#dad!din was always canon

[softiedingo]

ok I was rewatching s3 of The Mandalorian and in short, Din and Grogu literally did this after the last episode:

[supersaiyanjedi14]

Artwork I commissioned from @rainbow-zebra-art of my Sabezra fankids, Brycan and Mazal Wren-Bridger! Thank you so much for this, RZ!

As a reminder for anyone interested, these two exist in my personal Star Wars AU, which is a hybrid of the Legends EU, Disney Canon, and other SW properties I want to squeeze in. I'll put some more specific stuff about them under the cut.

BRYCAN WREN-BRIDGER

Brycan was born on Krownest in 10 ABY, growing up in the immediate aftermath of the Thrawn Campaign. He grows up as a close friend of Jacen, Jaina and Anakin Solo, while also being super close to his "uncles" Kanan and Zeb and "aunts" Hera and Ketsu. Brycan is a kind and friendly boy who nontheless has a sarcastic streak rivaling his parents, and his passion for athletics and martial arts serves him well in his Mandalorian upbringing and Jedi training. Unsurprisingly, Brycan still grows up with a good deal of pressure, what with being descended from two cultural factions known for conflict with each other and being the child of two prominent war heroes. Determined to live up to his heritage while also stepping out of his parents' shadows, Brycan becomes a passionate Mandalorian warrior before enrolling in Luke Skywalker's Jedi Paraxeum on Yavin 4 at age 14. He does struggle to reconcile the contradictory aspects of the Mandalorians and the Jedi, but he does eventually learn to form a good balance with the help of his parents and Din Djarin.

The Yuuzhan Vong War puts Brycan though the biggest wringer yet, as the horrors of war cost him multiple friends and his mother is grievously wounded shortly after giving birth to his sister Mazal. He is roped into a faction of more militant Mandalorian crusaders who encourage him to give into his passions and pain, leading to a tense conflict with his father and a personal vendetta with the Vong commander Nas Choka. However, Ezra manages to save his son from falling down the dark path, and he rejects the hollow promises of revenge. He finally comes into his own as a Jedi Knight by wars' end, priding himself as a credit to his forebearers as a true Mandalorian Jedi.

Other notes:

-Brycan built his lightsaber in imitation of designs favored during the High Republic, featuring a physical crossguard below the emitter. Reflecting his mixture of Jedi and Mandalorian tradition, the crossguard is composed of solid beskar while his kyber crystal is an Adegan sapphire.

-Brycan is one of the most accomplished lightsaber duelists of his generation, mastering both the Shien and Djem-So sides of Form V as well as boasting a comprehensive academic understanding of numerous martial arts from across the galaxy. Thouhg he favors his lightsaber, he always wears a Mandalorian vambrace wherever he goes, loaded with a Dur-24 wrist laser, a fibercord whip, a portable energy shield, and whistling birds.

-Brycan's strength in the Force is easily comparable to his dad, though he appropriately focuses on the more physical aspects of his power. He's not as advanced a telepath as Ezra, but he compensates by being an awesome telekinetic and taking up a special interest in energy diffusion.

-While not as vibrant as his mom, he still inherited Sabine's artistic skill, particularly as a sketch artist. He can produce a nearly flawless rendering of someone in a heartbeat and has a talent for hand-drawn maps and starcharts. He occasionally cooks up new designs for his mom to try out.

-His best friend is Han and Leia's daughter Jaina, both of their natural fighting instincts feeding their desire to test and improve themselves. Sparring together is their favorite pastime, where they have traded wins and losses over the years.

-While a combat-oriented Jedi raised as a Mandalorian does raise some immediate assumptions, Brycan's passion for fighting is not as a blood sport. He sees it as a way of expression of his spirit, and he puts it to use for the good of others. He lives by the Form V maxim of "peace through superior firepower", wielding his skill to strike out at injustice and protect the innocent, not to flaunt his power. He doesn't go looking to pick a fight, but if fighting needs to be done, he is razor-keen and committed.

-Teenage rebellion and war trauma aside, he loves his parents more than anything in the world and adores his younger sister Mazal.

-Despite lacking Ezra's strong affinity for animals, Brycan does owns a Loth-wolf he rescued as a cub named Beskad (the mando'a word for "sword"). The two are nearly inseparable, though his efforts to mold Beskad into an oversized hunting dog have had minimal success.

MAZAL WREN-BRIDGER

Mazal was born on Mandalore in 26 ABY during the height of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion. Growing up in the shadow of the conflict, Mazal resolved to do her part to help put the galaxy back together after being nearly ripped apart. Like her older brother, Mazal initially wanted to become a powerful Mandalorian Jedi warrior, joining in the battles and adventures. However, this was shattered when she went on her first serious combat mission, helping in an effort to subdue a combine of pirates seeking to exploit the post-war chaos on Carlac. The mission ended in a horrific disaster, with the strike team being decimated in an ambush and narrowly escaping back to GA space. Traumatized by her experiences, Mazal found her previous passion lost, even considering turning in her lightsaber and throwing out her armor so as to never be stained by that violence again. Fortunately, Mazal received much-needed counseling from both Jedi Healers and more mundane therapists, and Sabine helped her daughter rediscover her calling. Feeling that the galaxy needed healing hands far more than warriors, Mazal was drawn to the ideals of the late Duchess Satine Kryze, seeing the value of promoting peace over the use of force. Taking up the path of a Jedi Healer and joining the reformed Mandalorian Protectors, Mazal channeled her passion into humanitarian aid, traveling the galaxy to help pick up the pieces of disaster and conflict. In a way, she does manage to become just as much of a Mandalorian Jedi as Brycan, albeit one dedicated to the higher calling of the Force and the more grounded tenents of the Resol'nare.

Other notes:

-"Mazal" is a Hebrew name meaning "good fortune". I chose this to fit a naming theme with her father Ezra as well as to reflect the safety of her birth given Sabine's injuries soon afterward.

-Despite no longer being a dedicated fighter, Mazal still keeps up on her training. She may not like fighting, but if the people she's helping need a lightsaber to protect them or Mandalorian armor to shield them, she won't hesitate to use it.

-Powerful in her own right, Mazal's Force abilities manifest strongest in her advanced skill in the healing arts, directly studying under Master Cilghal at the Jedi Academy. She also shares her father's sense-based aptitude, focusing on life-detection and projective telepathy to aid in her relief work.

-Unlike Brycan, Mazal is just as much of an artist as Sabine, constantly redecorating her room with new paintings and sketches. Her hair is her most common canvas, rarely going a month with the same dye job.

-Mazal is a self-professed daddy's girl; not even the Force can get Ezra to say no to her. At the same time, possibly as a result of having come so close to losing her and her mother, Ezra is almost overprotective of her, and was beside himself when she came home shell-shocked from Carlac. Sabine grows closer to her during her recovery period, and their time painting together played a big part in getting her back on her feet.

-She gets along well with Ben Skywalker, both being close to each other during their training. Outside of her family, Ben's the one she can confide in the most.

-Mazal is bi and dates Zay Versio as a teenager.

Feel free to ask me more about these two!

[cosmichahn]

LOVE GROWS

Din Djarin x GN!Reader —☆

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ about: Grogu wanted to see you, and frankly, he isn't the only one who does.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ warning/s: none that's disturbing! (no canon typical violence) this oneshot will include love confessions, so yes. (was listening to love grows by edison lighthouse while writing this.) a few mando'a words, but the translations will be shown at the end!

ִִֶֶָָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ word count: 2.2k

ִִֶֶָָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ note/s: hello! it takes a while for me to finish writing, and it's my first time writing for din djarin. this might be a little out of character, but i swear i'm trying to write properly for him.

The distant cooing of Grogu echoed around the ship, pointing at a small crown made of dried and preserved flowers that hung near his hammock. His big black eyes pleading.

It's a free moment anyway, and it's just little Grogu and his dad lurking through the galaxies. Only the engine of the ship functioning is heard, along with his little coos, begging for his father's attention.

Din looks behind him, leaving the controls on autopilot for him to go to his little one. He stands up, seeing Grogu patiently waiting for him to get closer as his little hands wave over the flower crown that felt as if it was protecting him from his nightmares; seeing as it's hanging by his bed.

He can't resist the little bundle of joy's pleas, and he of course will bring him to one of the places that bring the two of them that feeling of home and comfort, adamant that Din refuses to admit it, Endor.

The Mandalorian loves seeing his child happy and comfortable; if Grogu was happy, so was he. Just the two of them against the world… but lately Grogu seems off. Din stressed over not knowing what was going through his mind that sometimes he hoped to have the ability of a jedi to communicate and at least see Grogu's mind.

On the way to Endor, Din welcomes Grogu to sit on his lap, even leaving a little seatbelt for him so he wouldn't fall. It's a quiet journey with only the little one humming a tune that showed his excitement. A tune you once sung to him as he slept in your arms.

Soon enough, the two touch down at the Forest Moon of Endor.

Grogu starts to race Din to the exit, his little feet being too fast. Beneath the helmet, he just smiles. The twinkle in his little Grogu's eyes made his heart swell.

It's evening as they arrive, so patiently, the little one waits for Din outside of the ship. “You're too excited, kid." He chuckles, following behind as Grogu heads for the familiar little cottage that felt like home. It wasn't their house per se, but the person who lived in it was what made it feel like home.

“Grogu?" The warm and familiar voice greets, opening the door before he can even knock with his little hands. 

You. A Jedi.

Wind chimes echo and twirl through his big green ears as he swiftly hugs and tugs on your leg. You carefully pick him up as he snuggles in closer. “We've not seen each other in a while, little one. D'you miss me already?" He nods, tapping on your cheek, engulfing in the warmth.

“Sometimes I think he likes you more than me." Din jokes, crossing his arms afterwards. Somewhere lingers his smile. You can feel it. But you've not seen it, sadly.

“Mando, Mando… He just missed me." You shrug, inviting him to join you inside.

As you hold Grogu in your right arm, the first place you head to is the kitchen, remembering that you just made a batch of wildberry pie. Surely this would satisfy his appetite. A body so small, an appetite so big.

You sit him on one of the chairs, placing the plate of pie in front of him. His smile grows, making his little teeth visible. Before taking a bite, he looks at you happily, giving you a thanks.

While he is busy eating and enjoying his meal, you sit beside Din who was quietly sitting on the couch. 

“So," You give him a suspicious but cheeky look. “this is the third time this month. Odd, isn't it?" Usually they would go here once a month, or sometimes rarely as bounties were always happening.

“Grogu just wanted to see you." Din replies, feeling an invisible lump in his throat before handing you an envelope with little drawings on it that was definitely Grogu's doing. “I have something for you by the way. Well, we." Indicating him and Grogu.

You take it carefully, appreciating the fact that the crayons you gifted the last time they were here got well used. Grogu tried to eat it once, leaving you and Din in a panicked state.

“You sure that's not the only reason?" Teasing him as you poke his armored side a little bit.

“...Yes."

“Ok." It's soft how you said it, and you actually do miss him and want to see him. You miss him everyday which was an overstatement, but you love it every time he and Grogu were here. “Well, it's never too bad to miss a friend."

Remembering the scraps you found when you were looting a couple of abandoned places, you stand up. “Oh! Wait here, I have something for you too." He gets surprised by your sudden movement, but he just waits patiently for you anyway.

“It's a music thing that I found, you just have to insert it in your ship's radio thingy… If you have one of those of course." It looked like a port that could play telegrams like the ones he gets from reports from Karga or Cara. “I designed a little music box to enhance its sound and liven up a room." Ok, you are psyched to let Din see this item you made, and frankly he isn't complaining. It even catches Grogu's attention as he was about to finish his entire plate.

From a random storage room, you pull the music box out then insert the port, the beat of an unfamiliar tune playing. “I don't even know who Rosemary is." You say, seeing Grogu start to sway to the music.

Oh, but love grows where my Rosemary goes…

“So, Din, what do you think?" Questioning him as you get all excited. “Is it nice? It's nice, right?"

“The kid likes it. It's nice." He crosses his arms, the distant light glinting from his helmet as he nods.

The little jedi walks to your leg as he lifts his arms up, wanting you to carry him. Upon shaking your hips to the beat, Grogu looks at his dad.

“No," Din says, crossing his arms. He makes an attempt to intimidate the both of you, but instead, you and Grogu look at each other then giggle. “I will not dance."

Grogu can feel a small, sly smile that begins to grow on Din's face.

A couple of moments pass with you constantly having to carry Grogu because he wanted to dance in your arms and teasing Din when the two of you saw him shake his hips a little bit. Those couple of moments left Grogu tired after a whole day in the hyperspace, longing to see you then relieving that longing shortly.

Din carries Grogu in his arms, leading him into your bedroom where a small hammock hangs beside your bed. Just for him. For Grogu.

Afterwards, you and Din talk in the kitchen, sitting across from each other in the dining area.

“So, that was fun.” You smile, looking at the cup of juice swirling in your hand. It was an exhausting whole day for you, running around doing errands, and ending your day with a surprise arrival by the two people you would trust your life with when this whole galaxy arrived, was the best way of resting from a draining day.

Din knew that when he got Grogu, he knew little to nothing of becoming a father, let alone that of a child who was to only be a bounty for him. But when time passed, the longer he spent moments with Grogu, he knew that he could do it. Or at least try to. The Child wasn’t the only one who benefited and learned from the situation and days they’ve been together as Din also learned in ways which he kept mostly to himself. He wasn’t alone. He’s not alone anymore.

Meeting you was an accident to him, but it was a good accident. It was an evening a couple of years ago where the Razor Crest landed near your house, obviously disrupting your peace. It was a tiring day like this and you just wanted to rest, but it was pouring heavily. You kept your guard up, of course, upon hearing a knock that you assumed was from the recently crashed ship.

You looked annoyed, but still asked him of his intentions. Apparently his ship had a couple of malfunctions where he needed a few parts. Luckily you had extra scrapped stuff that you were about to give out to some Jawas that would visit the place in a few days. A couple of the pieces were what he needed, and you just sold it to him.

He left you that same evening, meeting you accidentally once more at one of the bars where he actually was about to catch a bounty. The rest was a loop of meeting each other in surprising places and somewhat unconventional places until the two of you became friends. Not close friends, but still friends.

“It was fun.” He nods, seeing a glint from his helmet, the kitchen light reflecting on his beskar. He’s quiet, primarily keeping his words short even after knowing each other for quite a couple of years now.

No one says anything after that. It's a comfortable silence between you and Din, like always. You just look at him and wonder what he's thinking of right now. Tilting your head a little on the side while you settle your cup on the table, you furrow your eyebrows.

“Why are you looking at me like that?" Din asks suddenly, tilting his head the same way you tilted yours.

“Nothing."

There's a sense of longing that always went around your head. A longing for him, for some reason. You want him, although for certain he does not want you the same way. You already settle with an early heartbreak, and yet you want to risk every year you've spent seeing him, wanting him to be aware of what you really feel.

“There's something I have to tell you." If now is not the time, then surely that time will never come. It's a risk you're willing to take. “Follow me."

You lead him behind your house where a big tree sprouted in the middle with evergreen leaves, a couple of blue and violet leaves. The atmosphere looked warm, lights illuminating from your house.

“What is it that you want to say?" Din stands near the tree, you follow to stand opposite of him. He anticipates on what you have to say, truthfully he wants to hear such things from you.

It's never common for him to experience such attachment the way Grogu has, but something about those years of meeting you felt as if though he never wants to stop seeing you. He doesn't want to lose you in spite of the fact that he never was yours, nor were you his.

You're a Jedi. He's a Mandalorian. No amount of judgment could withhold such a partnership. Unless he's willing to risk it, unless you're willing to risk it.

Din can't shy away from the fact that his love grows. It continues to do so, and it blooms everyday. He is not admitful of this. Perhaps the vulnerability he is to display to you would give you a sign. You, to him, are different from the rest; with the exception of Grogu, of course. Din knows you would understand that.

“Din, I would go through the deep and dark undergrounds of Mandalore's ruins if it meant that your happiness would be the reward." You clear your throat, feeling that invisible lump that you want to cough out. “You know that, right?"

He grew silent. You immediately regret this. Under all of that hard exterior, that stoic stance, his covered face, is a soft, gentle person.

“I-" The flame in your chest is about to burst, each pump of your heart is firing your body up. Palms sweaty, skin tingling, you don't notice the slight yet noticeable trembling of your body. “Din, I-"

“Cyar'ika," Your eyes grow wide at him, your breaths still unkempt, your eyebrows filled with worry and shame. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

A slight chuckle of nervousness left your lips, your eyes a bit panicked, relieved, but why? “Din, you know I don't understand Mando'a."

“You're lying." He's right. You've been secretly studying Mando'a ever since he gifted you a box of tools after one of his bounties. It's not the most romantic or symbolistic gift, but Din knew what you liked; he kept mental notes of every detail about yourself that you've talked about.

Although you were learning the language in secret, you've slipped a few times. He's heard you speak in Mando'a at times where you've fallen asleep in his ship whenever you joined him every now and then. Din found it cute.

“Yes, I learned Mando'a." You admit, a little embarrassed. Your hands start to cover your face. “It just…It made me feel closer to you."

You feel his hands touch yours that cover your face. “Cyar'ika, every memory of you makes me feel as if I'm just a step away." It was true. Din felt closer to you with every scene of your beautiful smile, your natural self that had grease and dirt all over from fixing things and scavenging. He adores you.

Din pulls your hands away from your face, holding them both gently as his thumbs circled your palms. He tilted his head to you so as you did, your forehead touching his helmet.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Din." (I love you, Din)

[thefrogdalorian]

I saw that post going around about what people have on their nightstands and it made me wonder what Din would keep by his bed in the cabin on Nevarro...

I think:

Pictures of Grogu (apparently picture frames are called holocubes in Star Wars!)

A weapon! Probably a blaster of some sort. I imagine it would take him a while to even place it there (he probably slept with it tucked into his waistband/under his pillow for a few months...)

Various empty bottles which he really needs to throw away but keeps forgetting because he's a Tired, Stressed Dad™

Maybe his helmet, just in case he quickly needs to grab it and put it on (he probably feels so naked without it)

A Mythosaur necklace. I know we never saw it in canon, but I feel like he acquired another one so him and Grogu match. He takes it off every night before he goes to sleep but it's always there, close by.

I love fantasising about the little details of his cabin... I really hope we get to see some of them in the movie!

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt: The Life Day Special

well it's love, make it hurt series

bonus: The Life Day Special

series masterlist

(This takes place several years after the series epilogue.)

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Words: 5.1k

Summary: You, Din, and Grogu return to Batuu for your first Life Day celebration as a clan.

Warnings: bdsm, d/s dynamics, enthusiastic consent, preestablished safeword etc, dom!din djarin x sub!reader, soft din djarin, din djarin is a good dad, vaginal sex, author plays god with the timelines (sorry), canon adjacent?, canon divergence?, no use of y/n, tooth-rotting fluff, Life Day Fluff

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

12 ABY - Autumn

You kept your apartment.

It wasn’t home, not anymore, but something in the back of your mind wouldn’t relax its jaws and release the safety. So you kept it.

Which is how you end up winning the argument and taking Grogu to Batuu for his first Life Day celebration (since meeting Din, at least).

“You never cared about Life Day before,” Din complained half-heartedly. He’s getting a little too good at faking his expressions now; you miss the early days when his exposed face was an open book. But the sulking doesn’t reach his eyes, so you roll yours exaggeratedly.

“They love Life Day at the Outpost. It was hard not to get involved.”

"Involved" meant too many themed drinks at the Cantina and then feeling bad for yourself in your quiet apartment, but Din didn’t need to know that.

All he needed to know was how your heart had ached, watching the families under the soft glow of the celebratory blue orbs. How you sat alone at the bar as whoever got stuck behind it for the night told you of sharing joy and harmony with their families during the day.

It was enough to convince him. He couldn’t begrudge you Life Day with a family.

So here you were, dusting off the counters in your old flat, Grogu bouncing on the couch with absolutely terrifying stunts.

You know now of his abilities, but that doesn’t mean your heart doesn’t skip a beat when he flips through the air. Amid his squeals of joy and your thorough cleaning, you hadn’t noticed Din leave the room.

You find him in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the mattress he had just made up with clean bedding. The blinds in your apartment are all drawn, and none of you don your armor inside.

Your first thought is how small he looks. You’re used to seeing him in just his underclothes now, so the sight of him in the fitted black flightsuit shouldn’t be jarring. Maybe it’s the way his lips are pursed, or brows scrunched together. Maybe it’s the way he’s clutching the baby’s vibrant red robe in both hands.

“You don’t have to wear one.” You try for a light tease, but it just sounds a little anxious.

He looks up, alarmed at your tone. But it’s not him you’re afraid of. It’s whatever’s got him looking so sad. He can read it, though. You’ve always been an open book to him.

He sighs, eyes closing for a moment, and you feel something catch inside your throat.

“C’mere,” he says, patting the bed. You take your place beside him, slipping an arm around his warm body. He leans against you, head resting on your shoulder, and you press your lips to his hair.

“What’s wrong, cyare?” you whisper.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, but you’re not convinced. “I just… I don’t remember them a lot. My parents. I should, I think, but there isn’t much there. My father covered in flour in the kitchen. My mother laughing at him. Just… glimpses.”

You don’t dare say a thing, but you do run your hand up and down his arm, humming acknowledgment when he pauses.

“I’m not upset. Don’t go feeling bad,” he says, and you look at him to parse the warning. “My last memories of them were in robes like these.”

“Oh, Din—”

“I told you not to feel bad. It can’t really hurt me anymore. I just haven’t thought about it like this in a long time.” He takes another deep sigh, tugging you with him to lie back on the bed. He rolls to his side and pulls you close.

“I don’t think they were for Life Day, just that they were red. I had one, too. Their hair was dark, like mine. But I can’t remember anything else.”

You let the silence sit for a moment. You watch each other’s eyes, deep and shadowed. You get it. You stopped being able to see your ghosts long ago.

“They’d be proud of you,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “A mercenary for a son.”

You shake your head as best you can with the bed against your cheek and reach up to push errant curls behind his ear. Your hand slides to cradle his face. “No. An honorable man. A strong warrior. A loving father.”

Something is churning in his eyes, something he can’t let in right now, not today. He blinks it away and kisses you, winding his hands into your hair and shirt, drawing you as close as he can until the grief is replaced by need.

You’re not sure how he ends up on top of you, but his lips never leave yours, and he licks inside like he can swallow you whole. You’d let him, of course. You give him what he needs: a soft, pliant outlet for his pain.

You do stop him, though, when he goes to tug off your flightsuit.

“Put that on the docket for later, riduur. We’ve got a tree to see.”

He whines but stops trying to peel you bare. He does not, however, let you get up, the hard line of his cock pressing against where you’re burning for him. One hand dips into the mattress while the other comes up to hold the back of your neck and draw you into a deep kiss.

He grinds against you as he licks into your mouth, making you cry out into his.

“Din,” you whine, weakly pushing at his shoulder. Your heart’s not in it, but you feel obligated to try.

He smirks into the kiss, and the cockiness of it just about does you in. Which is, of course, when he pulls completely back. He goes from having you pinned and nearly coming in your pants to standing at the side of the bed with his head cocked.

“What’re you doing lounging around, cyare? I thought we needed to leave?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” you groan. “C’mon, please?”

“We wouldn’t want to be late,” he chides, already halfway through the door to the living room.

The town is dark, amber lights dimmed or extinguished in preparation for the ceremony. The warm breeze carries the low chatter in and out of the streets as people mingle and relax.

The tree is set up in the open rotunda of docking bay seven, the usual tables shoved against the walls. The restaurant is open, and people are drifting in and out of the cantina.

It’s weird to be back. You feel like a holo, flickering in and out. You see faces you recognize, but of course, they don’t recognize you. Not behind the steel.

In the end, you’re glad. Not having to feel obligated to make small talk about everything that’s changed over the years is a relief.

Until you see Moshi holding a little red bundle that looks suspiciously like an infant.

You let go of Din’s hand and go over. “Who trusted you with a baby?”

Moshi startles, and you remember the helmet. But he pauses and squints. “Is that you, kid? What’s with the bucket?”

“I asked you first.”

But he doesn’t need to answer. The hood of the baby’s Life Day robes falls back, and their little antennae pop free.

“Is that—”

“Yeah. We got married.”

You bite your tongue. You want to ask, but you don’t want to be rude.

“Yes, all three of us,” Moshi takes pity on your politeness.

“That’s wonderful. Congratulations,” you say. Then you laugh.

Moshi looks taken aback.

“No, I’m sorry. I just realized we both got married and have little green babies,” you say and wave Din over.

You visit for a few minutes after everyone has been introduced before breaking off to wander toward the tree.

Din has Grogu in the birikad facing outward, but he still wraps an arm underneath and another around him. He’s bouncing him a little; you suspect it’s unintentional. His head is ducked down so he can murmur, letting Grogu hear him without the modulator picking it up.

The three of you had read a holobook together in bed last night about the meaning of the holiday, and you’d bet all the credits in your pouch that Din’s pointing out the things you saw in the illustrations.

It makes your chest feel weirdly tight, and you hang back a few steps so you can soak in the sight.

So this is what you’ve been missing out on. All those years spent yearning without really understanding. Joy, family, harmony. Your throat tightens as you watch your little clan.

The thing is, you know Din wants more kids. He’s never said it. But you know.

You’re just not ready.

And with the stupid hilt that hangs on your riduur’s belt, you’re not sure it’s a good idea. It scares you a little.

Okay, it scares you a lot.

But you’ve agreed not to discuss it until after this little vacation, so you avoid looking at it and thinking about what comes next.

You find your way to them before the lighting ceremony. One of the prominent Wookie community members gives a little speech, each sentence followed by their translator in Basic. The local schoolchildren put on a little performance.

It’s all cute and quaint, and you wonder, not for the first time, if that’s the life Grogu deserves.

You never wonder for long. He’s a Mandalorian; he’s not suited for this calm and quiet. This is not the life for your family, and that’s okay.

Din slides his arm around your waist, and you reach up to hold one of Grogu’s hands, the other of which is wrapped around his father’s glove. You look at your riduur and know he’s smiling back at you behind the visor.

Neither of you watch the lighting, too busy watching it reflect in Grogu’s wide eyes, the way he gasps when the orbs begin to glow. He reaches for them, and both of you whisper, “Grogu, no!” before he tries to summon one.

He blinks, eyes rapidly tearing up, so you take the chance to offer him a sweetbread.

“You spoil him,” Din teases like he hadn’t done the same thing earlier.

Late that night, when you’ve wandered the market and taken in the crafts and wares, you pick up boxes of kaadu sliders and warm, buttery five-blossom bread before you head back to the apartment.

The baby, who’d been snacking all night, is asleep against Din’s chest, head flopped back against the beskar, and little limbs dangling from the holes in the carrier. Clutched in one hand is a little toy orb in a jute net.

(“You spoil him,” you had mocked in a poor imitation of his voice when he handed over far too many credits to the vendor.)

You carefully help undo the fastenings so Din can ease him into the pram. When he’s settled, and the lid closed, Din lifts his helmet off and places it on the counter next to the food.

He looks ravenous.

You are, too, but when you’re reaching for the takeout and he’s reaching for your beskar’gam, you realize you’re hungry for different things.

It only takes a second for you to get on board with him, though. You each unlatch the others’ armor with reverence, setting it on the long island that separates your kitchen and living room. He has far more pieces than you, but it gives you the chance to drop to your knees to remove his thigh and shin plates.

You hand each piece to him, your mind already filling with a quiet hum. When you look up at him, his fond gaze is almost worshipful, and you start to look away, the intensity curling in your stomach.

He catches your chin, holding it firmly. You squirm under his silent focus but don’t pull away. Finally, he grants mercy with a small smile and a stroke of his hand against your cheek before he helps you up.

His hands never leave you, sliding to your neck to pull you in for a kiss before grazing down, brushing the side of your breasts, tickling over your ribs, and landing on your hips. You press your foreheads together—something he loves even helmetless.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “for tonight. I’m glad we came.”

“Me too,” you whisper before you’re unable to resist and catch his lips for a decidedly unchaste kiss.

He walks you backward to the bedroom, closing the door behind him without breaking the kiss. He peels you out of your flightsuit, stripping you until the only thing left is the thin chain around your neck.

He leaves the overhead lights off but indulges in one of the sconces near the door—ever since you were married, he hates to fuck in the dark, hates to have any part of you hidden from him.

You don’t mind. It means you get to see every time his eyebrows rise and fall or his lips twitch from pleasure and mirth. The way his face crinkles with laugh lines and age.

And his eyes. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough. He can hide nothing behind them, laying himself bare for you to greedily drink in.

You correctly assume he’s up to something when, instead of groping you, he digs through his bag.

Except—”Hey, that’s my pack. What’re you looking for?”

He doesn’t respond, but you can see enough of his profile to watch the smirk sprawl out. It’s positively devious, and you shudder a little.

When he walks back to you, he hands you… your pajamas. You look up at him with a furrowed brow, clutching the soft shorts and tank top in your lap.

“I thought—”

He holds a finger to your lips. “Get dressed.”

You obey. You don’t fail to notice he hasn’t given you undergarments.

When you finish tugging the tank top down over your stomach, he wraps an arm around your waist, drawing you close.

“I was thinking about the first time we met here,” he says. There’s a preternatural glint in his eyes. Or maybe it’s just the glare of the sconce, but it feels unnerving.

“What about it?” Your voice wavers a little. You just know he’s up to no good.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just that, if there hadn’t been the extenuating circumstances—”

(a funny way to think of the time you thought he was dead and also tried to kill him, but okay)

”—it might have been fun. You know, catching you like that.”

Your brain catches up. “You want to hunt me.”

His responding chuckle is dark and rough. He’s already looking at you like prey. “I do. I want you to run from me, sweetheart, and then when I catch you, well. I suppose you’ll find out.”

Your heart has kicked up twice as fast, and your cunt aches. “What if I want to be caught?”

“I know you do. But you’re going to be a good girl and play this little game for me. You’re going to try very hard to evade me, so it’ll be all the sweeter when I get you.”

Shit. Kriffing stars. You’re burning so hot you think you may combust. “You can’t just say things like that,” you whisper, voice cracking.

He laughs, full out this time but not any less intimidating. “Like what? That there’s nowhere you can hide from me, pretty girl? That once I catch you, I’m going to help myself to a reward?”

You’re dripping; you know you are. You have to be, with the way all your bones have turned molten and your whole body throbs with need.

It’s not lost on him. “Better get your wits about you, ner lened’ika. Whether you get to cum or not depends on how hard you try to get away.”

It takes you a moment. You’re more or less fluent, now, but sometimes your brain gets tripped up by modifiers.

“Lene… lened’i—hey. That’s not playing fair.” You’re burning, the flush spreading from your ears to your chest rapidly.

“Am I wrong? You’re not my little target? My quarry?”

You bury your face in your hands. “You gotta lay off if you want me to be able to do this.”

He laughs. “You on the edge already, cyare?”

“You know I am.”

“Alright, fine. I was going to give you a ten-minute headstart. You can have fifteen.”

You open your mouth to complain, but he quirks an eyebrow. “Thank you, sir,” you grumble.

“Better get your shoes on, sweetheart. Timer’s about to start,” he goes to stroll back into the living room to collect his helmet.

“Wait.”

He stops and turns back to you, brows knitted with worry.

“I want some rules.”

The concern falls away, chased by the return of his smirk. “Okay, I can give you some rules.”

“No. I want to make some rules.”

“I’ll hear them,” he grants.

You’re a tempestuous sea of excitement and frustration. He’s not wrong, this sounds fun, but his cockiness is driving you to a boil. The innate obedience only he can draw from you is still in control, but stars do you want to just act up and get fucked.

“If I don’t get armor, neither do you. Just helmets,” you start with the most reasonable of your demands.

He nods.

“No jetpack.”

He has to pause and consider that one. “Fine.”

“You can’t bring any tools. No climbing hooks, no grappling line, nothing.”

“Fine—except these.” He holds up his set of binders, and the sight goes straight to your cunt.

You gulp instead of responding, wide eyes trained on the cuffs.

“Is that a problem?” he asks, with the smuggest grin.

You just shake your head. He already knows how little of a problem it is. Instead, you give your final demand.

“I get thirty minutes.”

“Nope.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Try that again, and you’ll get five.”

Fuck. There’s no way you’re making much longer than your fifteen. You’re already sweating and trembling a little.

“Don’t make it easy on me,” he warns. “Or I’ll make it easy on you.”

That shouldn’t be an effective threat. But here you are, whimpering at the idea of him not roughing you up a little.

“I know,” he says, oozing fake sympathy at your whines, “you’re always easy for me, huh?”

You narrow your eyes, reaching for your helmet. Right before you put it on, you give him a sweet smile and say, “I’ll see you back here in the morning.”

You slide it over your head in time to enjoy the way his eyes darken, and his mouth draws thin. Before he can retort, which you can see brewing in the way the tip of his tongue ducks out to wet his lips, you throw open the door and run.

Your first thought is to stay in town. There are many hiding places, and it’s your home turf; you’d have a clear advantage. But you don’t want him to have to wait, to drag you back to privacy.

No. You’re hoping he fucks you on the ground wherever he finds you.

Instead, you’ll need to lose him before you climb the spires. You know the best area to cross them, but that’ll mean nothing if he follows you right there.

It doesn’t take much time to get out of town and past the old ruins to the river. You let your boots stick in the mud just a second too long when you enter the stream, leaving silt and whatever isn’t washed away on the rocky bank on the other side.

You take the trail to the edge of the towering trunks where your prints would fade and then use the infrared in your visor to backtrack carefully. There are a couple of sloppy spots, but you’re hoping his dick will be too hard for him to catch them.

When you get back in the river, you pull your boots off and carry them, wading through until it takes you around a bend and near the waterfall.

This is where you hesitate and lose time. The waterfall would be a good cover, but you’ll have to get fully wet to hide behind it. Also, the cavern there is rough and not really where you’d like to be stuck if he finds you.

But if you climb up, you won’t be able to use the river to hide anymore. Going against the strong current wasn’t much of an obstacle to this point, but a misstep up there would have more severe consequences.

In the end, you tuck your boots away behind a rocky outcropping at the base of the falls and sneak off barefoot along the hillside toward the ancient petrified forest. Maybe if you hurry, the wet footprints will dry.

When you reach the top of a spire and settle on the other side, you chance a look around, hoping his shiny head will give him away.

But you don’t see anything. Not with any of the scopes in your visor, either. There’s no way it was that easy. No way he hasn’t caught up.

Unless he’s already found you, and he’s hidden, making you sweat. Fuck.

That’s when you realize your foot stings, and you look down to find a cut on your heel. You must have scraped against the bark. It’s not a serious wound, but it poses a bigger problem as you peer down and verify that, yep, there’s blood on the side of the spire.

You wipe the blood off your foot and onto your shorts before putting pressure on the cut for a minute, trying to decide the best path forward. Once it’s not actively seeping, you descend the spire, keeping the hurt side of your foot as far away from the surface as possible.

You know it’ll start bleeding again when you start running, but maybe you can put distance between the initial drops and yourself.

You’re running out of options. It’s tough to admit to yourself, but you knew the risk when you abandoned your boots.

It’s harder than you thought to climb a tree with three limbs, but you don’t want to risk rubbing blood against the bark. Once you’re high enough into the branches, you cross over into another tree, and another, and another until you’ve put some distance between yourself and the spires.

You startle when the comm inside your helmet crackles.

“Are you hurt?” he demands without greeting.

Shit. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Don’t lie to me, cyare. I saw blood.”

Does it count if you don’t lie again? Was it even technically a lie? “Lots of creatures out here, Din. Carnivorous ones, even.”

He huffs but doesn’t push. “Ready to give up yet, sweetheart? You sound out of breath.”

“Aw, can’t find me?” you tease. “Thought I was always easy?”

He growls, and you’re sure it was something threatening and hot, but you’re distracted by the fact that you could hear it. Without the helmet.

Which means you’re trapped. He doesn’t know where you are, but he’s close.

Your visor shows blood droplets on the ground and, sort of hilariously, along the bottom of a spray of leaves from when you had swung from one branch to another. Hopefully, it’s random enough to throw him off.

You’re holding every muscle still, letting the only rustle through the trees remain the light breeze. It’s not long before you hear the crunch of his boots.

He knows you’re close. For a man that can move silent as a snake to be making that much noise—well, he’s taunting you for certain.

He may know you’re close, but he’s not found you yet. You breathe with the breeze and hold quiet when it's still. It’s one of those awful moments where you watch as he comes up right beneath your branch just in time for a droplet of blood to roll off the sole of your foot.

With the forest as tense as your muscles, there’s nothing to divert its path. It slides right down his visor.

You don’t wait for him to look up. You launch yourself out of the tree on the opposite side, hitting the ground hard but rolling out of it. Dodging the thick trunks is difficult when all you can focus on is the sound of his pursuit.

He’s faster than you. It’s just the truth. You can outmaneuver him and maybe even outlast him, but when it comes to these short bursts of speed, it’s not even a close call.

So you’re ready when he tackles you. Well, when he tries to. Din is not a small man, and so he hurtles past you onto the ground when you dodge to the side and bring yourself to a sudden halt. You peel off in another direction while he springs to his feet.

This is such a different game of lothcat and womprat than you’re used to with quarry. You and Din are so in sync and so intimately familiar with the other’s movements that there’s no better match in the world. And at the same time, it’s so fucking infuriating.

The next time he comes close, he actually gets one cuff around your wrist, but you’re already twisting out of his grasp. You think you’re getting away, but before you put enough distance, he catches you off guard.

He fucking binds himself with the other cuff. It’s maybe the hottest thing he’s ever done; it was so clever you kind of want to suck his dick about it. But, of course, that would be giving in. So, instead, you use your free arm to wiggle the pin out from your hair at the nape of your neck and try to stick it just right in the lock.

By the stars, it actually works. You’re off before he realizes what happened.

“Hey! You said no tools!” he yells, his voice echoing through the empty forest.

You didn’t, actually. You said he couldn’t bring tools. But you don’t waste the energy to remind him.

Also, you hadn’t exactly planned it. It was only accessible since you had none of your normal clothing or protections in the way. But he didn’t need to know that.

It’s over the next time he catches up to you. After taking off, you hadn’t heard him follow. He’d gone back to being the silent predator and come at you from a different angle.

He tackles you from the side, and after a brief bout of wrestling, he pins you on your stomach and clasps the binders around both wrists. He’s using his whole body weight to hold you down, and your eyes roll back when he rolls his hips against you just right.

He’s so fucking hard; you feel your arousal gush in response.

He sits back, straddling your thighs, and lands a harsh smack to your ass. “Giving up?” he teases.

You squirm under him, but it’s no use, and you both know it. He laughs, and it sends a chill down your spine that’s somehow molten by the time it reaches your cunt.

He spanks you a few more times for good measure, sharp and strong, before he lifts just enough to yank your shorts down.

“Fuck, I can’t wait for this cunt,” he groans. And he doesn’t. He pulls out his cock, already swollen and leaking with need, and drives it right to your core.

No matter how slick you already are, it’s a glorious stretch. You cry out, and he reaches over and turns the volume on your helmet off.

“Scream for me all you want, sweetheart. Fuck, you take it so well.”

You’re still struggling a little, more out of instinct than desire to get away. Your brain protests being captured, but it changes its tune fairly quickly when the thick head of his cock knocks against something blissful.

“Yield, lened’ika,” he snarls, pushing one broad hand between your shoulder blades to pin you against the soil.

“No,” you try to snarl back, but it doesn’t come out quite as intimidating as you hoped, breaking on a moan.

He yanks your hips up a little, fucking up into you with no mercy. You’re so full, so stuffed with him, and each movement batters against your walls and sends sparks across your hazy eyes.

“Yield,” he snarls, smacking his hand against the side of your ass and then helping himself to a fistful.

You actually consider it, but the only sounds you can make are soft little huffs as he knocks the air from you on each thrust.

He reaches around and rubs your clit. Your hips jerk uncontrollably as he grinds the pad of his finger down.

You let out something akin to a sob.

“Gotta yield first,” he says.

“I yield,” you whimper.

“What was that, cyare? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“I yield,” you moan as he pinches your clit. “Please, you win, please.”

“Good girl,” he groans. “Alright, give it to me.”

You cum as he rubs two fingers against your clit, flicking in opposition of each other in the way he knows will make you fall to pieces.

He draws one orgasm after another until you’re limp, dirt smudged across your visor. Your hips still buck weakly back to his.

He pulls out and flips you over, pinning your bound hands underneath you. He straddles your waist and tugs at his cock until he cums over the front of your helmet.

You gasp, and though it turns into a moan, you’re indignant. “Did you really just—”

He laughs. “It’s not as nice as when it’s on your pretty face, but it still suits you,” he teases.

He doesn’t miss the way his comment makes you squeeze your thighs together. He rubs a hand over your tits, pinching at your nipples until you whine.

“C’mon, cyare. Let’s go back, and I’ll clean you up.”

He does. When you get back, thankfully unseen and having retrieved your boots, he plucks your helmet off. He really did mean to polish it right away, but you kiss him with such hunger that he takes care of the rest of you first.

Once you’ve gone boneless and mindless from his tongue, he reluctantly leaves the bed to clean up. You join him a few moments later, having foregone the soiled pajamas in favor of the tunic he was going to sleep in and a pair of panties.

You wrap your arms around his waist from behind, leaning against his broad back and pressing kisses against the warm, scarred skin.

“I think I’m ready,” you say.

He hums in question.

“To get rid of this place.”

He turns around to wrap his arms around you. “Here I was just thinking it has its perks.”

“Yeah?”

He rests his forehead against yours. “Yeah. It’s been nice, don’t you think? To have somewhere familiar.”

You search his eyes and find only a soft warmth, like the flicker of a hearth.

“Let’s keep it,” he whispers against your lips. His hand winds into your hair to bring you in for a kiss.

[fuckyeahpedropascal]

Your Pedro Boys matrix things are fantastic and spot on! If you haven’t already done it, may I suggest the underpants (or lack there of!!) matrix?

Pedro boys underwear matrix

Sweet anon! I'm sorry this request took so long. I actually made the matrix super quickly, but didn't have time to write the commentary. I had an absolute blast making this one, thank you so much for sending it in! If you're not familiar with each underwear type (I definitely was not), here's a cheatsheet.

Debate and discussion encouraged as always!

• Masterlist •

Related posts:

Pedro boys fashion matrix

Pedro boys colour matrix

Pedro boys smoker matrix

Commando

Javier, Oberyn, Ezra, Pero

The only canonical proof we have regarding underwear for Pedro boys is that Javier goes commando, and we thank the writers of Narcos for that. For Oberyn, it's all about easy access, whereas the space/medieval gremlins obviously forgo undergarments because it means more laundry. And they never do laundry.

Briefs

Javi G, Max P, Silva, Nico

We saw how cute Javi G is in his little Speedo's, you can't tell me he doesn't wear briefs. For Max P and Nico, I could just imagine these extra bitches to strut around their home in their briefs. For Silva, he's in the saddle all day, he doesn't want anything longer rolling up as he rides.

Boxer briefs

Frankie, young Joel, Jack, Marcus P

I'm biased here because I prefer boxer briefs on men, and all these boys give me major boxer briefs vibes. Young Joel in particular, just imagine him wearing them with the inside out tshirt when he stumbles out of bed on a morning Sarah's away to visit her grandparents 🫠

Boxers

Dieter, Max L, The Thief, Dave

Dieter is our comfort king, and you know he wears loose boxers under his bathrobe. @imaswellkid made the very valid point that Max L wears pinstripes boxers, so does Dave probably - very dad of them. The Thief definitely wears boxers under a pure silk kimono when he prowls about his mansion.

Midway briefs

Din, older Joel, Marcus M, Tim

Our modest tin can man would probably wear long johns under his flight suit if he could, but since it's not an option, let's say he wears midway briefs. Older Joel is probably (misguidedly) a bit insecure about his dad bod and probably wants some extra support with the extra length on the midway briefs. Whereas for Marcus M and Tim, I don't know why, but I'm imagining them walking around in midway briefs with their respective tac vest and shoulder holsters and I'm feeling pretty good about myself right about now 🫠

[pedroshotwifey]

Favorite Bounty Chapter 2

Series masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Chapter W/C: 6.7k

Chapter tags/warnings: Nothing to warn about yet, fluff, no use of y/n, reader being a horny cuss, canon-typical violence, PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE

Chapter summary: You get settled into life on the Crest with Mando and his adorable kid. Unfortunately, that means getting used to having heart attacks every time Mando manages to almost get himself killed.

A/N: Hey, I'm going to go ahead and put it out there that these first few chapters will not be the best. Favorite Bounty was the first thing I ever wrote, so please keep that in mind. I have gone through and edited the small things so there is a bit of improvement from when it was originally posted to ao3. After chapter 4 is out, every chapter after that will be brand new and will have better grammar/writing. Thanks for reading! :)

***

You have been aboard the Razor Crest for two agonizingly slow, awkward, and very silent weeks. The Mandalorian is quiet. He’s been so quiet, you have found yourself wondering if he’s actually a droid under that heavy beskar armor. If you hadn't already seen the flash of tan skin under his flight suit, you would be convinced. 

You didn't mind the silence at first, you assumed that it was because he just wasn't used to having another person around. At this point, though, you’re pretty sure it's because he finds you annoying or something.

The first time the thought occurred, it had bothered you that he might think of you as a nuisance, but you’ve taught yourself not to care. After all, if you really bothered him that much, he could have dropped you off on any random planet already, so that couldn't be it. The fact that you are still aboard the crest is enough proof that your company can’t be all that bad. 

You do your best to stay out of the way anyway, but there have been a couple of times when you and “Mr. Cold Shoulder” have had no choice but to cross paths. The ship is large enough for you to avoid him for the most part, but unfortunately, you can't predict what hall he will be going through and when. 

On the occasions that you have had to squeeze by each other, it has always been in one of those damned halls. It usually ends up being you who has to hug the wall as he walks through, ignoring you just as much as usual. Entitled asshole.

The first day, surprisingly, wasn’t the worst. You hadn't remembered falling asleep, but when you woke up on the metal floor of the ship that morning, you found that you had been covered by a blanket. You had been flattered to know that the Mandalorian had cared enough to give you one.

That flattery quickly faded though when you went through the rest of the day hearing practically nothing from the man. The only times he had talked to you was to order you to stop touching things. 

After a few times—one of which you swear you weren't actually touching anything—you retreated back to the corner of the hull you had slept in. You had picked the child up on your way, glaring at Mando as if to dare him to snap at you for that. 

Now, two weeks later, you sit in that same corner, on the same blanket, bouncing the same baby on your lap. You can tell the Mandalorian has grown used to you handling the kid because he doesn’t even spare you a glance when you reach for him at this point. 

You look at the kid wobbling around on top of your legs. He seems to have gotten used to the constant handling as well. At least one of the boys actually enjoys your presence.

You playfully stick your tongue out at the child as you continue to bounce him on your leg. He babbles something in your direction and reaches his tiny hands out. You grab one of them with the hand that's not supporting him and pretend to slow dance. 

You have grown fond of the little goblin and he seems to have taken a liking to you as well, sometimes opting to reach for you over his dad–who you can tell definitely glares at you from under his helmet when the child chooses to do so. 

You used to feel bad about the kid picking you over the Mandalorian, but your pettiness has taken over at this point. After all, it’s the only way you can get back at him for being such a dick all the time. 

You know the man wouldn't dare deny that kid something he wants just because he didn't like it. Even if he might not want to admit it, Mando knows that the kid enjoys having someone else to play with. Maker knows his father can’t be much fun.

You are pulled from your thoughts when you feel the kid start to slump in your lap. You sigh as you scoop him into your arms and bring him back to his crib. You know you can't rely on the child to keep you company all the time, you need to find other things to occupy your time. There are not many things to do on the crest, and you feel like you have already exhausted all of your options. 

The third day, you had woken up to the ship touching down on some unknown planet. You had no idea that Mando had intended to stop. You thought that surely, this is where he planned to leave you. After all, you couldn’t have thought that he would just change his mind and move you in. 

You collected your belongings and remained sat on your bed until you heard Mando jump down from the cockpit. Without looking at you, he walked to the ramp and lowered it. You didn't make a move to get up until he glanced your way, obviously wanting you to follow him. 

You scrambled up after him as he descended down the ramp. As usual, nothing was said between the two of you as you made your way through that small town. 

It was hard to navigate through the thick crowd and you were thankful that you had Mando in front of you, cutting you a path. It seemed that people naturally tried to avoid him. You probably would too if you didn’t know him. 

You still have not gotten over how intimidating he can be. You figure a lot of it might have to do with the fact that he doesn’t ever talk. You never have any idea what he might be thinking, and it's unsettling to know that—good or bad—it could be about you. 

After a few hours' worth of weaving in and out of shops, the Mandalorian had started to backtrack to his ship. It took you a little while to realize that he finished whatever he had to do in town but when you did, you stopped dead in your tracks. 

There is no way he is taking you back with him. When you left your home planet, he had told you that he was going to drop you off somewhere else. 

Didn't he want you gone? He never said that you would be staying with him on the Crest. Maker knows he doesn’t want you to. Did he expect you to just leave on your own at some point while he was looking around through the shops? 

You stood glued to the same spot while you tried to sort out what you were supposed to do. Chewing your lip, you stared ahead at the ground. You were only pulled out of your questioning state when a pair of boots stopped in your line of sight. 

You looked up to see the Mandalorian standing in front of you. His helmet tilted to the side ever so slightly when you reached his gaze. You’re weren’t sure what to say. Should you just be straight forward and ask him what you are supposed to do? 

You had wished then more than ever that you could read his mind. Especially when he turned back around and continued walking away. You stare after him, not sure if you should follow him or not. 

He had answered your silent question though, when he had turned his head back around mid-stride. 

“Are you coming or not?” is all he said. 

He stood waiting for you for another second before you jolted forward to catch up with him. You weren’t really sure why you had wanted to go with the Mandalorian so badly, but you figured it would be better than trying to start over on some strange planet. 

Although confused as to why Mando had given you the choice, you weren’t going to question it. You had already made yourself a bit at home on the Crest and you sure as kriff weren’t going to be upset if he allowed you to stay, 

You have figured since then that it was probably because you had proven yourself useful. You kept the ship tidy, you took care of the kid, and you stayed out of the way for the most part. Well, you figure, if that's what keeps you aboard, you are going to continue doing so for as long as you can. 

By the fourth or fifth day, you had cleaned the entire ship—save for the Mandalorian’s quarters—until it looked almost brand new. In the days after that, you had repaired a couple of minor wiring issues and fixed up some of the paneling in the cockpit and in the hull.

Maker, you feel like you’ve done everything from fixing issues with the GPS to scrubbing the floor of the fresher. You try to scan your brain for anything you may have missed, but you know it’s hopeless. 

You eventually decide that you would rather go sit in the cockpit with the silent Mandalorian than be alone in the hull with nothing to do but stare at the wall. At least this way you will be able to watch the streaks of hyperspace. That way you won’t have to be in complete solitude. 

Even silent company is better than none at all. You know it might not be the best idea to risk bothering the man, but you begin to climb the ladder nonetheless. 

You slip into the cockpit as quietly as you can and take a seat in the chair behind the voiceless pilot. The two of you sit in the quiet of hyperspace for what seems like hours before you break it with a sigh. It was a bit over dramatic, you’ll admit it. You’re just so tired of sitting in awkward silence when there is another person completely capable of having a conversation right in front of you. 

He cranes his neck slightly to look at you over his shoulder. You keep your eyes trained on him and raise your eyebrows as if to say “Is there something you need?”. You’ve given up trying to be nice. You figure if he isn’t going to show any effort to be friendly, then neither should you.

He doesn't say anything as turns his head back around and flicks a couple of switches. He stays facing forward for a minute and you decide that that is likely the most interaction the two of you will have today. 

You sit up a bit to tuck one of your legs underneath you and set an elbow on the armrest so you can prop your head up on your closed fist. You sigh, quietly this time, and look up to watch the white flashes through the dura-glass. 

You think about going back down to the hull so you can fall asleep early, but decide against it. You know you aren’t tired enough to be able to do that right now. 

You hear a barely noticeable creak come from the Mandalorian’s general direction and snap your attention back to him. He has turned his chair around to face you completely. You can’t miss the way his legs are spread wide, as if he was subconsciously taking up as much space as he can. 

You hate the way you are attracted to his stance. He bleeds confidence and intimidation without even trying.

Your eyes wander to his crotch before you can catch yourself. You only look for a split second before you correct yourself, but it’s long enough for you to catch sight of the rather prominent bulge in his pants. 

Your eyes widen slightly and you tuck your head into the fist that is resting on your cheek to try to hide your blush before the Mandalorian can realize what happened. Before you can stop it, visions float to the forefront of your mind. They come in flashes as you work to push them down. 

You see the Mandalorian above you, slamming into you hard and fast, dominating you. You see him below you, watching as you bounce in a steady rhythm bringing you both to a climax. You envision him right in front of you as you are seated in the copilots chair and he wraps a hand in your hair and guides you toward his-

You quickly pull yourself away from that thought. That's too real, too in the moment, too dangerous to be thinking of how much you wish it was. It seems like it could happen so easily, but you know that it would never be.

You try to stop your eyes from widening again as you look up at his helmet. You pray silently that he didn’t notice your little mishap. He cocks his head ever so slightly. He definitely noticed.

You swallow slowly and maintain eye contact even as you feel your face burn even more than it had before.

��I-I um,” you surprise yourself as you speak. “I’m going to head down for the night,” you say, trying desperately to get yourself out of this situation. Your voice sounds squeaky, but you don't bother to try to fix it. You would probably end up saying something you would regret. 

He says nothing but gives a slight nod in your direction after you make no move to get up. Once you get the approval, you try not to stumble as you get up and walk out of the cockpit as quickly but smoothly as you can. 

When you hear the door behind you shut back into place, you let out the huff of breath you had been holding as you curse yourself. “Nice going, dumbass,” your head screams at you. You stay in place to try to collect yourself before you attempt the ladder back down to the hull. 

You sit down on your makeshift bed on the floor and try to collect yourself. You’re not an idiot, you have noticed the sexual tension between the two of you that seems to just keep growing, but you didn’t think that the Mandalorian was as aware. With his recent display though, it seems that he knows exactly what he's doing.

You can't help it as the image of the warrior from just moments ago seeps back into your head. He was the absolute picture of masculinity. His musky smell seemed to have filled the room as soon as he had swiveled around to face you. 

It was almost intriguing, the way he had looked so relaxed yet so sure of himself at the same time. To be honest, you don’t know if there is any way for the man not to look confident at all times. He radiates pheromones and seems to automatically dominate any place he wants to just by being there. 

You wonder if he is trying to do the same to you.

***

You wake up the next morning to the ship jolting to a sudden stop. You don't remember when you had fallen asleep but you figure that is probably for the best. What you do remember is the multiple sexual scenarios featuring yourself and Mando that had intruded into your dreams. You blush again at the thought as you recall some of the scenes that had played out last night.

It feels so wrong but so right at the same time to picture Mando in these ways. You guess you could describe it as your guilty pleasure. 

The first time you had fantasized about Mando, you had startled yourself with your forward thoughts. You hadn't realized that you had even been attracted until you had caught yourself in the middle of an erotic daydream. You had criticized yourself and shook the unwelcomed visions from your head. 

Since then though, you have slowly come to find your private fantasies a vital source of entertainment. When you often find yourself with nothing else to do, even though you still feel a tad bit guilty, you allow your daydreams to play front and center while you stare off. 

Not to mention the times when Mando is away hunting a bounty, and you get the ship all to yourself. After you put the kid to bed, sometimes you will allow yourself the pleasure of getting your release as you make up new images alone in your cot.

A couple times, the Mandalorian has walked in on you while you are lost in a private moment, only the times when you had been staring into nothingness, thank the maker. Each time it happened you would feel the blood rush into your cheeks, but you would do your best to play it off as though you had simply been dozing off. 

You knew you couldn't do much more than that but pray to the maker that the silent warrior hadn't put the pieces together and caught on. That would be the day you would jump off the Crest and into the welcoming vacuum of space. 

You sit up on your blanket and stretch your hands into the air. Your back hurts from sleeping on the floor of the ship every night, even if it is slightly cushioned by the layers of blankets you set up. The pain now though is nothing compared to when you were working at the junkyard back on your planet, so you can't really find it in yourself to care much.

Suddenly, you hear the thumping of Mando’s boots in the cockpit above you. You groan as you remember last night's little incident. Honestly, how embarrassing can you be? You scold yourself for acting so transparently. 

You hope that somehow, the Mandalorian wasn’t able to tell your feelings for him by your flustered actions, but you know it's wishful thinking. He would have to either be dumb or extremely ignorant, which he most definitely is not. 

Even if it may be the cause of your downfall, you admire Mando for those qualities. He always seems to pay attention to small details that anyone else would be likely to miss. You figure that's what makes him such a damn good bounty hunter. 

Since you have been traveling with him, he has brought in six bounties. It never took him more than a few hours in each place before he was walking back up the ramp with the criminal in tow. Barely glancing in your direction, he would walk past you, making sure you’re at least out of reach of the unwelcomed company, and then shove them into a carbonite chamber. 

The first time he came back with a bounty, you had to scramble away to a different part of the Crest to hide the blush creeping up on your cheeks. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn't help how turned on you got as you watched the silent warrior manhandling the twi'lek bounty through the ship.

You’re not sure if it was the way he tossed the thug around so effortlessly, or if it was the way he ignored the crook as he begged for his life, without a morsel of regret or hesitancy. Maybe it was the image that popped into your head of how easily he would be able to take control of you and take whatever he wanted - knowing of course that you would give it willingly anyways. 

You try to shake the vision from your mind as it appears again now. You have really got to stop doing that. 

The fuzziness of sleep starts to dissipate when Mando steps into your vision. You look up at him as he struts to the ramp of the ship and lowers it. You wonder for a second if he is going to leave without saying anything to you, but he turns around while the gangway continues to descend. 

“I'm going to be gone for a while this time.”

A gust of freezing cold wind blows snow into the ship and you shiver. You pull the blanket that is still on top of you up to your shoulders to shield yourself from the frost. 

You feel like a little kid as you stare up at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He doesn't. “Okay,” you nod at him. He nods back and turns around towards the open ledge. “Stay close to the ship,” he tells you. “This place is an icy skughole”.

Your eyebrows furrow. You don't like being told what to do, but you know that he’s right to tell you to stay. Once he steps onto the planet’s surface, he tells you to look after the kid before he pushes a button on his vambrace to bring the ramp back up.

Okay then. Nice talk.

***

After a few minutes, you get up to see if the child is awake yet. He’s not, so you decide to hop in the fresher since you have the time. 

The fresher doesn't get very hot, so you turn the water up as much as you can and step in. you sigh as the stream hits the tense muscles in your back. 

As you scrub shampoo into your hair, you think about Mando. You try not to worry about him—he's been doing this long before you met him after all—but it's instinct to wonder if he will be coming back in one piece. 

You have always had a deep respect for bounty hunters—the good ones anyway. You couldn't imagine trying to track someone down and then having to manhandle them back to wherever you were instructed. A person would have to be practically made of pure muscle to be able to fight someone through the adrenaline their opponent is experiencing. 

You smirk as you think about how much muscle the Mandalorian must be carrying. You had felt the firmness of his thigh as you had patched him up on that first day. You weren't paying much attention to that detail then, but now you savor the memory as it feeds your out-of-control imagination. 

You think about how strong and comforting being wrapped in his arms would feel until the water runs cold. You flinch at the temperature change and jump out of the fresher, rolling your eyes at yourself for getting distracted again. 

You hear the kid babbling as you step out so you secure the towel to your body and grab him a breakfast portion on your way to his hover-pram. You set him down on your makeshift bed and turn him to face the wall before handing him his portion. 

You can't help the grin that creeps up on your face as you watch him play with a small metal ball while he nibbles his breakfast. That kid is too damn cute for his own good.

Not knowing what else there is to do, you figure you will take the child outside to see the snow after you get ready. You wonder to yourself if he has ever had the chance to see it before. 

It warms your heart to think that you might be the first one to show him. Maybe you will show him how to make snow angels. You might make a snow fort with him, he would probably love that. 

After toweling off and waiting for your hair to dry a little, you throw two layers on and then add a coat for good measure. You are grateful you picked up some new clothes on the last planet you stopped on. 

You weren't sure about getting the heavy coat, but as you start to warm up, you’re grateful you did. The kid finishes his breakfast as you pull a woolen cap over your head. You scoop him up and wrap him in a small blanket as he coos at you. 

You frown as the blanket swallows his form. When you get back inside, you will have to sew him a cloak out of one of the blankets you sleep on. You could spare one for the little gremlin. 

“You want to go see the pretty snow sweetheart?,” you ask him excitedly. He claps his little three fingered hands together and babbles back at you. You take that as a yes. 

You hit the button next to the ramp and watch it lower, covering the kids eyes as the snow blows in to dust the edge of the ship’s belly. 

Once the ramp is all the way down, you walk down it and take a step into the snow. The kid looks up and laughs at you when you let out a sharp “yip” at the feeling of the freezing powder biting your skin halfway up your calves. 

You can't help but laugh at yourself too; you weren't expecting the snow to be so deep. The kid starts to make grabby hands at the ground so you lower him and cautiously set him down. Luckily, he does not weigh enough to sink down like you did.

You imagine trying to explain that to Mando. “Yeah, sorry about that, I set the kid down and he just disappeared right into the ground!”  You chuckle at the thought because in reality you know you would probably be dead before you could get a word in. 

Sometimes, you’ve learned, you just have to laugh so you don't have to worry. It works for the most part so you don’t really see a negative in it. 

You taught yourself to do this within the first few days of knowing Mando because it felt like you had to worry all the time. It was exhausting. You figured maybe if you didn't seem so on-edge, he would relax a bit too.

So much for that idea…

You look down when you feel a little hand grip your pant leg. The kid is trying to pull your weight out into the clearing. You smile as you obey his request and step away from the ship. 

Making sure not to go too far, you step in front of the child and lead him to a particularly fluffy looking spot. A smile crawls onto your face as you crouch down to take a handful of snow.

Seeing your actions, the kid reaches down and grabs a fistful for himself. Waiting until he seems to be satisfied with his bunch, you slowly start to pack the powder into a ball.

You hold it out for the kid to see and watch as he attempts to copy you once again. He packs a little too hard and the snow crumbles back to the ground. 

You give him an encouraging smile and hand him a new bunch. You demonstrate again with your own and make sure to exaggerate how softly you are tapping the snowball as it takes shape.

He seems to get it because soon enough, he is holding a little ball of his own. He coos and you laugh back at him. 

Looking around to make sure you have enough room, you back up and begin to roll your snowball through snow. You make a full circle around the kid and then make a trail in front of him, watching as the ball grows bigger with each step.

He giggles at you when you stop in front of him with what you have decided will be the base of your snowman. You can't help but giggle back when he plops his snowball back to the ground and begins to run it in a circle as you had done.

Once the snowball is built up to the size it needs to be for the body, you grab it and stack it on top of the first. You hand the kid the last one and tell him to roll it until it's just a little smaller than the last one. 

Once satisfied with the size, you grab that one and stack it at the top. You step back and pick up the kid so you can both admire your hard work. 

You smirk as an idea pops into your head. Mando may kill you for this but it's going to be so worth it. 

You set the kid back down and he immediately gets to work in the snow, making more snowballs and setting them into a neat stack. After making sure he's content to do that for a moment, you turn back to the faceless snowman and get to work. 

You pick up some more snow and start to pack it onto the head to give it the shape of a helmet. It's not perfect, but it makes you laugh out loud when you find the right shape. 

You round out the top and start to hollow the cheeks out a bit to make the ridges as realistic as you can. Still smiling, you turn around and search for two sticks for arms and two smaller ones to complete the helmet. 

You find what you are looking for and put the arms onto the torso of the snowman so that they are sticking out. After making sure the arms aren’t going to fall out, you move back to the top. 

You push the first stick horizontally near the top of the “face” and then put the second one vertically under the middle section of the first. You step back and admire your work one more time. 

You laugh and pick the kid up to show him your work. “Look, It's a snow-mando!” you tell him through your wheezes. He stares at the figure for a moment before he too starts to giggle. 

You know Mando would probably hate it, but the idea was far too enticing to pass up on. Looking at the finished product, you have no regrets. 

***

After both you and the kid got your fill of playing in the snow, you clambered back into the ship and fixed up some lunch. You put the kid down for a nap after he finished eating and got back into the fresher for a second just to warm back up. 

As you get dressed, you think about what you can do to occupy yourself for the rest of the day. When you tug on a light jacket, you remember your plans to sew one for the kid. 

You grab the blanket you planned on using and plop yourself down on the floor next to your makeshift bed. You tug a short container over your way and start to pencil in a design to cut out. 

Halfway through cutting the pieces out, you hear a commotion towards the front of the ship. You go to jump up but then remember that Mando had told you he would be gone for a while. 

Did he just mean a few more hours than usual? Deciding to take a peak, you lift your head up just so that your eyes are above the crate sitting next to you. 

The ramp is open, but other than that, nothing appears to be out of the ordinary. You shoot your head back down when you hear a hissing sound come from where the carbonite chambers are.

It sounded like one of the chambers had been activated, but that doesn’t make any sense, you didn’t see anyone on board. 

Knowing you need to be able to protect the kid from any potential danger, you shakily rise to your feet. keeping your head ducked down, you inch around the crate toward where you heard the sounds. 

You gasp as you see a figure splayed across the floor in front of the chambers. You almost fall back down when you realize that the figure is clad in beskar.

“Mando!” you exclaim as you scramble to him. He doesn’t respond to your voice or to your movement and you feel tears well up in your eyes. 

As you rush toward him, you see the carbonite settling around a large figure that you assume is the bounty. You calm down a little knowing that at least there is no threat waiting to pop out at you, but there is no way you can relax when your gaze turns back to the unconscious Mandalorian.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod- 

Not knowing what to do, you loosen the fabric around his neck and press two fingers under his helmet, trying to find a pulse. It's there, but it's faint. 

Maker, he’s freezing! You gasp as you make skin to skin contact. He feels like he had been laying in the snow for hours. You need to warm him up, which feels like an impossible task in this icebox of a ship. 

You push back your anxiety and check your surroundings before you slam the button next to the ramp to bring it back up. That should at least keep it from getting any colder in here. 

After the ramp is back into place, you get back to Mando and carefully check his body for any injuries. You see none so you focus on building a plan to warm him up. 

It only takes a moment for you to figure out what the best course of action would be. You take a deep breath and move towards the ladder that leads to the top part of the ship. With shaky hands, you grab the first rung and start to pull yourself up. 

As soon as you reach the top, you veer to the right and step into the generator room. You put your hand on top of the ship heater but hesitate for a moment. Turning it on would mean that fuel would burn quickly, hence why it hasn’t been on this whole time. 

You know that Mando would be furious if he knew you turned it on, but you decide that a mad Mandalorian is better than a dead one—you hope. 

Before you can doubt yourself any further, you push a button and turn a knob until the heat is all the way up. It only takes a second for you to feel the warm air starting to circulate into the Crest. You sigh at the feeling and turn back around to the ladder.

Once you reach the belly of the ship again, you snatch the stack of blankets from where you sleep and start to drag them to Mando. You cover him with the layers and lean down to feel for his pulse again.

When your fingers touch his neck you hear him gasp and you almost jump out of your skin. “Jeez Mando, you scared the absolute Bantha shit out of me!” you tell him as you jerk your hand back. You hear a tremble in your voice that you had no idea would be there.

As relieved as you are that he seems to be responding to you at this point, you know that this must just be the calm before the storm. You are smart enough to know that he is going to be pissed about probably every single thing you had done within the last ten minutes. 

You decide you should just cut to the chase and get it over with. You don't feel like having to do this later tonight. You begin to tell him everything that you had done since he came back to the ship. 

“I figured you would be upset about the heat, but for makers sake Mando, I thought you were going to die!” as you said the words, it really hit you just how scared you had actually been. 

What hit you even harder was the realization that you would have been devastated with the loss. It wouldn't have just been an inconvenience if Mando had died on the ship—It would have hurt you deeply.

You take a deep breath and sit down next to the Mandalorian. You feel him shift into a sitting position beside you. You have no idea why he hasn’t said anything yet, but you would rather him be silent instead of reprimanding you right now. 

Ignoring the movement beside you, you continue on with your shaky explanation without making eye contact. “I'm so sorry…I just didn't know what to do.”  You look down at your feet when you feel like you have said everything you needed to.

You didn't even realize you had started to cry until you felt a gloved thumb brush a tear away from your drenched cheek. You flinch away at first, not used to the contact. 

Once you get past your initial shock, you tilt your head up to look at the Mandalorian’s visor. He still has not said anything. Not like that is too surprising. 

Your breathing begins to slow as Mando flattens his gloved hand to cup your chin. “Mando I-”

You are cut off by the swipe of his thumb across your lip, the touch light as a feather. 

The Mandalorian shifts his position to be more comfortable and brings his other hand to rest at the base of your skull. you are too stunned to speak as he gives you a gentle nudge so that your face is resting against the space between his shoulder and neck. 

Still shaking slightly, you let out a shuddering sigh and allow yourself to breathe in the sweet scent that can only be described as Mando. You  can't help but relax in his grasp as he removes his hand from your chin and uses it to pull you onto his lap.

Cradling you in his lap, he begins to sway slightly in a comforting motion. You curl up and try to steady your racing heart as you wrap your arms around his torso. 

You both sit tangled in silence as your tears begin to dry and your heart slows back to a normal pace. The closest you have ever gotten to Mando was when you had patched his wounds that first night, yet sitting here in silence with him feels like the most natural thing in the world.

You relax as if you and he had done this hundreds of times before, you can't help but feel like this is where you belong. The sense of belonging overrides your confusion and you close your eyes at the comforting feeling.

“Shh cyar’ika,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. “Everythings okay now.”

You have to stifle the sob that threatens to protrude through your lips when you hear his gentle tone. The only time you have ever heard him speak in that way has been when you overheard him comforting the child. 

You hold on to him tighter and lift your head up to meet his gaze. “You’re okay?” you ask him, worry clear in your expression and the slight quiver of your voice. 

The Mandalorian is grateful you can’t see his face because he wouldn’t have been able to hide the way he melted when you looked at him that way. He is not used to having anybody being worried about him, and, like the stupid fool he deems himself to be—he didn’t realize that you had. 

He felt a sting of guilt as he recalled the recent interactions between the two of you. Of course he cared for you—how could he not? You took such good care of him and the kid, not to mention the way you paid attention to the ship. He just never figured that someone as precious as you could ever care for him in that way, so he figured if he kept you at an arm's length, he wouldn't risk doing anything he might regret.

Deep down, he knows that he is undeserving of your affection, but he also knows now that you fear losing him. Now that he is sure, he is not going to let you go. As he holds you tight in his arms, he vows to himself that he will do everything in his power to keep you safe. 

“Yes pretty girl, i’m okay,” he tells you before he lowers his helmet to rest on top of your head. “Go to sleep now, you’ve had a big day.

Naturally, you want to protest, but you know you can't fight the exhaustion that is slowly pulling you under. You don't think you have the energy to reply with words, so you just nod and put your head to his chest. 

At some point, you feel Mando carefully lower you down with him until you are both laying down. You are still on top of him when he reaches down and covers you with a light blanket. 

As you drift off, you hear the Mandalorian whisper quietly - so quietly that it may have been a dream.

“Everything will be okay cyare,” he says, “I've got you now.”

****

Thanks for reading!! Taglist is open <3

[lavenderbexlatte]

Legendary - Chapter 1

stray kids 4.9k words female reader insert stray kids ensemble SFW

🖤 warnings: canon-typical pokemon violence, worldbuilding, my motives are transparent and my favoritism is clear 🖤

🛵Series Masterlist

connect with me! / masterlist

As you dodge the second beer spilled at your feet tonight, step out of the reach of the man next to you wildly waving his gym banner and shouting over the din of the crowd, as you shield your eyes and try to track the movements of your client's dizzy and Poisoned Raichu in the ring below, you can't help but think that this is exactly what you've been trying to convince your mother for the better part of the last decade.

This isn't for kids anymore.

When you were a kid yourself, that's how it seemed. Pokemon were just for children, interesting until the children grew up and the Pokemon passed on or went too wild to keep at home, and they were abandoned for more practical things.

Back then, all the other trainers you knew were children.

Everyone knew the stories. Decades past, centuries ago. Back then, millions of people in the center of thriving society lived and worked alongside Pokemon. But that wasn't reality anymore. Long before your time, by financial or political or social means, for whatever reason that was lost to time, training fell out of fashion, and the world that was shaped by it changed.

Pokemon gyms became obsolete, as visitors dwindled. Traveling trainers could no longer support themselves that way, and they turned to more stable work to make ends meet. Infrastructure closed, Pokemon Centers went out of business, and Pokemon themselves were relegated back to zoos, pet shops, or the wild.

Cities closed in. People rarely left them. Nobody bothered to go out and catch or, God forbid, put in the hours to tame and train Pokemon. And soon, even the methods and tools became hard to find. You couldn't even count how many times your grandfather had told you wistfully about the days when you could buy Pokeballs in the local supermarket, when every child in town would visit Pokemon professors to receive their ceremonial first Pokemon and begin on their journey.

Tales. Relics. Things of the past.

Until they weren't.

You still remember the first tame Pokemon you ever met. You were twelve, and a new student joined your school class, fresh in from another town. She had raised more than a few eyebrows just by virtue of being from the outside - transplants were rare enough, let alone pretty, headstrong ones with thick country accents.

The rest of your class were wary of her, but you were curious. Curious about her, and even more curious, in that overly-fixated childhood way, about the little bag she kept slung over her shoulder at all times, close to her chest.

So you sat with her at lunch that first day.

And the day after that, and the day after that, and every day until she became your best friend beyond all doubt, and you learned almost everything about her. Almost. Her favorite color, her dream job as a Pokemon Trainer (something you didn't even understand at that time), and how she and her mother left her dad behind to come to your town and start over (something you understood even less, until you grew up).

Everything except what was inside that little beaded bag, always right over her heart.

One day, the teasing that she endured from your classmates spilled over to include even the people who should know better, and your shared homeroom teacher snapped at her for her accented pronunciation as she asked a question, first thing in the morning.

She ran from the room in tears, and you followed.

You found her in the girls' bathroom, deserted except for the two of you as classes had already started. She stood in the corner stall, door ajar, her fingers inside her bag and her face stony under the drying tear tracks.

"Are you okay?" you'd gasped, out of breath from the sprint, coming into the stall after her.

"D'you really wanna know what's in here?" she asked you quietly.

"What?"

"In my bag. Do you wanna know?"

Of course you did. You wondered every day. The other kids had theories - drugs, her own baby teeth, live bugs, or something even grosser - but you just wanted to know.

You never knew why that day was the day to share. It should have worried you more, looking back. But of course you wanted to know.

"Yeah," you'd said. "Yes."

She peeled her fingers out of the bag, and there it was.

Red and white, spherical and perfect, almost glowing.

A Pokeball.

"Where did you get that?" you asked, incredulous, but she didn't answer.

Instead, she pressed the little release button in the center of the Pokeball, keeping her unwavering gaze on you. The tiniest bit of worry tinged her face, as if she was hoping you wouldn’t be too scared. Wouldn’t run from her. Wouldn’t leave.

The Pokeball opened, and the flash of light that came out had you covering your eyes and pressing yourself to the stall door.

When you looked again, there was a giant bird in the bathroom.

Brown, stately, and long-necked, nearly as big as you were, it simply regarded you with one orange eye as it cocked its head and leaned in to nip at your friend's outstretched hand.

"This is Fearow," she had said.

And you were hooked.

"Oh, too bad, folks! Raichu is down for the count!"

The announcer's booming voice brings you back to the match at hand, and all you can see as you refocus on the mess in the ring is the limp form of Ryujin's Raichu being zapped back into its Pokeball.

Fuck. Another paycheck for you to heal her stupidly over-powered and under-experienced rat, sure, but you hate seeing the Pokemon after battles like this. Especially after facing a fully-grown Arbok with Acid Spray...it's not gonna be pretty.

Pokemon used to be just for kids. Not anymore.

Once you'd found out your childhood friend's big secret, you learned about the revival.

People, mostly kids at the time, were training Pokemon again. In the country, and in towns smaller than your own, with more direct access to wild forests and the coastal plains and the winding rivers that spanned the dangerous and mostly untraversed space between metropolises, they would catch wild Pokemon. And in barns and bedrooms and back sheds, they would train them, like people had done in their grandparents' time and before.

Your friend did it. You started to do it, too. Once the other kids at school found out, there was an explosion of interest, and they all snuck out to find Pidgeys and Rattatas to take home and keep for their own. You and your friend became the talk of the town, the two original trainers with all the dirt to spill.

And as you grew up, in your town and in the rest of the world that you saw online and on TV, Pokemon training came back.

It was underground, at first, like so many things are. Whispers about matches on the soccer field after school, scorched turf when the police showed up to calls of a bunch of teenagers out past dark. Online offers for speedy and discreet deliveries of eggs and supplies, the occasional reported sighting of a Ninetales or an Alakazam that the local authorities called nonsense.

Soon, like so many things, the underground became the mainstream, and when you turned sixteen, your own mother bought you your first free-and-clear legal Pokemon.

She thought it would be a cute gift, part of a fad that so many young people were into, something that you would hand off or set free after the craze ended and society returned to seeing Pokemon as pests or wild animals.

But those young people grew up, and the determination to train and raise and battle Pokemon remained. Society changed again, with the rising generation clawing back the bond between human and Pokemon with a vengeance.

Your friend moved away from your small town after high school, swearing that she was going to travel the world like people used to, and become the world's greatest Pokemon trainer.

You haven't seen her since.

And now you're here in the stands of the biggest, shiniest, most brand-new Pokemon stadium in huge and bustling Azalea City, thinking about what treatment course is going to work best to clear all that poison from that poor Raichu.

"Somin and Arbok are our winners, folks, nice and easy!" calls the announcer.

The crowd roars around you, but you don't have time to join in. You start fighting your way down the few rows between your reserved seat and the trainers' box at the edge of the ring where Ryujin and her team have been waiting. You're gonna need to triage now, during the break between rounds.

When you get there, Ryujin is looking at her Pokeballs helplessly.

"I only have five more."

"You'll be fine," you assure her, taking the proffered Pokeball, "Who's up next?"

"They have one more guy on their team. Seph? Sephy? Something like that," Ryujin says.

"J.Seph," you guess, with a glance at the schedule.

You don't make it your business to keep track of the big training teams in the city, mostly because there are too many to remember, but you've met these guys before. Not personally, or anything. But their banner is familiar, and the last trainer with his close-cropped hair and severe resting expression has been in a few matches that you’ve worked.

"That one," she agrees.

"What Pokemon do you have left?"

Ryujin points down her row of Pokeballs. "Pikachu. Starmie. Seadra. Pinser. And Blastoise."

"Okay…seems like J.Seph starts with two Koffings and a Weezing like some kind of hack."

She seems near tears when she says, "But I don't know-"

You punch her shoulder, annoyed. "Weak! To! Psychic! Type! Take Starmie first and get your ass out there! Now!"

When did they start letting novices into major battles?

As she selects her three starters for this next round, you take the Raichu in its Pokeball, and you beat a hasty retreat out the stadium door into the parking garage. You get the feeling that this Pokemon is going to need you sooner rather than later.

A half-lit corner of a parking structure isn't an ideal hospital setup, but it'll do for now. You double-check to make sure no one is around to get mauled by an injured and scared Electric rat, and you let out the Raichu.

It's unconscious.

You sigh.

You swing your backpack off your shoulder, and you get to work. Ryujin is gonna have to pay you double for this.

Lots of the kid trainers you knew back at home grew up to be great professional trainers. They learned all the stats, all the moves, the strengths and weaknesses, and they set out to battle their way across the continent.

You learned all of those things too, but as you got to know more Pokemon, both as species and as individual animals that friends brought you in tatters after impromptu battles, it became clear what path you were meant to take.

You didn't want to battle. You wanted to help.

So you became a Pokemon healer.

There's nothing wrong with battling, of course. People love it, and the Pokemon seem to love it twice as much. It's mostly just an exercise, a hobby and a way to let loose. By and large it's harmless, especially when there are people like you to make sure that everyone gets healed up safely afterwards.

Azalea City is just the most recent stop you've made. Traveling, you've found, is a much more lucrative way to live, as a healer. A lot of places don't have full-time Pokemon Centers yet, and trainers are willing to pay a pretty penny to get someone professional to look after their Pokemon while they work the local circuit.

Ryujin is your most recent customer, her parents paying your lucrative tab (which you admittedly did boost by twenty-five percent when you met the girl and realized that she doesn't know the first thing about battling) and keeping you cushy enough to stick around this city for a while.

You finish up the Raichu in record time. A quick Antidote and it's back on its feet, looking almost sheepish as you zap it back into the ball.

Another wave of deafening screams and cheers from inside the stadium let you know that the battle is well underway, and you return to the floor just in time to see Ryujin's Starmie finish off one of those Koffing with what looks like Psybeam. Damn. It makes you wonder who trained and evolved that Starmie, because it damn well wasn't the hapless trainer employing you.

That other trainer, J.Seph, seems appalled. You smirk to yourself. Bet he wasn't expecting that.

"Oh, a nice rebound for Ryujin and Starmie!" the announcer booms, "That has her record at one loss, two wins, which means she advances to tomorrow's bracket!"

There's an answering roar from the crowd, and Ryujin turns and waves, victorious.

But as you watch her, one part pride and two parts exasperation, you notice someone watching you, in turn.

It's a man, with short white-blonde hair and muscles on display in a loose tank top. He's lingering on the sidelines near the other battling team's box, and his eyes are narrowed and dangerous as he stares at you carefully. He looks like he knows something, and you don't really wanna stick around and find out what.

When Ryujin reaches you, it's all you can do to clap her on the back and offer her a hurried smile. "Good job. Have your dad wire me, okay?"

"You're not staying?" she says, sounding disappointed, "But Chaeryeong has another round and-"

"No, I really gotta - I should go," you say, attention still elsewhere.

The man is still watching you, but now he's grabbed one of the girls on his team, the one who gave Raichu that nasty beating, and he's talking to her sidelong.

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, though, right? My bracket should be after lunch."

"I'll be there," you promise.

You don't really want to turn your back on the other trainer team, but you have to, just to get out the door as fast as possible. Maybe if you hurry, and keep your head down, you won't have to find out why you've suddenly become so interesting to these strangers.

Just the stadium doors, a long hall, and then the nondescript little back doors that empty into the outside parking complex behind the building. You just need to make it that far. You walk, not trusting yourself to run, not trusting that it won't look more suspicious if you do run-

But just as you near the doors to the outside, as you reach out to push the handle and escape, a hiss and a lashing of purple right in your ear. You flinch.

Arbok, the same one from earlier.

It's curled in front of the doors, now, blocking your path, head bobbing and tongue flicking like it’s ready to unleash an attack at any time. And behind you, footsteps.

"Oh, baby, we can't let you go that easy."

You steal a glance away from the Arbok, and there he is. That man. And with him is Somin, his teammate, the Arbok's trainer.

"What do you want?" you ask.

"Just a chat," he says.

You turn fully away from the Pokemon, certain now that the bigger danger is in front of you. "Why don't I believe that?"

"I'm a trustworthy guy," he says.

“Don’t really believe that, either.”

He crosses his arms across that broad chest. “Rude, much?”

"Get to the point, Matthew," Somin says.

"What's the point?" you ask.

Somin smiles, venomous like her Pokemon. "We think you're interesting."

"Why?"

"You're a healer. Those are pretty damn rare," she says, simply.

"But more than that, I think you're really the brains here, huh?" the man, Matthew, says with a wayward grin. "You're the one who fucked up Seph's team with that Starmie."

"You're crazy. It's Ryujin's Pokemon," you say.

"And you're the one who told her to use it," he counters.

“I’m supposed to pay attention. I work for her,” you tell him.

“You haven’t always,” says Matthew. “We’ve taken out that stupid little rookie team enough times to know.”

Somin sneers. “Her Starmie knows Psybeam. I didn’t even know it knew Psybeam.”

“You came outta nowhere and started teaching those little fuckers how to win,” Matthew says.

You shrug. “I’m new in town.”

Suddenly, Somin's mouth falls open. "Wait. I know you."

"No, you definitely-"

"Yes, I do!" she insists, "I've heard of you. You're that little healer from Cherry Town."

You can feel yourself start to sweat at that. How could she know?

Somin laughs, "Oh, just wait until I tell-"

"Getting to the point," Matthew interrupts, "We want you to come with us. 'Specially if you're...the healer from Cherry Town, or whatever."

"Oh," you say, "Oh, I really - no, you don't. I have to get going, I have clients here, I have-"

Somin rolls her eyes, and snaps her fingers sharply. The Arbok sidles up tighter behind you. You swear you can feel its tongue flicking against your side, but you don't dare look.

"You have a Poison Pokemon behind you and about a dozen more waiting for you here, if you don't decide to play along," she tells you.

You're dumbfounded. "Are you threatening me?"

"I don't get my hands dirty," says Somin, waving long manicured fingers at you, "But that's what Pokemon are for."

"Pokemon don't...Pokemon don't attack people," you say.

"Sure they do," Matthew says.

"Not - not trained ones. Trained Pokemon don't hurt people on purpose," you insist.

"Now, what fun is that?" Somin simpers. "When you have a big strong Pokemon that will do whatever you say, why not ask it to keep people in line sometimes, hm?"

"That's...horrible," you say, voice quivering. "That's wrong."

"Now, really, who decides what's right or wrong?" Somin says.

You're overly aware of the Arbok behind you, nearly touching you, apparently all too willing to hurt you.

"Are you coming or not?" Matthew asks. "I'm getting bored of this."

Your hand goes to the pocket of your backpack. You always keep your own Pokemon with you, just in case you get into a sticky situation and need a little extra help, but this...

This seems like far too much for them.

Unluckily for you, Somin notices.

"D'you have your own Pokemon?" she asks, still in that saccharine voice. "Oh, how cute. Let's see, then."

You pop one of your Pokeballs into your hand. It's not like you want to obey her and start a Pokemon battle here, like this, but you don't know that you have any choice. This is your best option, and it's not going to be enough.

"Come on, baby, let's see," Matthew echoes.

The Pokeball grows to full size in your hand, but you still don't release it.

"Shy," Matthew says. "That's okay. I'll go first."

You've seen that their team favors Poison types, but that apparently isn't their only specialty, because Matthew throws his own Pokeball to reveal a Golem. It's the biggest one you've ever seen, spiked rocks down its back and a gleam in its eyes that matches its trainer's.

A rock type, too. You're fucked.

"Any time now," Somin says.

There's no way out, with the Golem in front of you and the Arbok behind. This is a service exit, anyway, so it's not like anyone is necessarily going to be coming through here after you. Help is probably not on the way.

So you call out your Pokemon, praying to whatever power will listen that it'll be okay when this is over.

Somin takes one look at it when the light clears, and laughs. "A Kakuna?"

"Well this ain't even gonna be fun," Matthew laments.

"Oh well," Somin says, "It’ll be simple. We'll take you and the Pokemon. Maybe the little bug will be useful when it evolves."

"Kakuna's not ready to evolve," you defend, your mouth moving before your brain, "It's not-"

"Hey, Arbok?" Somin interrupts.

The Pokemon hisses behind you.

Somin looks at you, and smiles sweetly. "Acid Spray."

No.

You fumble with your Pokeballs, desperate to get Kakuna back inside before it gets hurt, but apparently Somin wasn't ordering an attack on your Pokemon.

Because the Acid Spray hits you.

It doesn't hurt until it does, and then you crumple to the ground, a sound that you didn't know you could make ripped from your throat at the pain. Your Pokeballs spill from the open pocket of your backpack, and as one smashes into the ground, it hits right on the release, letting another of your Pokemon free. You can barely think enough to wonder which one.

You writhe.

You scream.

And then blessed silence.

-----

You know you're not dead when you come to, with a big leaf in your mouth.

With a heave and a gasp, you sit up, batting the leaf away and curling up into a ball as well as you can, adrenaline-shaky, sitting with your arms wrapped around your knees.

You have no idea how you survived that. Your clothes are smoking and acrid green. Your backpack, flung away from you as you fell, has a big scorch across one side.

And your Oddish peers up at you.

"Oh, fuck me, Oddish!" you gasp.

The little blue Pokemon doesn't answer, of course. She just looks at you, far too innocent for the scene around her.

Because they're all still here, the two trainers and their Pokemon. They're just out cold. Your Kakuna sits among them, unbothered.

"Did you - Sleep Powder?" you ask, as if she's going to tell you.

You stand up on quivering legs and gather your fallen Pokeballs, returning poor Kakuna to safety before you repack your bag.

"We have to haul ass before they wake up," you say. "How long was I out?"

Oddish vocalizes, a tiny mumble, and you nod as if it made sense.

"I could kiss you, Oddish, really. Fuck. Let's go."

You scoop up the tiny Pokemon, and you run.

The answer to how long you'd been out comes as you make your way to the parking lot. Because it's empty.

Dark has long since fallen, and as you peer up at the digital display across the top of the stadium that lists the time and date and events, you see that it's already past midnight. The tournament has been over for hours. No one came down that hallway to find you. No one came looking for the other trainers, either, apparently.

But now you have nowhere to go.

You'd had the forethought to come out the same door where you'd parked your scooter earlier, and you go over to the stupid little machine and unlock it from its post. You wish you'd also thought to have it charged back up that morning, because you have a little more than half a battery charge left. It's definitely not enough to reach the next big city.

Still, you climb on, and you kick off for the highway with Oddish secure in your front basket.

You should have put her away in her Pokeball already, but she...saved you. You almost don't feel safe without her.

The streets are mostly deserted, save the few drunken locals on their crawls between bars and pubs, and the smattering of cars alongside you on the highway that cuts through this side of the city. The masses of tourists who had come in for the tournament are all gone for the night, back to their hotels or to their neighboring suburbs.

It makes for a peaceful drive, except for the pounding of your heart, as you leave Azalea City behind and disappear into the night.

Peaceful, for about an hour.

Maybe more, maybe less.

Just about that long, though, because you'd estimated your scooter's charge to last an hour and a half, and you're edging towards E.

You've reached a little hamlet in the foothills, a few dozen buildings that you can see and a smattering of lights toward the far edge that you suspect to be either a stadium or - even more remarkable - a Pokemon gym. It seems like a decent place to stop for the night, even if you have to camp out, and you're weighing your options when you hear an awful gasping sound somewhere in the silence.

The sound alone would be unsettling, but it's worse because you recognize it.

It's a Koffing.

"Damn it," you swear softly.

J.Seph. It has to be. There's no way that you would help Ryujin beat him in a match, and then knock out two of his teammates before they could kidnap you, and then run into a random Koffing in the middle of nowhere.

There's a rumbling, then, like an engine more powerful than yours. Headlights in the distance.

You turn off at the first exit. Looks like this town is it, for tonight. You just need to get your scooter off and hidden, so you can wait them out.

But your poor little scooter doesn't move all that quickly, and the Koffing is getting closer. You can smell it now, that noxious methane smell that you could never stand for long enough to keep and train one of them yourself.

And then overhead, there's a shadow.

You look up, and see a giant bird.

A Fearow.

It scares you more than it should. It's a common Pokemon. They roost in flocks of hundreds, in some places. But you swear you can see one beady orange eye looking down at you, and it's familiar. Too familiar.

Your scooter hits a bump, and you're so distracted by the Pokemon that you gasp, and swerve. It's a sharp turn, too sharp to recover, and you go down, right into the dip in the side of the road. Oddish goes flying with a cry, and you take a hard spill into the dirt.

"Shit!"

Faster than you probably should, considering potential old and new injuries, you claw your way back onto your feet. The scooter's front tire is damaged beyond what you can repair right now, and you fight back a howl at the injustice of it. You kill the engine, left with no other choice, and stuff the key into your pocket.

"Oddish!" you whisper furiously.

There's a prod at your shoe, and there she is, smudged with dirt but fine, and you scoop her up again and take off running, instead.

That other engine is still looming behind you, faint headlights and the sound, eerie and distant, of a voice.

"Come on, little healer," a man's voice is crooning, so loud that he must be using a megaphone or something. "Is it really so bad to just come with us?"

Like you'd seen from the road, this little village has winding streets of darkened houses, and off at the end of a far lonely road, a big building lit up like a parade. That's where you're headed, the only place that looks alive this time of night. Someone in there can help you.

"You're making us put in an awful lot of work," the man says, reproachful.

The headlights swing onto the road behind you, painting your shadow in stark relief as you run down the bumpy paved road. There are only a few blocks left between you and that building, so close that you can see the splattered paint job, the brightly-colored signs on the outside.

You hazard a glance over your shoulder, and there's a small glossy black sedan following you, roaring with a motor that was most certainly an expensive upgrade. Your guess was right - there's J.Seph the Pokemon trainer at the wheel, and a woman in the passenger's seat.

"As if a third-rate gym is going to be any use," J.Seph tsks.

The car speeds up, but you reach the door before he reaches you, and you pound on the metal plating desperately. There's a moment of awful echoing clangs, the unanswered sound of your knocks, and the tires of that car squeal to a stop just behind you.

But just before it's too late, the door swings open.

There's a figure there. A boy.

And behind him, the hulking form of a Pokemon, crackling with fire up and down its arched back.

"What the hell do we have here?" he asks.

"I need - they're gonna-" you sputter.

He looks you over, dirty and bruised and probably bleeding as you are. Expression severe and full of understanding, he looks past you out the door, and you're not sure what he sees, but he grins. It's a dangerous grin.

"Aw," he says. "New challengers."

The boy looks back at his Pokemon, and as if it understands, it barks, a thunderous sound that echoes around the gym. It's an Arcanine, you realize. You've never seen one up close. It's enormous. It must be nearly seven feet tall, you'd guess, based on how close its head reaches to the top of the bay doors.

Dazed, you gaze farther into the gym.

It's a menagerie of Pokemon. Just from a glance, you can spot at least a half dozen people and twice as many Pokemon, a frenzy of movement and distraction. There's a Gyarados in a deep pool by the far wall, two Machamps locked in a fistfight in the center, a Gengar hanging from the metal rafters.

What is this place?

The boy's grin slips into a look of the deepest, most sarcastic pity. The Arcanine's fire fans out even more, and the shiver that creeps down your spine is more akin to excitement than fear.

"Lame."

[thewriterowl]

Any headcanons on body swap for our favourite space Dads, kinky or otherwise? 👀

Oh jeez that is a good one! I know there has been some chatting about the body swaps so I would be excited to say some head canons:

-Luke is all, "I'M TALL! I can reach the shelves without my Force or jumping! And my shoulders! Wooooow, can you really just walk straight through doors easily, Din? These are so broad! And you're heavy! And how do you walk with this thing between your legs?!"

-Din is a bit more uncertain, "Luke, I feel too small. How do you function being tiny like this?? And how do you walk without any amor protecting you?? Your hair is so soft though...and how do you not just randomly squeeze your ass throughout the day??"

-Din now has to deal with the Force and is HATING it. He feels exhausted and hyper-focused. It's like he could hear everything breathing and there is an emended pressure over his body. Luke feels confused and feels alone and realizes how much the Force has been intertwined with him and his body--he still has it, as all things do and the Force is his soul and not just his body, but it is a lot weaker and untamed inside of Din.

-This may or may not unlock Force potential for Din (cause if Sabine can do it, so can Din) and Din isn't exactly thrilled about that.

-Din wears his helmet out in public...but the Beskar makes Luke feel sick if wearing it for too long and on his face. And Luke's body also isn't fond of the Beskar. So they have to stay inside more to respect Din's comfort on who can see his face in either form.

-So, they need to figure out what to do to entertain themselves as they get the whole back to their own bodies settled.

-Yeah they have a lot of sex.

NSFW

-They almost don't know how to do it at first. They are worried about doing something to new and using bodies that don't belong to them. It starts first with them masturbating with each other or grinding against one another.

-But eventually they realize they really understand each other so much that they are able to figure things out with he body switches.

-And they switch too in interesting ways.

-Din, in Luke's body, rides Luke, in Din's body, by pinning him down and still dominating but letting Luke's body feel like the bottom which it loves

-And Luke, in Din's body, take's Din's tongue, in Luke's body, like the champ he was before.

-The blow jobs are super interesting.

-Honestly, these two are so horny for each other they find they LOVE this new exploration and positions. It's an adventure and they are always willing try most anything once in bed.

-"Luke, we fucked each other on ever surface in our own bodies..." "We should do it again in these!"

"Exactly. I knew we were perfect fro each other--OOMPH! Star's dammit, am I really that heavy when I tackle you?"

"Yep. No worries, I love it."

-Their house may or may not need a lot fixing afterwards.

-They do get back in their own bodies after the Force shenanigans. But they get a lot of new experiences from it that they learn from.

[fnaflucasverse]

Bad Taste In Music

i Cannot believe we get perry and tiger before the guy this au is named after. but that's what happens when you go insane over tiger liking r&b ig! apologies if it's kind of a nothing story and if tigers kind of ooc but i liked writing it. is this canon to lucasverse? idk! is it me having fun with my two fav guys? ya <3 but oh i should not have stayed up this late to finish this.....

Tiger belongs to @fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction

A little while into her training, somewhere above the drum-pounding rhythm of her fists against the punching bag, Peregrine began to hear music.

And it wasn't the good shit she sometimes heard on the truck radio, with crunchy electric guitars and crashing cymbals—it was that sappy, soulful, piano ballad garbage that always made her switch stations. With a groan, Peregrine sped up her jabs, hoping to drown out the din… but like the worst kind of bug, the music wormed its way into her ear, into her brain, and twisted like a knife.

She punched faster, hit harder, felt the pain shockwave from her knuckles up her arm. Even still, Peregrine heard the song.

She grit her teeth against it; the singer's words were indistinct, but the tune carried all the damn same. The more the song grated on, the more fleeting thoughts shot through Peregrine's mind: a kind, smiling face, singing a tender lullaby to a restless toddler and her brother, the feeling of being warm, safe, and—

She couldn’t fucking train to this shit.

With a roar, Peregrine's fist slammed square into her target. The punching bag flew into the air, viciously pulled back to earth by its chain. It swung at Peregrine with a vengeance—but she had already left the gym, stalking through the hallway for her next victim.

The hallway opened up into the living room, where a TV sputtered static at peeling leather armchairs and mismatched chairs gathered around the makeshift dining table. In the center sat the source of the noise: a record player, still crooning away. And sitting in front of it, slumped shoulders shielding Peregrine from the culprit…

Peregrine's lips drew out into a thin line.

Her old man was getting drunk again.

She'd be less surprised if she could see beer cans anywhere, anything to say he’d been drinking the cheap beer he made her restock every other fucking day—but he was staring, gaze empty and distant, at the whiskey bottle strangled in his grip. And if it was whiskey he was drinking—as if the music wasn't a giveaway—he was thinking about her mother.

And he'd promised the Boss he'd stopped.

God-fucking-damnit.

Peregrine stomped up and yanked the needle away from the record with a satisfying screech.

Tiger spun around, hand instinctively reaching for a pistol that wasn’t there. Peregrine crossed her arms, watching him recognize her, freeze, and sink back into the chair, shaking his head. “Jesus, Lee, you don’t just…" Alcohol coated his breath. “You’re done early.”

“I’m taking a break." Peregrine jerked her chin towards the record player. “Where the hell did you get that?"

Tiger's head swiveled towards it like he'd forgotten it was there. "That's just… something I found in the old stash." He set the bottle down, rubbing the back of his head like a kid caught with his hand in Dad's wallet. "Just thought I'd fix it up, see if it still works… Could sell it, you know; people collect this sort of—sort of thing and…"

He trailed off as Peregrine picked up the record to frown at the label. Who the hell was Whitney Houston? "Uh-huh. And you found this with it, too?" Perry tried twirling the record on her finger—

Her father snatched it faster than she could blink. "Lee, you don't play with things you could break," he scolded.

Peregrine rolled her eyes. He'd never stopped telling her off and never would until he dropped dead, and even then he'd probably return as a ghost to tell her off even more. She swiped his whiskey and hopped up on the table, resting her bored chin in her palm as he watched him hunt for the sleeve to return his record to. Bottle was half-empty. Peregrine watched Tiger carefully slide the record back into place, spying the tracklist on the back. Ugh. 'Love' this, 'Love' that. It made her want to throw up.

“You actually like this kind of shit, old man?" she snorted, only half in disbelief.

“She’s a very talented singer,” Tiger defended, closing the record player with a click. His eyes clouded. "Anyway, it was—it… belonged to your mother."

Peregrine shut up. Tiger took it as an invitation to continue whatever 'when we were all younger but especially you' spiel he had ready to vent. “You know, Lee…,” he began, clearing his throat, an uncomfortable phlegmy sound.

Peregrine's eyes drifted to the ceiling. Better to let him talk. He'd get it all out of his system, and she'd go dump whatever whiskey was left down the drain.

"You know… your mother used to sing these songs to you, get you to sleep easier. I don't think you remember any of it—you would've been five or so—but…" A nostalgic, weary smile crossed her father's face, always a little alarming to see nowadays. "God, there were days when you would just not go to sleep! Neither could we. You used to be scared of every little thing, just crying and crying—"

"That's gotta be bullshit," Peregrine grumbled.

"—We were really worried about you, Lee," he continued. "But then Jaq figured out you liked being sung to—especially this one song—what was it—'The Greatest Love Of All?' But that was the year…" The smile melted from Tiger's face, turning into a familiar frown. "Anyway, that's when Ms. Houston herself helped out," he said, giving the record player a firm pat.

Peregrine felt cool, smooth glass in her hands, the swirling weight of the whiskey, the gnawing of memories as they scratched at her skull.

The smiling face. The gentle voice. The feeling of warmth and safety and…

And love.

There was a strange knot in her throat.

"Yeah, yeah," Peregrine abruptly snapped, rocketing to her feet, "and when Panther gets back, he'll want to know why the hell you lied to his face. So just gimme that—" she grabbed the record and bundled the player under her arm— "I'll get rid of it." She glared at Tiger, his expression flashing through bitterness, guilt, resignation… "Drink some water. And take a fucking nap; you're being pathetic," she cut into him, whiskey bottle hanging from her fingers.

He didn't meet her eyes.

"'Night, old man," Peregrine muttered, and strode away.

She didn't head back to the gym.

She didn't get rid of her contraband.

She headed straight to her room, shoved them both under her bed, poured the bottle's contents out the window, and curled up on her mattress, letting second by second tick agonizingly by. And when, and only when the world was nothing but darkness, Peregrine retrieved the record player, cranked the volume as quiet as it could go, and, as Whitney's voice crackled softly, she let her eyes slip shut.

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol 28

Hello my darlings,

Welcome to TSD week 28! I read some stuff this week that is definitely going in my all time faves list, seriously. Y'all are amazing. I've got 14 fics for you this week!! (Joel Miller, Frankie/Santi, Ezra, Din Djarin, Dieter Bravo, Max Phillips, Frankie Morales, Dieter/Javi P, Marcus Pike, Javier Peña). Summaries and tags are author provided unless they didn't have them (then I did it myself).

As always you can find all my fic recs here and my masterlist here

Recs under the Baby Cow Eyes

Cosmic Oddities - Din/Joel series by fromthewhales (Ao3)

Summary: Turning a clan of two into a clan of four and asking the very important, albeit unhinged question: What if space dad and apocalypse dad were Weird About Each Other? (ed. note: this summary does not do this beautiful fic justice. READ IT). Tags: parental bonding, parallels, angst, everyone has issues, everyone needs a hug, touch starved din djarin, injuries, strangers to ??? to lovers, smashing the space western and the zombie western together like 2 ken dolls, trauma, crack-fic adjacent at times, hurt/comfort, soft not super explicit smut, self harm, found family, din djarin eventually removes the helmet, blindfold, long distance relationship, survivors guilt, angst with a happy ending, non sexual intimacy, it gets worse before it gets better, alcohol mention, game II canon divergent — but boy does it come close, canon typical violence, minor character death, major character injury, bi!joel miller, bi!din djarin

To be explored later - Frankie/Santi one shot by @legendary-pink-dot

Summary: You and your boyfriend Santi fuck his best friend Frankie and it's a little more MMF than you were expecting -- much to your delight Tags: Swearing, dirty talk, rough-ish sex, hair pulling, oral sex (m receiving), a couple of spanks, edging if you squint, also yearning m/m if you squint, unprotected PIV, snowballing, threesome, dom!Santi.

sweets for my sweet; sweets from my sweet - Ezra one shot by @tinytinymenace

Summary: you are a cook at an exploration camp and one of the miners asks you about Earth and brings you a treat Tags: Brief mentions of planet death (RIP Earth) and strained family dynamics but on balance this is soft.

Release Your Inhibitions - Din one shot by @beskarandblasters

Summary: Shortly after revealing his face to you, Din’s worried about the faces he makes during sex, since he’s never had to worried about that before. You suggest something that might ease his worries; a blindfold. Tags: canon divergent, established relationship, Din is insecure and inexperienced, helmet comes off, blindfolding, oral sex (M receiving), vaginal sex, light biting, creampie, super romantic and loving sex, use of Mando’a words/phrases (Cyar’ika = sweetheart, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum = I love you, Yooba solus mesh'la = You are beautiful), no use of y/n

Best in Show - Dieter one shot by @covetyou

Summary: The Academy Awards, the most well known, well planned, film award ceremony in the world. So why is the host missing? Tags: dual narrative, masturbation (m), voyuerism, drug reference (our boy is sober but struggling), subby Dieter, slight humiliation kink, very brief mentions of other sex acts (anal play, PIV, cum play), reader talks Dieter through a very nervy wank.

Still Bejeweled - Joel one shot by @janaispunk

Summary: after breaking up with your boyfriend, your self-esteem is crushed. your best friend takes you to your favorite bar to take your mind off of things. there's a band is playing there tonight and the singer immediately catches your eye. inspired by taylor swift's bejeweled – and when i meet the band, they ask, 'do you have a man?', i could still say, 'i don't remember' Tags: no/pre-outbreak au, no sarah, musician!joel, small age gap (reader is in her late 20s, joel's in his mid 30s), reader is described as smaller than joel and has hair long enough to pull, a bit of angst, fluff, making out, fingering, dirty talk (joel talks you through it, i just know it), praise kink, unprotected p in v (i just didn't feel like mentioning it, this is my fantasy world where pregnancies & sti's don't exist, but they very much exist in the real world, don't do this), joel has a big dick (it's canon), consent king joel, rough sex, ass-slapping, hair-pulling

Negotiations - Max Phillips one shot by @prolix-yuy

Summary: Max Phillips never found marketing to be all that helpful. Hell, running an ad on Facebook was easy enough. But then you walked in the door and he knew he had to have you, in all the ways he could. Tags: T, descriptions of male and female bodies, some fantasizing and suggestive themes.

Under the Stars - Joel one shot by @undercoverpena

Summary: joel finds that you become a thing of unnatural order, all ethereal as the moonlight kisses your curves. Tags: post outbreak. smut. oral sex (m receiving). tying joel up with rope. cutting joel free with a knife. p in v. jo's spelling. feelings, but joel-feelings. softer!joel

Apotheosis - Din series by @beskarandblasters

Summary: Din Djarin is a force-sensitive bounty hunter, working for the remnants of the Empire. He's on the hunt for you, an ex-rebel spy who has key information; the location where Luke Skywalker is building his Jedi training academy. But when you're captured, you're not going to give up the location easily. Din will have to utilize “alternative methods” to turn you over to the dark side. Tags: canon divergent, dark!Din, switches between Din and Reader’s point of view, eventual smut, Star Wars lore (not super heavy), manipulation/gaslighting, murder/minor character death, no use of y/n

Home - Frankie series by @dancingtotuyo

Summary: Frankie always comes home to you. Tags: fluff, angst, girl dad!frankie, recovering!Frankie, references to drug use, references to violence, trauma, healing.

Met the Devil Last Night - Joel one shot by @pedgito

Summary: I made a joke about wanting to screw dirt-covered Joel even if he was deep in the trenches of hell and...well, yeah. This is pure filth and nothing else. Tags: Porn with minuscule plot, if you willfem!reader, demon!joel, no specific age gap since dude is a literal demon, but reader is early 20s and I picture Joel to be his younger self (around 36), mentions of su*cidal ideations, this all a completely made up concept pls don't come for me about rituals, ect i will cry. virgin!reader, reader's father is a priest and horrible (just a total douche)/mother isn't alive, spitting, oral, unprotected piv, blood drinking, competency kink, innocence kink, mutual masturbation

Pearl Rosary - Din one shot by @sweetercalypso

Summary: Priest of Mandalore!Din Djarin listens to your sins during confession Tags: public(ish) sex, finger sucking, deepthroating, cock worship, facial, reader is a Mandalorian who takes her helmet off, so much religious imagery

Good Boy - Dieter/Javi P one shot @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Summary: Dieter gets cucked. That's it. That's the fic. Tags: cucking, PIV, creampie, oral sex f receiving, cum eating, PWP/plot what plot?, dom!Javi, sub!dieter, idk what reader is... having a good time?

Whatta Man - Marcus Pike series by @atinylittlepain

Summary: He's looking for something other than vanilla, and she is more than happy to provide such a service to him. Tags: this is smut, pegging, rimming, sucking and fucking, sex work, lowkey sugardaddy!marcus, sweet shy marcus getting his world rocked, and then pancakes and a blackberry and a black american express card so ya know, the works.

----

Self Promo:

in the a.m. - javier peña loose fit series

Summary: Between sleeping with informants and getting in bed with Los Pepes in the fight to bring down Escobar, Javier Peña also finds time to be with you. Wrestling with crippling self hatred, Javi tries and fails to keep his blood stained hands off of you. Based on some of my favorite Arctic Monkeys songs &lt;3 Tags: smoking, probably shit spanish, smut, angst, established situationship, emotionally unavailable!Javi, references to past arguments/past hookups because this has been an ongoing thing and I love to start in the middle of a story, loose fit series, trauma, probably, sad!Javi, self hating!Javi, Javi very briefly picks you up, Javi crying, Javi yelling, reader yelling, did I mention angst?

[darlin-djarin]

“you guys need to stop mischaracterizing din!! in season 3 he-“

bro. bro. listen. season 3 doesn’t exist. it’s not canon, you’re crazy. you’re insane. everything that happened there has mischaracterized din and frankly everyone else. i don’t care if din isn’t a constant worrier of grogu this season, he WAS in the first two seasons and that’s what i’m going with. i don’t care if din was acting a little silly and had shitty dialogue and dad jokes this season, his silence spoke volumes in the first two seasons. i don’t care if din doesn’t want the darksaber, but the whole build up of the first two seasons was him getting it so we should’ve had more development into WHY he doesn’t want it.

y’all need to stop defending lucasfilms and stop acting like what you’re watching is good or even decent. it’s a billion dollar company, we’re allowed to ask for better. just because there were little things that were cool does not justify the awful plot line (that doesn’t even exist at this point) and the awful dialogue and awful mischaracterization. they’re ruining the characters and they literally admitted that they don’t have an end goal that they’re trying to achieve.

that’s not din anymore, y’all should realize this. that’s not how din acts and that’s not how he speaks. him being reckless was always there, but don’t think for a second that din doesn’t always worry or care for grogu. don’t think din would willingly put harm in grogu’s way. din KNOWS grogu can handle himself, but he also knows that grogu is a baby that has had a traumatizing past and he still cares deeply.

any behavior of din’s (or anyone else’s) in season 3 should be examined and tried to be characterized correctly. think, WOULD din act like that? and don’t go “well it’s what the creators of the show wanted so-“ just stop. stop trying to defend them. a lot of the characterization they’ve done for him in the first two seasons is being undone in the third, and it’s sad to see. we’re allowed to ask for better. we’re allowed to not like things.

[ak-vintage]

bother the hell out of you you say? 👀

fmk- din, frankie, joel

Grace. You're cruel for this, you know that?

Please know that since you sent this, I have had four different answers and keep changing my mind. That's how close this is for me.

But. This is what I landed on... (TMI under the cut because I'm a mess for these three)

Fuck Frankie. I subscribe to the fanon idea that the origin of Frankie's call sign is that the man is a pussy-eating king and that he gained a bit of a reputation for it while in the service. Where we leave him at the end of Triple Frontier, his current relationship is at best strained and at worst completely over, so I don't think he's in a place to be anything serious, but god, what I wouldn't give to take that frowny face for a spin.

Marry Din. There is just something about this character archetype that will always do it for me. Din is competent, principled, passionate, protective. His loyalty, his devotion, the way he takes care of the people most important to him, his dedication to his community, all of it just makes me melt. To be on the receiving end of that kind of commitment and devotion would be everything. Din is the kind of man who would make you his whole world, and I love that shit. Plus, I will always be an absolute sucker for a single dad.

Kill Joel. I KNOW. I HATE IT, TOO. In my head, Joel lives a long and comfortable life in Jackson surrounded by his family and a community that appreciates him. He dies in his sleep an old man having finally known some years of happiness and safety post-outbreak. But, in this scenario, when put up against these specific characters... Joel is canonically going to die anyway. All three of these men are fathers, and Ellie is the only one really capable of looking after herself if he were to die (although we know she doesn't do that in the most healthy of ways).

I'm so sorry, Joel. I love you. In a different world...

God. I am actively second-guessing myself. I need to post this before I change my mind again.

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 36: Unexpected Meetings

Conflict in Calodan may put you, the Mandalorian and Grogu in greater danger than you realized. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-35 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 3.7K

“I’m not just staying with Grogu on the ship.” 

Din sighed. 

“Cyare.” 

“Din.” 

“Patu.”

You looked down to the child in your arms, his little mouth drawn into a concerned line. You smiled a little. 

“He agrees,” you said, looking to the Mandalorian. “Too worried about leaving his dad to fight on his own, he thinks we should come.” 

Din sighed. 

“You can’t just claim he said what you want him to say, Doll,” he said. “Doesn’t work that way.” 

You glared at him. 

The Mandalorian had made a deal with the Jedi: in exchange for some guidance on how to help guide the child through his growing skills in the force, he would help her rid Calodan of Imperial forces. 

It was a stupid deal on Ahsoka’s part in your opinion - not that you were about to say anything to that end. Din probably would have paid her for the opportunity to kill Imperials. Maker knew you would. But you desperately wanted as much help with the child as you could get. 

The urge to help him and understand him was strong. You were having a hard time remembering the last time you felt quite this desperate for anything that wasn’t life or death - or Din. But the child - Grogu, still an adjustment knowing his name - had quickly become the center of your universe. You wanted to give him everything he could want or need, including an understanding of himself and the power that flowed through him. And, apparently, you. 

Not knowing made you strangely uncomfortable. 

When it came to big things, you always knew. You knew how to survive. You knew how to kill. You knew how to pull vital information from bodies you’d broken and minds you’d warped to suit your needs. You knew how to accept death. There was safety in knowing. 

But lately, there had been an almost monumental amount of not knowing. You did not know how to be loved, not really, not in the way that Din and the child loved you. You did not know how to live with the depth of feeling you had for them, the way it sometimes consumed you, the way it made you afraid to die. And you did not know how to give the child what he needed. 

No, you didn’t like not knowing and if Ahsoka was willing to trade something that you’d have given freely in exchange for the comfort of knowledge you weren’t about to argue with her. 

You were, however, going to argue with the paranoid Mandalorian who was trying to sequester you in the ship away from any potential danger. 

“Are you going to treat me like glass from here on out?” You asked, trailing behind him as he gathered supplies around the Crest. 

“I’m going to protect what’s mine from the Empire,” he said, adding cartridges to his belt. “Call it what you want.” 

“So I just don’t get a say?” You asked. 

“My hunt,” he replied, moving to another panel. “You get a say when it’s yours.” 

“What if I want to protect what’s mine?” You demanded, the child still on your hip. 

“You can do that by staying on the ship with him.” 

“Din.” 

“Cyare.” 

You ground your teeth. 

“I want to protect you, too,” you said. “You said you were mine. I want to keep you safe.”

He shrugged. 

“Don’t need it.” 

He started down the ramp of the Crest and you stalked after him. 

“Either we can make a plan for this together or you can deal with me figuring out how to contribute all on my own,” you said. “I’m not going to just hide away while you take care of problems…” 

He stopped in the middle of the ramp and turned around slowly. You were far enough behind him that you were the same height. You thrust your chin out defiantly, jaw set firm. 

“You would really put him at risk to get your way,” he said cooly. 

“No,” you said. “And I think we both know this has nothing to do with your concern about my ability to keep Grogu safe.” 

“Patu.” 

“Thank you,” you looked down at the baby, who smiled, even though you had no idea what he said. 

The Mandalorian came back up the ramp, close enough that he was taller than you again. His beskar glinted in the sun. He raised one gloved hand and cupped your cheek and you pressed your face into his palm like you always did. You couldn’t resist it. 

“Not losing you again,” he said softly. 

“I’m not losing you, either,” you said. “So let me help. It’s a whole city of Imps, it’s too much for you and one Jedi. I know how to handle myself, Din. I know how to kill Imperials, it’s one of the things I’m best at. If it will really make you feel better, I’ll do something out of the way, but don’t lock me away because you’re paranoid.” 

He held your face a moment longer before taking his hand back. 

“Fine,” he said eventually. “But you have to do what I say and if it looks bad, get back to the ship and lock yourselves in. Imperials are after you and him, it’s not safe.” 

“Safe is relative,” you smiled a little.  

The Mandalorian settled on you perching on a roof with Grogu so you could pick off incoming Imperials from where they were trying to move civilians. Simple enough, though you could tell Din wasn’t happy about it. 

He stood at the corner of the building you were about to scale, the child and your rifle strapped to your back. 

“Still don’t like this,” he muttered. “Last time…” 

“Last time we didn’t have coms,” you said. “And last time we didn’t know if we could even expect a fight. Now we do.” 

“If it looks like things are turning…” he began, but you cut him off. 

“Mando,” you reached up and held his helmet, your thumb slipping into the contour of it. “It’ll be fine.” 

“Promise you’ll go for the ship, Doll,” he said, his voice hard. You sighed. “I mean it.” 

“I promise.” 

He touched his cool metal forehead to your own. 

“See you soon,” you smiled a little before pulling away from him and climbing the building. 

You got set easily on the roof, setting the child beside you. You gave him the toy from Nevarro and he cooed. 

“See, he really should be happy you don’t want to just play with blasters,” you muttered, setting your sights. “Talk about dangerous…” 

“Patu.” 

“Exactly,” you said even though you didn’t know what he’d actually tried to say. 

The fight below reminded you just how much you hated not knowing. You could see signs of the Mandalorian and the Jedi’s progress through the city, ripples of noise and smoke, waves of people rushing to escape. 

When an Imperial slipped through, you sighted them and - when you were certain of the shot - fired. 

It was just a trickle at first, but then more and more arrived, trying to stem the flow of fleeing citizens. Smoke and the sound of blasters were spreading through the city and you were taking out troopers and officers one by one. You tried to watch for those who posed the biggest threat - anyone ready to fire on someone became a priority. Then there were those who seemed like they were figuring out that the shots dropping their comrades were coming from on high and not from the flood of people pushing back against them. You weren’t eager to give up your position or have to deal with stormtroopers trying to get to you. But before too long, it was too obvious that there was a sniper taking down their troops.

One of the officers grabbed a woman with a baby in her arms and pressed a blaster to her head, looking around at the roofline until he spotted the flash of your rifle. You ground your teeth. 

They were too far away to hear, especially over the chaos of the conflict, but you could see the terror on her face, the cruel snarl on the face of the officer. You glanced down at the child who looked up at you, his eyes wide and ears down low. He wasn’t fully afraid but he was stressed. 

“Think you can help me with something?” You asked. He just looked back at you. “We’re going to be a team, you and me. It’s OK if it doesn’t work but…” 

You put the bag with him back on your back and raised the rifle, hands up in surrender as you peered over the ledge of the roof. The officer was pointing your way, moving closer to you. 

You relaxed your mind and reached out for the child, trying to communicate what you were going to do as best you could. You could feel him tapping into your thoughts but could only feel a sense of assurance coming back. You’d take that as a yes. 

You got to your feet, staying ducked behind the ledge as much as you could, keeping your rifle visible. You couldn’t see shit this way, you could really only hope that the officer hadn’t killed the woman or her child yet. If he was smart he wouldn’t have. 

When you were positioned, you took a deep breath and glanced over your shoulder, even though Grogu was completely concealed inside his bag. 

“Here we go, kiddo,” you said. 

In one movement, you dropped the rifle and jumped up, landing on the ledge of the roof. You stayed there only for a moment, a fraction of a second, just long enough to take your blaster from your thigh before you jumped over the side of the building. 

It was only 2 stories up, about 25 feet. The landing would be rough but wouldn’t do much damage - it would just be a hell of a lot better if the kid could catch you first. 

“Soft landing soft landing soft landing!” You chanted, hoping that he knew what you meant. You got off a few shots on the way down, the two troopers nearest to your landing spot both down. 

Grogu had understood your request, your fall suddenly stopping about a foot before you hit the ground - there was nothing sharp about it, almost like you’d fallen into gelatin and all your kinetic energy had been dispersed. You hung in the air for a fraction of a second before you dropped the rest of the way. 

“Great job, kiddo!” You called over your shoulder as you ran for the officer. 

He’d been stupid enough to move closer to your position as you’d faked surrender and hadn’t seemed to have caught up with what you were doing quite yet, still looking around frantically for where you’d gone, blaster still against the woman’s skull. You shot him from the side before he’d realized you were coming. 

Except now you were on the ground in the press of people without a good vantage point, people fleeing and fighting around you. 

When you spotted a stormtrooper, you shot them as you worked your way to the edge of the street, trying to find something you could climb up even just a few feet to see over the crowd. 

You settled for a clothing stand, climbing quickly onto the table that put you head and shoulders above everyone around you. You angled your body so that the backpack with the child was out of the line of fire and started picking off troopers again, out of the way enough that you hadn’t drawn much attention. 

It only took a few moments for you to be absorbed by it, by the act of shooting and killing. It was something you knew so well, something you’d been trained for. You’d been built and shaped to do exactly this, defend others from those who wished to do them harm. Trained to levy as much damage as possible in as little time as you could manage. The faster you could kill an enemy, the better chance you had of wiping out enough to get your charge to safety. 

The people and the troopers kept coming and you kept shooting. You were so lost in it that, when you had a sudden twinge of anticipatory fear, it shocked you out of it. The twinge came half a second before a blaster bolt caught your hip, sending you flying. 

You twisted in the air so you landed on your front, only jostling the precious cargo on your back. Another blaster bolt whizzed over your head and you rolled onto your side, quickly aiming past your feet and firing, dropping the trooper who’d dropped you. 

Your hand went to your hip, the fabric of your pants scorched and bloody. It must have been a glancing shot, otherwise you’d probably have been a lot worse off. 

Getting back up hurt but it wasn’t more than you could handle, more concerned about what Din was going to do when he saw that you were injured. 

“Fucking Imps,” you muttered, shooting another one as he came around a corner. 

The flow of them slowed quickly then, and soon the press of people just innocents instead of armored thugs. You leaned against a wall on your uninjured side, watching for more just in case, waiting for the Mandalorian to finish his hunt. 

***

You weren’t where Din had left you. 

Ahsoka had made quick work of the Magistrate while he - and you, from what he could see of the Imperial bodies that littered the street - took down troopers to give civilians a chance at survival. The moment things had settled - the second the Jedi emerged victorious - he went for you. 

He’d been away from you for too long already. He could feel the distance in his chest, its grip violent and harsh. He couldn’t see you, he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t be sure that you were alive and well. 

The last time you’d been out of his sight like this you’d been taken, tortured, nearly killed. He should have held his ground with you, insisted that you stay on the ship - lock it down without giving you the information on how to get out of the damn thing. Sure, you’d have raged at him but you would have been in one piece. He’d have known that. 

But you weren’t on the roof. The only sign that you’d ever been on the roof was your rifle - left abandoned behind the ledge. He picked it up, slung it on his back before he looked around quickly, scanning the street below, looking for some sign of you. He didn’t see it. 

His chest got tighter. 

“Cyare!” He yelled it, stepping onto the ledge of the roof and dropping onto the street below, looking to see if he could catch some signature of you that he could track. He was about to go for the com link when he spotted you, limping slightly as you made your way toward him. He scowled. Of course you’d left your post. Of course you’d dropped into the fight. Of course you’d gotten hurt. 

He stalked over to you, looking you over, quickly spotting the shot at your hip. 

“I thought you understood what happens when you disobey an order on a hunt,” he growled. You glared up at him. 

“They were going to kill a woman with a baby and I couldn’t get a clean shot off from the roof,” you snapped. “I made the right call.” 

He grabbed you and pulled you against him, holding you tightly to his chest. Your arms slowly went around his waist. 

“I’m OK,” you said into his armor. The ache in him finally eased. “We’re both OK.” 

He held onto you as the four of you made your way out of city, Ahsoka giving him the beskar spear the Magistrate had offered him in exchange for killing the Jedi. It was more than a fair deal. 

Din was ready to get off this planet. Between the feeling he’d come with, the dread of leaving here with out the child and the grip of fear at being away from you, he wanted to be back on his ship with you and Grogu. Somewhere he knew was safe. Somewhere he had control. 

“Our people may have had their disagreements,” Ahsoka said, looking between the Mandalorian and you. “But I believe we work far better together as allies than we ever did as enemies.” 

“Thank you, for your help with Grogu,” he nodded once. 

“I trust…” she began and frowned, looking up to the sky. A fraction of a second later, you did too, half a moment before there was the distinctive howl of an Imperial ship overhead. But it wasn’t just a troop transport. Someone else, someone more than just more muscle for the magistrate, was aboard that craft. 

“Din,” you looked at him. Your eyes were wide.  

“Go,” Ahsoka ordered, igniting her sabers. “Get Grogu out of here, I’ll hold them off…” 

The Mandalorian took you by the wrist and started running, not sure if it would be faster to pick you up in your injured state. He didn’t have time to figure it out, the ship setting down directly in front of him, Ahsoka running along side you. 

He started to pull you to the side when a bolt fired from the ship, forcing him back the way he came as the ramp lowered. Din positioned himself in front of you, blaster drawn, waiting for what felt like the inevitable. 

His mind ran through options. What could he do to get you and Grogu out of here alive? Nothing else mattered. The entire fucking planet could go up in smoke so long as the two of you left in one piece. He would make that happen. He’d get you out of here if it was the last thing he did. 

“Din Djarin!” 

The Mandalorian’s blood ran cold. 

“Isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” Moff Gideon strode down the ramp of the ship, smiling pleasantly. As though he’d arrived for tea. “When I was told the Magistrate needed assistance handling the locals, I can’t say I expected to find you here. Especially not with a Jedi.” 

His eyes ranged over Ahsoka. 

“Of course, you never became a true Jedi master, did you, Ahsoka?” He said, looking mildly amused. “Were your skills just not up to par? Or was the timing just… not right?” 

She snarled but stayed near Din, sabers ready. 

Gideon’s eyes traveled to you, going a little wide. He was silent for a moment. 

“Now you truly are someone I didn’t expect to see here,” he said. “Or ever again. It seems the rumors of your death are indeed exaggerated, Handmaid.” 

“Not my fault Imps are bad at their jobs,” you snapped. “Your information gathering was always lacking.” 

“But yours wasn’t, was it?” He asked, prowling closer, stormtroopers pouring off the craft at his back, all armed to the teeth. Din stepped back, closer to you. “No, you were the only interrogator to ever break one of my men. We may have even lost the war because of you, all because you were able to evacuate the rebel fleet when we were almost positioned to destroy it. Oh I’ve been looking for you for a very long time.” 

“Get ready to start over,” you said. 

“I’ll make you three a deal,” he said. “Give me the child - who I know must be here somewhere even if he’s just out of sight - and the rest of you can go.” 

You moved closer to Din, your hand slipping into his. You squeezed his fingers twice, like you were trying to signal him, but he wasn’t sure of what. 

“No takers?” He asked. “Fine, another offer. Handmaid, hand yourself over to me. I’m sure you have enough information to keep us busy for a while. Give yourself to me and I’ll let them go, for now. Your sacrifice will give them a decent head start.” 

Din could almost feel you considering it. He tightened his hold on your fingers. You started to pull away from him, he felt you moving. 

His chest clenched tight again. He moved without thinking, grabbing his blaster and firing. 

Gideon expected it. 

Ahsoka did, too. 

The Jedi moved so quickly he could barely see it, sabers flying, deflecting blaster bolts. 

“GO!” She screamed it. 

Din kept one hand firmly in yours, shooting as he ran, Ahsoka like a shield, deflecting almost everything and his beskar handling the rest. 

He wasn’t worried about killing troopers or Gideon or taking out the Imperial craft. He was outgunned, outmanned. His best hope was running. The only way you would survive was running. 

So he ran with you. 

At the line of troopers, Ahsoka broke away, the sabers a blur. The moment blaster bolts were no longer ringing off his armor, he grabbed you, swinging you into his arms and taking off with his jetpack, flying straight for the Crest. 

“We have to go back!” You yelled it, twisting in his grip. “We can’t just leave her!” 

He ignored you, flying into the hold and depositing you and the child on the floor of the hold, closing the ramp and running to the cockpit. You followed close behind, hissing as you climbed the ladder with your injured hip. 

“You have to go back!” 

“Buckle in,” he ordered, starting the ship, grinding his teeth. 

“Din!” 

“I know, Cyare!” 

It took everything he had to not just take off and jump. He liked the Jedi. He was thankful for what she’d done for Grogu. But if he had to choose between her and you or her and the child, it was never going to be her. 

Ahsoka was still alive as the Crest made it to Gideon’s ship. She was fighting Gideon himself, deflecting blaster bolts with one saber, defending from his attacks with the dark saber with the other. She was too close to the ship for him to hit that, but he took aim at the surrounding troopers and fired, wiping out several dozen in just a few shots. 

The ship redirected its weapons. 

“That’s all we can do,” he said as he took the ship up as fast as he could push it, slipping out of the atmosphere and jumping away. 

[sandumilfshou]

can i get yalls opinion on luke's characterisation about training grogu and whether we think this is a case of just different writers not really respecting previous canon or if its actually plausible, because i find it so OOC that luke would refuse to train grogu because of grogu's attachment to din and his trauma/fear from the temple genocide

bc like this is luke who said "ben and yoda i hear you i respect you but also get fucked im going to rescue my friends" and also "im a jedi like my father before me and the Light and positive attachment will always win thats why my dad sacrificed himself to save me"

and now he's suddenly like "actually you have to choose between being a jedi or your dad sorry buddy i dont make the rules" ??

like i understand ahsoka having that perspective after seeing what ""attachments"" did to anakin, but luke...?

feels wrong feels inorganic

[razorpilled]

in my head, since the day their dad died and they had that fight, kaeya's been the one really trying to move forward, bc he has to to survive. he's always been good at surviving, not that he doesn't still wish he could go back, but looking forward. changes happened regardless, but there's new good in place of what was lost. it's not the same, but that doesn't make it lesser than what was. diluc went away and stayed the same- festered in his guilt and grief and rage- all while trying not to look back and yearn for what was lost. wishing for something that's never coming back is dead weight. now he's back and it seems like though he's still trying not to look back, he can't help but feel it dragging him down. and maybe now there's another thing that's kind of inverted about them. idk how canon [any of] this is, but taking the view that when they were younger- before all this- diluc was the one looking forward and hoping, unyielding in his optimism. kaeya (summer enjoyer) was following the sun. now it almost feels like the roles have flipped- not exactly the same, but not lesser; kaeya's the one we've most often seen making an effort to reach out to diluc and try to bridge this gap (if even a little), and it feels like as time passes diluc is less and less unwelcoming. still felt like he dodged kaeya in his hangout a bit, but augh weinlesefest. diluc inviting kaeya to stay for dinnar. their din dins. i have reached maximum word count for articulate thought Goodbye