Order of Ren. She will agree to a merge, wherein the Resistance gains your power and you are not allowed to rule.” Kylo’s lips worked into a cruel smirk; he was amused as much as he was disappointed. “Until your answer is given, she has cut off contact with any that can influence her.”

Kylo dropped his eyes to you, and you averted your gaze. Stared at the far wall, the traces of white that were on it. You had not realized until then that it was text. Some foreign alphabet that could be from a long dead language. That might well have been Sith text, for all you knew. A part of you argued against that. It was the portion that recalled how Kylo had healed you on the battlefield. You transferred your attention to each of the Knights in turn before considered Kylo’s face. He had not looked away from you. There was no pity in his gaze, however you felt the understanding rolling off of him. He, too, had a Force bond with Rey. His abilities in the Force coupled with his training had helped him to endure the loss quicker and more easily than you were.

The sharp pain presented itself near both of your eyes. You shut them for a second time and pinched the bridge of your nose. This time Kylo Ren was the one to gather you up into his arms. Seven sets of loud, stomping boots echoed off the floors and walls. If he planned to take you to Urvno, you had no desire to see the physician. There was nothing that he could do. This was not strictly a medical issue, but something more. Something deeper. More agonizing.

Kylo Ren had touched you, had stripped you, when you had been in front of others before. Though much time had elapsed since that had last occurred, you found yourself unsurprised when he his hands began to peel away the layers of clothing you were wearing. The lightweight jacket followed by your shoes and socks. He sat you on the edge of a large bathtub that was in his private quarters. The Knights of Ren lingered in the doorway. Most of them were not looking directly at you. One exception was Ap’lek. He seemed out of place in his Resistance uniform; had he brought his old Knights of Ren attire with him or had that been left behind? Kylo’s hands tugged down your pants and pulled your shirt up over your head. The cool air from the vents worked to take away some of the heat.

“We will allow them time to relocate their base.” You frowned at his words. Leaving the Resistance had not made you any less sympathetic to their cause. It did not mean that you loved your friends or mother any less. The implication that he would start hunting them again bothered you. “Prepare the ship. Our focus will be on the First Order post that were uncovered.” He nodded in your direction with his chin. “Recover enough and you will join us.”

You looked down the length of your body at all the scars. The muscles in your legs were more developed since you had been training. Every injury that could be seen was old, healed over. The lightsaber scars always stood out to you. You trailed fingertips along their surfaces. The pain had lessened into a dull throb. It was not exacerbated by the sounds of the Knights’s departure. Only Kuruk and Ap’lek remained behind while the others went to carry out their Master’s orders. The pair both watched you, your reactions to Kylo as the man place his hands on either side of your face. He tilted back your head.

“Let me in.” It might have been a command. It could have been a request. You were unable to tell, he spoke so levelly yet did not push to invade your mind as he had when you had been his prisoner. The loss of Rey’s presence hit you again like a tidal wave. The leather on his hands was too much for you. You lifted both of your hands and hit his wrists with weakly formed fists. Kylo let the contact break only to reinitiate it the moment your arms dropped back to your sides. “Always so stubborn.” You traced the scar, the one that Phasma had left, across his face with your eyes. Had you been so blinded by the idea of who you believed Rey was that you had missed all the signs she would reject you? She could toe the darkness, but you--you could not. Her double-standards were no different than those of the other Resistance members. You thought of her anger and confusion when she had believed that you had killed Kylo Ren.

I became myself.

His words were the ones to echo in your head. Everyone who had this idea of how he should be--it was not only the Dark, not only Snoke, who had done this. His parents had as well. Which may have been normal for a parent to do, however that did not make it hurt any less. Then with Rey. You did not believe that she did these things with malicious intent, but intent did not stop the pain. It did not lessen the blow of her abandonment. You wished to be more than an idea. You wished to have the void left within you to be filled. You had replaced the Light offered by the memory of your father with the one Rey had given to you. That was gone. You were all wrong, so wrong.

He was the Dark and the Light.

“What will happen if I do?” you asked. Your hands curled around the backs of his, holding them in a sort of loose embrace. “Do I turn dark as night, do I become a monster?”

“I’ll dye you red layer by layer,” Kylo said, shifting down onto one knee. You found it ironic that this was your husband, a man that had not properly proposed to you. Now he asked for permission. The red of the Resistance. The red of the Order of Ren.

“I paint my lips red and add the red scar of remembrance that splits my lip. It is a Naboo ruling tradition, older than memory, that marks a time of suffering for Naboo, before the Great Time of Peace.” -Padmé Amidala

That was it. The red of blood. Of Naboo. The blood of Naboo, which had been destroyed by the monster known as Armitage Hux. It was the blood that both you and Kylo shared.

This time when you closed your eyes it was to open up to him. You welcomed his touch, which wandered along your body despite the gazes of Kuruk and Ap’lek. His forehead touched yours. You felt him within you. His mind like a gentle, familiar caress that spiraled into a graveyard you did not fear. You walked among death and considered the graves of all those that had crossed his path. Ashes poured from the sky around you, smearing along your flesh.

His hands were pulling aside your panties. Kylo pressed the tip of his erection against your slit, drawing it up and down. He pushed aside your outer lips, teased you. He hit his cock against your clit. You jerked out of his mental embrace and became more aware of the physical. Spreading your legs, you relished in the feel of him on you. You gripped the edge of the bathtub whilst rocking forward, grinding your cunt against him. Kylo grabbed hold of your thighs. He thrust forward to meet your movements without entering you. You could feel him sliding up and down, the underside of his cock touching everywhere you wanted except for within.

You were growing warm again, albeit this time from a pleasurable source rather than agony. You wrapped your legs around his waist to help keep you from falling backwards into the tub. Ignored the stares from Kuruk and Ap’lek; they were hardly any different than when Urvno had watched Kylo have his way with you. Kylo’s hands moved up your back, to your shoulders, down the lengths of your arms until he could grip your hands. He pulled you off of the edge of the tub and let you fall back. Your legs tightened around him as you pitched backwards. Your heart leapt in your chest. His hands did not leave yours. You stared at the man with wide eyes.

“Trust me.” Grinding into you, rocking forward. You loosened your legs, tightened them, loosened. Loved the way that you would start to fall away only to be pulled back. You used the heels of your feet to gain more leverage until you could feel him at your entrance. “Oh, so impatient for me, aren’t you?” And you were. Maker forgive you, you were desperate for him in ways that you could never be for anyone else. He let go of one of your hands, and you used it to grab onto the material on his thigh to keep from slipping. Kylo pushed into you, stretching you open.

Your hand dropped off of his pants and your eyes rolled back. You were swearing up a storm as he began to fuck you. You arched as best you could, raised your hand and fumbled to clutch his. Kylo pulled you up, once more sending your heart racing and stomach swooping. He set your hands on his shoulders and then grabbed your ass, tugging you firmly against him. Grinding, fully inside of you and pumping his hips in rapid succession.You could feel every ridge stroking you. Clenching around him, you pressed your lips to his and tried to pry open his mouth with your tongue. He used his to force yours into submission back in your mouth then took your bottom lip captive between his teeth. He tugged at it then let it pop noisily, wetly back into place. Your tongue ran over where his teeth had been. The area felt warmer due to the pooling blood directly underneath.

“Always mine.” For so long you had denied it, rejected the idea that somehow the two of you could find this middle ground. Now you nodded without hesitation. His eyes shone with glee. Kylo hooked two fingers under your chin with the pad of his thumb touching the front of it. “Make me cum.” He always said such filthy things to you.

You braced your hands on his shoulders and pushed up, moving so that only the head of his cock remained inside of you. Then you let yourself go in a controlled drop. Filled again. Up, the spongy head teasing your entrance, which was so wet with how aroused you were. You pushed back down again. Threw back your head and closed your eyes to concentrate on him and only him. You did not want to see Kuruk or Ap’lek. Did not care that they were there. You only wanted to memorize the feeling of having Kylo inside of you. Of having someone that would not not abandon you. He kept coming back for you. Even when he had fought against you, he had seen you for who you were.

With a shudder, you begged him to do it again when Kylo used the Force to draw caresses on your clit. It was a reward for riding him, for fucking yourself on his cock. Your toes were curled. You straightened them and they curled again. The pressure and warmth was building. You could feel yourself growing so close to orgasm. It made you hypersensitive to the movements of his erection inside of you. How he stroked a part of you that had you screaming in delight. Your nipples hardened though he hadn’t touched them. He couldn’t even see them, your bra was in the way.

Kylo’s hands were on your ass again, two fingers tugging the panties further to the side. On the other hand, two fingers pulling so that you were spread more. You angled yourself differently, felt his fingers skim over your puckered hole. That was what sent you over the edge. You snapped your hips faster against his, slowed, ground against him, started to ride him again. He was breathing through his nose, the sound so audible, so deep. His grunt was animalistic. Next he swore, his fingers biting into your flesh. Maybe bruising it. You couldn’t tell, your mind was so filled with his pleasure as much as it was yours. A bond unlike any you had had before; it was more than just sensing what the other felt. You could feel it and the reason for it. You were the reason, you were doing this to him. Making him hunger for more of you, making him cum as you rode his cock.

“Oh fuck!” you screamed and threw your head back as you came again, overwhelmed by all that you felt.

When he pulled you off of him, your cum and his began to slip out. Kylo smirked, shoving two fingers into you then bringing them to your lips. You obeyed. His thrill was yours, his hunger yours. Every victory that he had would be yours, you realized. And yours would be his.

As he fed you his cum and yours, the Order of Ren’s Supreme Leader looked over his shoulder to command the two remaining Knights to prepare a proper outfit for you. He wanted you on this mission with him. His trust was something that you had not earned in full, but you were earning it. Kuruk and Ap’lek at long last walked away from the doorway to the refresher. You ran your tongue along the tangy leather of Kylo’s glove, licking it clean. Kylo walked behind you. His lips were on your neck in an instant, his fingers shoved inside of you. You ground into them, enjoying the feel, loving how he fucked you with them.

There was a fluttering sensation within you, something through the bond. He would not make you watch any of the Resistance die. His word on that would not be broken.

As for those in the First Order, you observed in close proximity Kylo Ren’s blade cut through another officer. The battlefield was littered with bodies as the Knights of Ren tore through them one by one. You had not used a blaster to assist them, but a long vibroblade instead. Trudgen was near your side. He, along with Kylo, deflected blaster bolts and other projectiles that might have done you harm. Each kill sent a new wave of pleasure through you. It was not the violence itself but the victory. The knowledge that this was one less person opposing you and your cause. It was much similar to what you had felt when you had been in the splinter cell. Every officer that you had killed had saved lives. It had been a step closer to ending the damned war.

Ashes from the destruction of weapons and buildings floated through the air. Blood pooled on the ground beneath your boots. You wore red, a crimson shade that did well to hide any gore that would have been visible.

The next person that you cut through with your weapon had seized a comm device to contact others in the First Order. You took the limb at the wrist before your blade was buried in his throat. Turning away, you searched for more. It was difficult to not think of every person on Naboo that had been killed when the planet had been destroyed. These people, these beasts, had done that, had helped do that. Your hands were dyed red as you slayed another monster. The glow of Kylo’s lightsaber cast the rest of you in that same color.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #three blind tooke #elmidolfanfic #death is an art

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