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beskarberry · 4 years ago

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The Most Dangerous Game

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 7, Book Two Prologue

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

“Above you the black hole where his eyes should be turned down to you, tilting slightly with a questioning roll. You reached up and slid your own armor to the top of your head so that he could see your face. “The bounty pucks can wait, right?” He nodded, and you bared your teeth in a vicious, bloodthirsty grin. “Then let's. Go. Hunting.”

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 9k

Content warnings: Absurd amounts of domestic fluff, Mando and Reader being adorable, killing Imps for fun, sex outdoors, a smidge of voyeurism, dirty talk, praise kink.

A/N: This chapter is the springboard for the rest of book two, though it was mostly just an excuse for me to write them being cute together before I chuck them back into the nuclear disaster that is a hunters life. Enjoy!

<-Previous Next->

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know that you were being watched, but it wasn’t a threat whose eyes you had captured.

Deep within the empty underbelly of Nevarro you were pretending to be asleep, listening to the breathing of the one that shared your bed. It was fast enough that you knew Din was awake, and the feel of his gaze on you was making it difficult to keep a straight face. You breathed slowly, doing your best impression of unconsciousness while a roving hand moved leisurely over your side. The Mandalorian’s strong body was pressed tightly against your back, his nose buried in your hair, fanning warm puffs of steam against your scalp. In your own arms the foundling was curled in a little ball in his favorite spot against your chest while your hands gently rubbed his ears. An amorous rumble against your spine and a long, deep sigh behind your head told you that the jig was up.

“Do you know you hum in your sleep, cyare?”

“Well good morning to you too, bucket boy.” You arched against his chest, reveling in the way the arms on either side of you tightened and a contented hum vibrated along your back. “What’s for breakfast?”

A sleepy laugh reverberated in your ear before soft kisses made their way to your temples. “It’s always about breakfast with you, isn’t it, riduur’ika?”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, don'tcha know that?” You tilted your head so that his lips could get to your cheeks, the scrape of bristles prickling your skin. “Plus I’m sure Little Beans is hungry.” In your arms the green bundle yawned and stretched before his enormous eyes flickered open, ready to greet the brave new day. A soft purring chirp told you that you were right in your assumption, “See? Baby needs breakfast.”

Your partner sighed behind you and started to pull his arms free of your body so that he could prop himself up, peppering your face with kisses. You rolled from your side onto your back, letting him get to both of your cheeks before he found your lips again. His soft mouth against yours broke into a wide grin, and you let your eyes open to meet him at last. Part of you had believed that you had dreamt the previous evening, that the vicious haunt of hyperspace had left you stark-raving mad; but when you met those warm, honey-dark eyes of his you beamed right back at him. There he was, in all his early morning glory, a mop of bed head sticking to his brow and the red streaks of sleep scars denting his face. Somebody slept damn good.

The foundling clawed gently at your side, and you both turned your attention to the bug-eyed creature you both adored. Din let his weight fall onto you before reaching out to pull the child close to your smushed bodies, giving the green terror a fuzzy-lipped kiss. “Is that right, womp rat? You hungry?” The child gibbered and patted his papa’s bare face. “Alright, if you say so.” Din nuzzled the baby again, then kissed you deeply before tapping his brow to your forehead. He rolled off of you with a groan, making sure to squish you with his weight before sitting up on the edge of the bed, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes were drawn to the vicious scars of his back. He stretched his long arms, and the light patches of healed skin practically danced in the dim light of the dorm, bidding you to touch them. You lazily let your hand drop against him, and the slight flinch from the mighty warrior made you laugh.

“You’re going to have to get used to being touched, tin man.”

He fixed you with a playful glare, “Not if I want to stay alive.”

“So you’ll wed and bed me but you don’t trust me not to kill you? It was your idea!” You razzed, poking at his kidneys with pretend death blows and making him keel sideways to save himself from your assault.

“Hey now! You asked me to!” He caught your quizzical expression, recalling that you knew nothing of your accidental proposal. He lugged his helmet up off the ground where it had sat for the night, the opalescent beast teeth still sitting pretty in the indents of its cheeks."Mandalorians decorate the helmets of the ones they...that they want to riduurok." Din said shyly, pointing at one jewel: “Will you,” then the other, “marry me, clear as the fangs on my face. How could I say no?”

“Are you kidding me!?” You burst into laughter, if only you had known! You could have spared yourself so much heartache with the knowledge that you weren’t getting left behind after all, maybe even have saved yourself the ordeal of space-mares. “You’re telling me that I proposed to you? Why didn’t you tell me so!” You were sitting upright now, the foundling at your side, watching his buir with confusion.

Din set the helmet on his knees, hunching his shoulders and shaking his head. “I-I didn’t...I didn’t want you t-to… to leave me. Didn’t want to make you frightened...”

“Oh sure, but dropping to your knees and asking me to keep you or kill you is fine and dandy, huh rustbucket?” You chucked a balled-up blanket at him, making him hop up from the bed to run away from you. “You’re lucky that you’re cute and you’ve got a nice ass.”

He cocked a brow at you from the other side of the room, crossing his arms in mock indignation. “Is that the only thing you like about me, cyar’ika?”

You covered the foundling’s super-sized ears, unsure of how much Basic he actually understood. “You got a fat cock, too!”

The glare you got from your unarmored companion had you howling with laughter, and you flopped back on the pile of furs that was masquerading as a bed next to the bewildered foundling. A poor choice, your tender belly was now exposed, and agile hands found your sensitive middle to tickle you with a fury. The other hunter threw his legs over you to keep you from squirming away while he poked at your tummy until tears pricked at your eyes. “You’re too mouthy, cyare!”

“Stop! Stah- Ah! Stoppit! Fuckin’ hell I give, I give!” Your muscles twitched hard in your middle, trying to protect your guts from his roughhousing. Din pinned your arms down at your sides, flashing you a brilliant, boyish smile.

“So easily? How disappointing.”

“I’d watch my back if I were you, tinman.” A fierce kiss nipped at your lips before you were released from his torturing grasp. Free of you, Din began pulling his gear on, and you tried to take a mental note of the order that his equipment was donned, but the leather and beskar flew to his body like magnets, and he was fully dressed in short order. “Boooo! Hisss!” He found his helmet again and plucked the radiant jewels from their recesses, tucking the finery into the pocket behind his chest plate. Their disappearance made you a bit sad now that you knew their true meaning, but you knew that there was no way he could keep the bling on his beskar for all to see.

He saw your frown and shrugged. “They’re still good luck, even if you can’t see them, right?”

“Right!” You hopped up from the bed, stealing one last kiss from his bare face before the helmet sank back into place with a hiss of its latches; and the familiar visor was staring back at you again. You pulled your discarded clothes from the floor, shaking everything out before dressing yourself. Glittering on the floor by your feet was your new mask, and you quickly hooked the electromagnetic ear cuffs on, excited to wear your betrothal gift. In the corner of your eye you could see Mando watching you, relishing in the sight of you adorning yourself with his cultural armor, and you cocked him a sly grin before sliding the cool metal down over your face. The visor flickered to life, and a hot slew of color washed over your eyes.

“Ok so… night vision, thermal tracking, infrared, ultra violet… Are any of these filters just regular sight, or is this how everything looks to you all the time?” You flipped through the settings of your engagement present, taking in your surroundings through a kaleidoscope of colors. Heat vision cycled again to your eyes, and you saw the hot red bloom in the center of your riduur’s chest, tendrils of heat coursing over to his extremities. You watched as the human fireball sauntered up to you, and the sound of leather brushing against metal scratched loudly in your audio processors as he flipped a secret switch, disabling the extrasensory equipment. “Thanks, that’s better.”

“Takes getting used to.” You wished mandos kept mirrors on hand, you could only see how you looked in the reflection of his visor, and though the image was warped, it was still formidable. A soft leather-clad hand wrapped around the back of your head, pulling you to his helmet in the familiar motion of affection you had grown to love; but the sound of beskar on beskar didn’t donk like it did with a skull, it chimed. Sweet, soft ringing like bells in the wind instead of the hollow thud of meat and bone, and you couldn’t help but gasp. No wonder he liked doing it so often. The low rumble that followed told you that he heard your quiet exclamation, and was laughing at you fondly. “Did you hear it?” You nodded and knocked your forehead against him a second time, chasing the sound of the bells, but the hand behind your head hugged you tightly to stop you from trying a third. “Beskar laar, ironsong. I’ll ring that bell for you every day, cyare, but I think someone is getting impatient.”

You looked behind you to where the foundling was trying to climb off the side of the bed onto his stubby little legs. Mando strode past you to scoop the short green thing up off the ground, holding him so that he faced outwards toward you. You ran your hand over his ears and patted his fuzzy head before hunting for your bag. It was the only thing you had brought with you from the Crest, and you were determined to steal a couple of extra towels and a good chunk of your favorite soap before returning to your Iron Mistress. With a full bag and a full heart, you and your clan made your way up to the surface world.

It was a bright, smokey morning on the surface of Nevarro, and two ragamuffin bounty hunters and their floating baby bucket walked through the decimated streets of the city that bore the same name as its planet in search of supplies, but most of the store fronts were still closed. Construction was happening on all sides, the ash and dust of the Imperial siege being cleared away to be made anew. Takes getting used to was an understatement, and not just because of the flashy detection equipment or the weight of the armor on your face, that was negligible; but what was making you the most uncomfortable was that you were getting stared at. The townsfolk were used to the destructive tendencies of the Mandalorians, stoic hunters that could go from silent to explosive in the blink of an eye, as made obvious by the sad state of the city streets. You, however, weren’t used to being noticed by anyone, but now people were desperately trying to get out of your way; and you weren’t sure if that made you feel powerful, or monstrous.

“Mando, how much did we make on the other three bounties?” Your hush money was running thin, and if you were going to restock your supplies and get off this lump of charcoal, you would need some extra cash.

“We left before I was able to collect, but I doubt there will be anything for us after Karga pays off the debt of your lost warrant. You were supposed to be brought in alive.”

“Well fuck, I guess we better go see if he’ll pony up some credits for us to get our shit and get out of here.” The cantina was just a few blocks over, and the three of you made your way to the low domed building that served as the town’s central hub. When you reached the saloon, you caught sight of the Guild agent through the window, and you knocked hard enough on it to shake the soot from the dirty transparisteel. “Karga! Hey, Karga!” He could barely see you as it was, the volcanic ash of Nevarro built up thick on the low window sill, but when he turned his attention to the sound of his name, you could see him furrow his brow. The old agent squinted at you and cocked his head, unable to tell who was beckoning him through the grime, and you pointed at your shiny new face and waved. You saw an eyebrow raise, then both fly upwards when he put two and two together, followed by a face so shocked you wished you could snap a holo of it and display it on the wall of the Crest. You made a series of obscene gestures with your hands, pointing at yourself and the Mandalorian that was coming up behind you before finally walking into the cantina.

The other hunters moved aside quickly, having learned their lesson about the bite of beskar, and slinked off to the far corners of the room. You couldn’t help the swagger with which you walked, taking all the time in the world to approach the usual business booth. Karga only watched as your trio approached, unable to tear his eyes off of the streaking silver that now covered your face. You plopped down heavily on the tattered seat, scooting over so that your partner could squeeze in next to you. Having an armored face gave you an amazing new feeling of concealment, and behind your mask you were grinning like a nexu at the stunned expression of the agent sitting across from you; just waiting for him to find his words. He pointed to you, hovering just a little too long before pointing at Mando, then back at you with more flurried brows.

“You...”

“Yep.”

“And him…?”

“Uh huh.”

“So now you’re…?”

“You almost got it, Kargsy.”

He leaned back heavily in his seat before slamming down on the tabletop. “Preposterous! I mean... I was only joking, I didn’t really think…wait a second, you didn’t even invite me?!” You knew your face was hidden, but the way your shoulders jostled gave away your stifled laugh. “How could you?! After all I’ve done for you two! Oh what am I saying! We should be celebrating! Crazy damn hunters...” The agent did nothing to hide his belly shaking laughter, waving at the bartending droid to fetch some drinks, though the only one at the table that would be drinking would certainly be himself. Three glasses and a jug of too-early-in-the-morning spotchka clanked to the table, and you felt your guts flip-flop unhappily at the sight of the vile brew. Greef poured himself a glass, then hesitated to pour a second. “So, are you like Mando now? Can’t show your face? How does that work exactly?” Good question. You turned to Din, who only shrugged and rolled his unadorned helmet.

“You’re not bound to the creed, you’re only bound to me. Do as you please.” You weren’t exactly planning on imbibing anyway, but the way he spoke so brazenly about your bond made you flush warm under the beskar, and maybe keeping it on for now was a good idea. You shrugged, it was a good enough excuse to turn down the luminous liquor that you couldn’t forget the taste of fast enough. The Guild agent put down the spotchka jug after having only filled one glass, and sipped slowly at the glowing drink.

“Unbelievable. Couldn’t even send me a card, and after I set you two up!” The snap of both your visors on him made him jump. “Now you’re ganging up on me!” He started to top his glass back up, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath. “So, what can I do you two lovebirds for?”

You ignored the sass behind the term of endearment, “How much is left of our credits?”

Karga scoffed. “Left? There’s nothing left! Those three bounties put together barely covered the cost of the damages to that transport unit you blew up. You’re lucky I’m such a smooth talker or I would have gone bankrupt! If you want more credits, you’re going to have to take on new jobs.”

Fantastic, so much for taking time off. You looked at Mando and made an ‘I’m sorry’ grimace at him, forgetting that he couldn’t see you under the beskar. He must have gotten the hint though, because his shoulders went stiff and a long, drawn-out sigh leaked from his modulator. Nothing escaped Karga’s ears at this booth, and he frowned at the two of you before turning his attention to the child that floated at the end of the table. Baby beans was just watching, his eyes darting between everyone in the group, probably remembering the last time the three adults sat together and how poorly it had gone. Greef made silly faces at the baby before turning back to the two hunters. “I’ll tell you what, as my gift to you newlyweds and your adorable magic baby, I’ll pay for your fuel, but nothing else!”

“That’ll work! Alright, Kargsy, whatcha got for us?” You were pleased with yourself that you had negotiated at least part of your travel costs away, but a heavy leather hand found your leg under the table, reminding you that you made decisions as a team now, and you briefly worried that you were getting ahead of your tinman. The warm pads of his fingers squeezed and thumbed at your leg, and you realized he wasn’t trying to stop you from picking bounties, he was getting excited, barely able to contain himself at the prospect of taking out new targets together. It’s what you did, after all.

“Well, first things first, I can’t give you any pucks, you’re supposed to be dead, remember? I can only give jobs to the living, Guild restrictions and all.” Karga fished a chain code reader from his voluminous robes and brought your information up on its holopad, and instead of the usual ghostly blue of the living, your picture was a harsh red haze, the word DECEASED blinking over your eyes. “I can start you a new registration profile, Mrs. Mando, but I’m going to need a name.” You rolled your eyes at the jibe, though the thought of having to rename yourself hadn’t actually crossed your mind. You couldn’t exactly put down Djarin, though that was your surname now, so you would have to come up with an alias. Hmm…

You stared at the keyboard of the reader, running through old nicknames and people you once knew, maybe even the names of racehounds you had once bet on; but the hand that was resting on your leg came up from the table and pulled the device closer. Mando poked something out on the keyboard with his pointer fingers, and in the holopad the word <<TRA’LAAR>> glimmered back at you over top of an image of your masked face.

“What does that mean?” you asked softly, feeling the gloved hand of your husband return to your knee after he pushed the reader back to you. The Mandalorian turned to you with a gentle tilt of his visor, something you had learned was liken to a smile.

“Starsong. Is...is that ok?”

Starsong. You nodded quickly, it was perfect. Across the table the Guild agent looked like he was going to lose his spotchka, disgusted with the two of you being so cute. Karga shook his head with a strained laugh, then dealt out a handful of pucks to the two living hunters. He went through one after the other, explaining their crimes and their credit rewards and last known locations. Most of them weren’t fantastic, plenty of bail jumpers and a handful of assault charges that might prove fun to hunt, but not anything that would prove a real challenge. Next to you Mando nodded along, but under the table his hand inched higher up your thigh with each new option, the handsy warrior making you blush under your own beskar until you reached down to halt his advances. Strong fingers locked between yours, his thumb rolling over the back of your hand and distracting you from the hunt options being laid before you. Here you were trying to do your jobs, but even work couldn't convince him to stay off of you. You jumped when Karga cleared his throat, bringing your attention back to the task at hand.

“Well, whatcha think, Mando? You wanna pick two and I’ll pick two?” He nodded beside you, squeezing and letting go of your hand to absently grab two pucks off the table and pull them towards you without so much as a second glance. You made to follow suit, but the second both your hands were above the countertop, Din’s heavy paw fell right back to your thigh, deviously close to their apex. Heat flushed your face, stinging against the cool of your beskar, and you picked up two random pucks from the pile. Across from you, Karga watched you both make your decisions with tongue in cheek and eyebrows raised, a look that you knew meant you had made some strange choices; but he just shrugged, already having decided that the two of you were crazy.

“Interesting.” Greef pulled the accompanying blinker fobs to the table, clearing away the disregarded pucks back into his many pockets. “Alright you two, I’ll have your ship filled and you can get on your way.”

“No droids near my ship, have the porters do it.”

Karga laughed, “Of course not, Mando, I don’t have that much of a death wish, especially not after yesterday.” The old Guild agent sighed, “You two behave now, you hear?”

You nodded enthusiastically, but under the table your armored companion was doing just the opposite, following the inside of your leg until he was groping at your mound, sliding a leather pad over where your slit pushed against the duraweave. Insatiable!

“You got it, thanks for the gas!” You smacked Mando’s pauldron, kicking him off of you as well as the booth. “Beans, say bye-bye to uncle Kargsy.” The child waved as his floating pram turned and ghosted along behind you out the cantina door. Though the bar had food on hand, it left much to be desired, and street vendor delectables were calling your nose. Townspeople skirted out of your way as you followed the smell of much-needed breakfast, but you ignored them to grill your companion. “Mando! You’re lucky he was focused on the bounties and not your wandering hands, or he woulda kicked our asses to the curb.” The metal mountain shrugged, shaking his helmeted head quickly as if he was bemused by the idea of getting caught.

Corellian bloodhound must have run in your veins, because you were able to sniff out an early morning bakery and caf-roaster, and the savory aroma had your mouth watering behind your armor. The whites of the vendor’s eyes were showing as the two of you approached, and even without any of your visual equipment running, you could see him pale at the sight of your mighty trio. You knew by the look on his face that if you wanted to eat, you would need to play nice. “Good morning, could I get-”

“J-just take it! Take whatever you want! P-please don’t hurt me!” The frightened merchant backpedaled from the stand, throwing their hands over their face for protection. Part of you wanted to lift your mask to assure them that you weren’t exactly Mandalorian, but thought better of it and pulled a handful of credits from your pocket, setting down what you thought the price might be for three pastries and a thermos of caf. The vendor stayed huddled away from the stand as your crew continued on its way, and you tried to shrug off the glares you were getting while you wrapped two of the pastries up and stuffed them in your bag for you and Din to eat later. Beans took his breakfast eagerly, being his gross, adorable self as he chowed down in his hovercrib.

“Damn Mando, is it like that for you all the time?” The hunter nodded, but said nothing. “That fucking blows.” You tilted your mask back just enough to get the thermos to your mouth, wincing at the caf’s heat and lack of sweetness, but powered through it anyway. You stopped at a few more stores, picking up your usual collection of bacta and tools, absently chatting away at your partner while he followed silently along. You had your backpack stuffed full of goodies and were feeling well about your next adventure when you rounded a street corner, and stepped back immediately at what you saw. You’d only caught a glance, but you knew the shape of standard-issue white duraplast anywhere.

“Mando back up. Right now.” You pushed against his chestplate, steering him back down the alley you were in until you were behind a stack of crates. His jetpack made an ugly sound as it scratched against the stucco of the building while you pressed up against him, using your body to shield him and the child’s pram, though he himself would have made a much better barrier. Habitually, his hands went to your waist, still enamored with being allowed in your proximity, not quite getting what you were trying to do. You ignored him, watching the intersection through your visor.

“Cyar’ika...this isn’t-”

“Ksst!” You hissed, catching the tilt of beskar in the corner of your eye, and the click of a blaster’s safety in your ear when he noticed you weren’t playing coy. Motionless, you both watched the entrance to the alleyway, and you heard them before you saw them.

“You there! Have you seen any mandos?”

“Y-yes! Two of them! They went that way!” Shit balls of hell. You recognized the whimpering voice of the baker that was selling you out. Under the chestplate of your armored companion you caught the sound of his quickening heartbeat, the speeding rhythm adding to your own surging adrenaline. The stormtroopers were crossing through the intersection now, and you were able to get a good look at the sad state of the once-terrible soldiers. Their plasticast armor was dingy and dirty, smeared with volcanic ash and rust. Between the busted plates you could see the tears in their duraweave, sloppily patched and mended. They looked like shit, but they were still armed to the teeth in what was left of their equipment. Blindly they made their way past your alley, not even bothering to glance at where you were hidden. Hot breath coasted over your head with the release of your packmate’s breath, and you let yours loose as well.

“That was close.” He grated through his modulator. “The last thing we need, or these townspeople need, are more fucking Imps.”

“No shit, looks like it’s just a handful though. Still too many for a good day, but not so much that we couldn’t handle them.” Above you the black hole where his eyes should be turned down to you, tilting slightly with a questioning roll. You reached up and slid your own armor to the top of your head so that he could see your face. “The bounty pucks can wait, right?” He nodded, and you bared your teeth in a vicious, bloodthirsty grin. “Then let's. Go. Hunting.”

A low growl reverberated in the metal of his chest, and the hand that wasn’t brandishing his blaster came up to cup your chin, dragging his rough leather thumb over the edge of your jaw. “Marry me.”

“Day late, dollar short, bucket boy.” You chided, “I’m already spoken for.” You kissed at the edge of his helmet, reveling in the snarl that barked through the modulator before pulling your own beskar back down over your face. “We gotta get them away from the civilians.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I thought you hated my plans.”

“Your plans are terrible, but they work, ner riduur.”

“Damn right they do. Ok look, I’ll grab their attention and get them to chase me, you take Beans and pick them off as I get them further away from people. Think you can handle that?”

Beskar chimed when it knocked against your brow, surging fire along with the adrenaline your veins were furiously pumping. “Just be careful, my love.” You returned the gesture of affection with another sweet chime, then pulled back to point down the alleyway. Din nodded and took off, the child’s closed hover crib floating along behind him. Free of your oathsworn, you rolled your shoulders and scuffed your boots in the volcanic soil, revving yourself up for what would be a hell of a run. You stepped out onto the main road, catching sight of where the disgraced Imps were still harassing the townspeople. The thermos of nasty caf exploded on the back of one big white egg, turning their attention to you.

“Hey fucknuggets! Looking for me?” You barely took a breath to duck back into the alley as blaster fire shot overhead. Assholes, there’s bystanders nearby! Memories of Tatooine flashed in your mind as you hauled ass through the charred streets, chucking supply crates into the way of the worst shots in the galaxy. The stormtroopers weren’t fast, but they were ambitious, plowing through the obstacles that you threw in their way. You rounded a corner, avoiding plasma shots easier than the broad side of a barn. “Eggheads!” You taunted, keeping them chasing after you. At a deserted intersection you stopped, waiting for them to round the corner; and you couldn’t help but grin when one of them was yanked into the air, dangling on the end of a grapple. A single -urk- told you that one was down and out. How many were there? Three? Four?

Two more rounded the corner, and you sped down the next street after another string of searing insults. The Imps shot at you with no regard for human life, pockmarking the already disheveled buildings with more burnt holes. Making sure that they saw you take the next turn, you ducked behind a corner, waiting for them to follow suit. So predictable. The two dirty soldiers plodded past you, and you drew your blaster and fired, catching one in the skull and one in the shoulder. Trooper one fell to the ground, but the second one reeled and tried to aim their gun at you with their fucked up arm. Bad move. Black and silver rained from above, kicking the stormtrooper’s legs out from under it and blasting it full of holes. Mando knocked the dead Imps gun away with his foot, just in case, then turned his gaze to you. “Nice wor-look out!”

You snapped back to look behind you, and for the first time in the entire history of the Empire, a stormtrooper made a bullseye.

“-Twang!-”

You fell backwards to the ground with the force of the impact to your face. Game over.

“Blam!”

Everything was ringing, and not in a nice way, making the world appear as flickering greys and blacks as your eyeballs tried to pull blood back to their concussed retinas. The sound of Mando’s blaster and the thud of a dead body hitting the dirt made you open your stunned eyes. You laid in the pyroclastic gravel, thinking maybe you were a ghost and you were just hearing and seeing the last of the living world; but your wilted vision was soon eclipsed by a big metal bucket leaning over top of you.

“Are you alright?”

Shockingly, you were able to respond. “I...think so? What the hell I took that right between the eye- oh!” You brought your hands to your face where a bullet hole should be, running your fingers over the smooth beskar that had saved your life. “Beskar! Beskar blocks blast bullets! Try saying that three times fast.” Your helmeted husband hauled you to your feet, roughly brushing the dirt and gravel off of you in his endearingly fussy way. “Yeah, I’m good, tinman. Thanks for the armor.” You were glad he couldn’t see your eyes, you were squinting and blinking fast, trying to usher your sight back, letting loose a sigh of relief as the details of his armor came into view. The protective faceplate chimed its siren song as Din pushed his helmet against you, humming happily with the knowledge of your safety.

“You’re quick, cyare, but maybe next time let me be the bait?”

“Not a snowflake's chance in hell.” Turning away from your armored companion, you bent down to inspect the fallen trooper. “What the fuck were they doing here anyway?”

“Probably leftovers from the siege, maybe longer by the looks of their armor.” A bandoliered boot kicked at the sullied corpse. “Usually there’s more than this, but these look like they’ve been on-world too long, trying to make a good capture to earn a place back into a larger platoon.”

“Shitstains.” You pushed your mask to the side and spat on the ground, “I’d better not see another one of these skulking around, or I’ll run out of blast cartridges pumping them full’a holes.'' The taste of the hunt was still strong on your tongue, and the hunger for blood was making you aggressive. “Fuckin’ Empire never did me any favors, not to mention all the people who’s lives’ve been ruined by their destruction. What’s left of them needs to be purged like a disease. Expunged.” Through the haze of bloodlust you caught your man staring at you, and realized that you were getting more fired up than what might have been appropriate. You cleared your throat, trying to cough the thrill of the chase out of your lungs. “Yikes, I’m sorry Mando, I don’t know what-”

“Don’t be.” He was close now, having crossed the short distance between you in a single stride. “Tell me more.”

“Oh? You like that, huh?” He nodded, letting his hands wander up your arms and down your sides until he was squeezing at your waist. “I wanna hunt Imps.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Forget bail jumpers, I wanna go after the Empire’s soggy leftovers, break their dirty duraplast open and spill their rotten guts.” The handsy warrior ran his fingers around the swell of your ass and down the backs of your thighs, lifting up on them so hard you were forced to wrap your arms around his neck while he saddled you around his waist. “Mando! We’re outside!”

“Don’t care, I wanna hear more.” He waltzed the two of you into the nearest alleyway, barely out of sight of anyone who would walk down the street; though the stormtrooper carcasses would probably dissuade any and all from getting too close. Mando waited for you to toss your backpack off before pushing you against the stucco, grinding hard into your core.

“Fucksake, where do you get the energy?” You laughed, though it was a serious question that would probably never get an answer. He ignored you, groaning heavily in your ear.

“More.”

“Alright alright.” It was hard to respond with him getting so fresh. “If I see another one of those fucking eggheads I’ll rattle their dirty plastic buckets with...with...fuck.” His armored hips surged into you, the plates of his sides pinching your inner thighs and making it hard for you to put words together. “Gonna… gonna scramble their yolks with my b-blades.”

“Fuck yeah you are. More, tell me more, ner riduur.” Between your legs the bulge of his stiff cock was rutting into you, trying desperately to meet you through the layers of duraweave.

“I’m gonna find those dirty Imps, I’m gonna shoot them in their ugly plasticast faces. I’ll take all their guns as my trophies. Blow their whole ratsnest sky....high!” You keened, squished harder against the wall by the breadth of his chestplate so his hands could move without dropping you. Deft digits dug into your belt and yanked, pulling your pants down over the curve of your backside just far enough that your heat was exposed. You were unable to see anything past his broad armored shoulders, and the sound of a zipper being thrown was all the warning you got before he was pushing up into you.

“I think… you should...take...their...heads!” He stuttered between thrusts, leaning back to hook your legs through the crooks of his elbows, jackknifing you against the ashstreaked wall. His cock split you in two, stretching you open almost painfully without any prior slicking. “More! I wanna hear more! Make your husband proud!” His command growled through his modulator, so loaded with need that the hair on the back of your neck stood on end and your pussy flooded with much-needed juice.

“Fu-fuck Man-an-d-do! I’ll- fuckin...stab… an’… sh-shoot… ah~!” Between his filthy cadence and the air being squeezed from your chest you couldn’t get a word in edgewise; and you bunched your fingers into the scruff of his cloak, holding on for dear life while he plowed you into the wall. You clamped your coils around him, making him moan against the side of your mask and earning yourself just enough of a break in his stride to find your voice. “Gonna… gonna get the jump on ‘em. Sneak up behind their stupid fucking Imp asses and gut them like fish.” You winced when he sped up, the friction becoming too much.“Ouch!”

He stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of pain, his heaving chest the only movement from the silver statue. He looked down between your bodies to where he was lost inside you, then let one of your legs back down to his hip so he could free his hand from your thigh. The armored paw was brought up to the bottom of your mask and up under the beskar to your mouth.

“Bite.” You bit down on the leather, holding the glove in your teeth as he pulled his hand free, stuffing it down between your pressed bellies to where his cock was. He pulled the throbbing member out and slid his calloused fingers in, hunting for your sweet spot. “Let’s see, where’s that spot that makes you squirm? Should be...right...about...here.” His trigger finger dug into the patch of nerves, pumping in and out of you until you were whining around the glove still in your teeth. Another finger joined the first, taking a moment to scissor around inside you to stretch you further before thrusting into you again. “You love my hands, don’t you, cyar’ika? Love when I fuck you with them?” You could barely nod, between his efforts and being squashed against the wall, you were putty in his hands. His long fingers pumped quickly at your core, digging in deeper every time you clenched around them to churn you into a slick mess. A vicious growl in your ears made your insides flutter, and the Mandalorian could feel you starting to come undone for him. “Does that feel better, cyare?” He purred, spinning his thumb over your clit between plunges. “Come on, come for me like a good girl~.”

You bit down hard on the glove with a muffled cry, clawing at his shoulders while he milked every drop from you until it was running down his hand and onto the volcanic soil below. Soft praises whispered out of his modulator, telling you how well you take his hands, how soft and strong you are and all the ways he would pleasure you each and every day. He slid his fingers out of your deliciously wet heat and filled you right back up with his cock. The bare hand glistened in the smoky daylight before disappearing under the edge of his helmet to lick himself clean, humming at the taste of your sweet nectar. With both hands back on your legs, he nearly crushed you against the wall, chasing his own desperate release. Hot steam fogged up your visor, his ragged breath coming hard out of the bottom of his helmet with each merciless thrust. The sound of him losing himself in you was music to your ears, low, rumbling growls between broken words of adoration until he was nearly spooled to completion.

“That’s my riduur! That’s my wife! F-feirce little t-thing! So b-beautf-ful, wearing my armor! Wearing beskar like a true Mando’ade! I c-can’t wait to...to... get... you more!” He pulled out of your sopping cunt, pressing his throbbing shaft under your asscheeks while he came hard against the wall behind you, groaning the whole way through. His breath came in broken gasps through his modulator, and his arms coiled around your legs as if he was trying to melt your body into his through your many layers. You hugged him back while trying to pull your legs from his arms, and reluctantly he let you drop from him, holding you steady as much as he was trying to hold himself. Tugging your pants back up and taking the wet glove from your mouth, you couldn’t help but turn and glance at the marked wall, flabbergasted at the amount that was dripping through the ash-laden stucco.

“That’s supposed to be mine!” You pointed at the gooey smear with a laugh that was rewarded with a tilted visor glare.

“No...fresher…”

“Oh aren’t you thoughtful."

You patted his heaving shoulders and leaned forward to kiss his helmet where his mouth would be, humming sweetly before turning your attention to the corpses that were still strewn about the deserted street. The trooper bodies had started to grow cold, and you made your way over to them to collect your trophies with a skip in your step. Their blasters were grimey, so soiled with plasma residue and fucking dirt that you almost didn’t want to touch them. “Hey, Mando, do you think the scary sewer queen would like these?” He cocked his head at you from over where he was dragging the white plasticast corpses into the alleyway you had just disrespected. “The beefy lady, with the sword?”

“Ruusaan?” You nodded at the somewhat familiar word. “She’d be thrilled. Probably forge you another piece of armor once you collect a few more. Everything after the helmet has to be earned, and...and I’d love to see you...in… in full beskar, cyar’ika.”

“So I’ve been told.” You glanced around the deserted back alley, getting the feeling that something was missing, something important. “Mando! Where’s our fucking foundling?!” Din straightened up and pressed a few buttons on his vambrace, angling his visor up to the rooftops. The baby’s hoverbucket floated over the edge, gently gliding down from out of harm's way. Inside, the tiny green terror was throwing his arms up in the air, enjoying the ride back down to ground level. His shirt and blankie were covered in muffin crumbs, and though he was a mess, your stomach roared; being made violently aware that you hadn’t gotten to eat your fucking breakfast yet. Both of your boys cocked their heads at the sound of your rabid insides, bidding Din to stride forward, placing a hand on your shoulder while you tried to clear the remnants of the child’s meal away.

“Are you still hungry?”

“I never got to eat, our breakfast is still in my backpack.”

His helmet snapped softly backwards in a motion you had learned meant he was confused. “Why didn’t you eat yet?”

“Because I want to eat with you.” You ignored the quick tilt of his beskar to focus on picking pastry bits out of the child’s ears, fucking stars, how did he get them in his ears?! “It’s not fair that you have to eat by yourself all the damn time, creed or not, you should have someone watching your back when you’re vulnerable. And that’s my job now, right?” You pushed your mask up to the top of your head so he could see your eyes meet his visor. The metal mountain looked so small with his shoulders drooping and his hand resting softly on your arm, the faint twitch of his helmet telling you he was rapidly looking between both of your eyes so your words could sink in.

“What did I do to deserve you, Tra’laar?”

“Sprang me from jail.” You turned back to the messy baby to hide your blushing face, unwilling to wax poetic about how much you liked him while your guts demanded an audience. “Where are you more comfortable, in the sewers or in the Crest?”

“We should get back to the ship, Karga’s probably got it fueled up by now.” You nodded, finding your backpack and pulling the slightly-squashed pastries up to the top so you could stuff the icky Imp guns in the bottom for your trophy collection. When you turned back to your crewmates, however, you were greeted with an extended arm, the bent elbow of your new husband offering to escort you back to your waiting chariot. You snickered and gladly accepted the gesture, hooking your arm through his as you had done during your masquerade. The pair of you glided past where the stormtroopers bodies were stashed, scavengers would come for them eventually to strip them of their worthless armor and priceless organs; but the two of you couldn’t care less, lost in the comfort of each other's company.

The Razor Crest came into view soon enough, and your Mandalorian only pulled away from you then to fuss with his buttons and get the ramp open. As you approached the old ship you felt your heart sink at the sight of your old mask, still half-buried where it had been stomped into the obsidian gravel. You pulled it from its grave, and the remnants of its photoreceptor casings flaked away like dried leaves, confirming what you already knew; there was no saving it.

“Hey Mando, can you hit a moving target?” He scoffed at you before seeing what was in your hands, making him tilt quizzically at you.

"What happened to it? Did you drop it?"

"No. The IG units broke it."

"Fucking droids. I'm sorry ner cyare'se, I hope your new one makes you happy."

"You make me happy, buckethead."

You made to heft the mask, making a few slow pretend throws so he got the hint and let his hand hover over his pistol like a gunslinger. “Hup!” You chucked the busted thing high in the air, and his blaster snapped like a viper from his hip with a bang! The wasted durasteel exploded spectacularly in the air, raining back down as chunks of shrapnel that had you running for the Crest and giggling like a fool. Rest in pieces.

You followed Mando and the foundling up the ramp of the ship, taking a moment to run your palm over the entryway. There was a time not too long ago when you thought you would never see her again, the ship that you had made a home for yourself in. The beskar mask hid your smile as your eyes wandered over her messy interior, lingering over the cot that still had your bedroll in it and gazing lovingly at the wall panel where the armory was hidden from view; and you wondered if you would get to add your own trophies to that case. Even the empty carbonite chamber had you feeling a sense of belonging, that this is where your wild hunt would lead, time and time again. The door to the ramp closed, and you took a deep, fulfilling breath of the stuffy atmosphere of the hold. “Hello, Iron Lady, did you miss me?”

“Did you say something?” Din was working to get the child out of his pram so he could stretch his legs in the safety of the ship.

You rolled your mask up to the top of your head, the shining beskar looking like a crown fit for a queen. “Hmm? Oh, no, just an old sailor phrase. Iron Lady, queen of strife, You're my only home and wife. I know I'm bound to you for life, nor would I have another!” You belted, hearing the acoustics of the durasteel walls thrum to life with the power of your voice. You sighed, long and low as you had heard your partner do so many times, and you turned your eyes back to him; resisting the urge to screw your eyes shut at the sight of his bare face. He would have to get used to being touched, but you would have to get used to seeing the real flesh and blood of the man underneath the armor. Fucking Maker, he’s so pretty!

Din pressed kisses to your forehead, then both your cheeks, and lastly your smile; humming through his adoration. You closed your eyes and let yourself get caught up in his affections, but the tug on your shoulder gave away his sneaky thievery, and you shot one eye open to watch him pull your backpack off of you. He laughed and started digging through the ratty old bag, pulling the baked goods out for you to finally eat. You took yours greedily, stuffing the now cold loaf of goodness into your piehole, waiting for Din to do the same. He watched you with a strange look in his eye, as if he was trying to imagine himself eating vicariously through you, though he had his own meal right there in his hands.

You raised a brow at him. “What’s wrong? Did I get the wrong flavor?”

He shook his head, his chocolate pudding eyes shining up to you in a bashful, puppy-like way. “I...um… I’ve never eaten around anyone before.”

Stop being so fucking cute all the time! “Oh, ok well here let’s do this.” You plopped down on one of the many crates that littered the cabin with your back to him. “Take your rockets off and come sit behind me.” You turned away from him and waited until you heard the dull thunk of metal hit the ground and felt the crate shift with his weight. “Now lean back.” He did as he was instructed, leaning his back up against your own, and the happy sigh that rumbled out of him made your heart swell. Then the sound of loud, fast eating made you chuckle, and he froze behind you. “Oh for fucks sake the baby eats way grosser than you do. Fuckin’ go for it.” You felt his shoulders jostle with a secretive laugh, and the onslaught began anew. His breakfast disappeared in seconds, and you wondered if he even tasted it before he sucked it down. “Is that how you always eat?”

“Mmhmm.” He said with his mouth still partially full. “Nev’r know what’s coming.” You turned to watch him throw his legs around the other side of the crate, sitting perpendicular to you now so he could wrap an arm around your waist while you ate your well deserved meal. “You take your time.”

“Ah plan to.” And you did, actually chewing your food, only stopping to accept a canteen that was handed to you in lieu of your launched projectile thermos. With a happy belly you turned to your riduur, grinning right back at his sheepish little smile. “So, captain, what’s next for us?”

“Do you remember what I said last night? I want you to pick a star for me to bring you.”

The sweet sentiment made your heart swell, then promptly drop. “What about our Guild contracts?” You were expecting a groan, a sigh, or even a curse at the reminder that you had put your crew right back on the trail instead of bound for rest and relaxation; but instead you were gifted with petal-soft kisses on your cheek.

“Anywhere with you is a pleasure, riduur’ika, especially if I get to see you hunt.” He scooted closer to you on the crate, wrapping both his arms around your waist while you were still trying to eat, resting his scruffy chin in the crook of your shoulder, breathing right in your ear. “And if we see any Imps, we can hunt them down for sport.” He growled the last words with enough malice that a chill ran up your spine and broke into the light as an icy smile.

“Stars above, you do not like those fuckin’ Imps, do you?” Din nodded, making sure to rub against your cheek like a big, happy massiff. “Alright then, gimme your pucks.” One armored hand disappeared from you to dig through his belt pouches, bringing his half of the bounties into view. You scarfed down the last of your breakfast and found your own pucks to add to the pile in his grasp. Between his hand and yours, you shook your collection of captured stars, shuffling the bounties in your palms and pulling one from the stack as your choice. You held it up high in front of you like you were inspecting a jewel instead of a chunk of duraplast and wiring. “This one. Bring this one to me.” The leftover pucks were returned to his pouch, freeing himself up to run his insatiable paws over your shoulder to tug at your outstretched arm. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing fuzzy kisses to your knuckles, humming at the goosebumps that readily prickled your skin.

“As you wish.”

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