#disaster riduurs

[allowaykirk]

WIP

Cobb: is that a fucking lightsaber?

Din: it’s called the darksaber.

Cobb: well what the hell are you DOING with it?!

Din, mumbling: iwonitanditmakesmethemandalor

[padawansuggest]

Later on Jango watches in distress and horror as Boba tries to tear Anakin’s throat out with his teeth, proud of how feral he is but also terrified his new riduur will kill him if his kid dies, and Obi-Wan is just sitting there texting Bant and Quin like it’s a normal day at the park. Anakin has to be told to be careful with the force null baby when he tries to body slam the child into the ground and Anakin is all ‘on it’ and it turns from wrestling into wrasslin so now Jango is accepting that baby cuddles are in order and his riduur won’t have to kill anyone today. Frankly, Boba is just givin as good as he gets.

Cody and Alpha are following around the disaster duo like bodyguards and planting gardens on Mandalore now that they took over the ‘wastes’ of the planet (Cody firmly believed they could repopulate it and Jango finds NOTHING more amusing than retaking the land around the wastes while Satine glares at them from her dome lmao, they brought Jedi to keep them safe and have gardens now) and Jango is a loving husband and father to three absolutely feral idiots now.

He gets bit regularly, sometimes more lovingly than others.

Anakin told Palpatine he was gonna go to Mandalore with Obi and Palpy got super manipulative over it so Ani was like :/ and got firm in his stance and Palpy sithed out and now there is no war. The clones stole the droids too and now they’re friendly droids. Ones who protect them from the republic or the new Mandos trying to take back the wastes that were never anyone else’s to begin with. They are rebuilding jungles thank you.

Obi-Wan: *meets Jango the first time*

Jango: *is utterly himself and horrible like always in a very feral way*

The Angel on his shoulder: You could fix him.

The Devil on his shoulder: you could make him soooo much worse and turn feral again yourself do it do it you know you want to~

Angel: He’s right. We haven’t bitten anyone in a while. That sounds like fun.

Devil: ya I know a good time when I see one

Jango: …you good?

Obi-Wan: Yeah I just got this really weird urge to bite someone.

Jango: …hmmm…

Boba: *appears out of nowhere* Bite someone? Can I help?

Obi-Wan: Absolutely.

[redahlia-writes]

when you hold me. | din djarin x reader

Prompt: when you hold me, I can feel your heart beating.

Words: 800ca

Content: fluff, comfort, established relationship, din being a little disaster, riduurok, implied smut but nothing explicit

A/N: prompt has been used for matt murdock as well

also on AO3  - masterlist

Din’s arms have grown familiar around you.

The weight and shape of it, his hands resting underneath your shirt, skin on skin in the dark.

He holds you in the dark of his bunk - your bunk for a few months now. His head rests in the crook of your neck, curls tingling your skin.

With the walls of his room protecting him - protecting you both - he sleeps soundly, holding you, warm and solid, his chest flush against your back, legs tangled with yours and the covers.

“Din?” you can never tell when he’s actually asleep - even when he’s so relaxed, his breathing even, kissing your skin from his parted lips, his hands don’t stop roaming across your skin, mindless patterns drawn with the tip of his fingers.

“What is it?” he mumbles tiredly, nuzzling into your neck.

You hadn’t expected the Mandalorian to be this affectionate - this physical. When his armor comes off he’s constantly searching for you, constantly searching for closeness.

“Are you alright?” you turn your head just a little - you cannot see him, but with the new angle the corner of your lips brushes his forehead.

“Of course,” he leans into you. “Why?”

“Your heart,” your hand rests on his when he stops tracing circles. “When you hold me I can feel your heart beating,” he eases his hold, allowing you room to turn and face him.

“You can?” you can almost picture the frown across his brow, how you’d reach to smooth it away. Slowly, you nod, shifting closer until you’re chest to chest, and his arms tighten around you once more, hands splayed on your back.

“It’s beating really fast,” it’s a whispered secret between the two of you, the tip of your nose brushing his. “It always does when something’s on your mind.”

“You can just tell that?” he chuckles, somewhat bewildered, tipping his chin up to brush his lips on yours.

The gentle touches are the ones you adore the most - for someone whose life is so fast, violent most of the time, it’s easy to lose oneself in tenderness. Din does just so, with lingering slow kisses and soft caresses, with embraces that last all night long and sweet touches in the morning.

“Even though I don’t know your face,” you murmur, soft-voiced, bringing your hand to his chest to press it where his pulse jumps, “I know your heart, Din.”

His breathing shifts - it’s almost imperceptible, but he’s so close and so familiar you couldn’t miss it even if you wanted to.

“There is something I’ve been thinking about,” he admits carefully, slowly, and the movement of his hands starts again, soothing mostly for himself. “For a while, now.”

“Wanna talk about it?” you offer, scratching his skin lightly. Din shifts a little, clearing his throat.

“Ah, haar’chak,” he mutters with a little scoff. “I wanted to do this properly, I wanted to do it right, this is -”

“Din, slow down,” you call, tapping his chest to the rhythm of his now racing heart. “What are you talking about?”

“Riduurok,” you know the sounds of Mando’a, but the uttered word is unfamiliar.

“What’s that?” Din inhales, shifting again, and you fight off the urge to take his face in your hands, kiss him back to calm.

“It’s a Mandalorian ceremony - a bond,” he clears his throat, voice hoarse. “A love bond.”

It’s your turn to shift, pulling back as if to look at him better, the frown forming on your face.

“What?” you shift your torso up a little, resting the weight on your arm. “Are you talking about marriage?”

“And as my riduur, I wouldn’t have to hide from you,” he exhales slowly, his hand sliding up your side lifted from the bed, following the curve of your body up to your shoulder, neck, until he’s cupping your cheek. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t do it anyway - I’d wake up tomorrow and not wear the helmet just to let you see me, but -”

“Din,” you lean into his touch, tap his chest again. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Yes,” he blurts out, and you can’t help the smile pulling at your mouth. “Although maybe you should be the one to say that - or not, I’ll understand, I just -”

You lean in - after months it’s easy to find his lips with your blindly, cutting him off with a quick kiss that leaves him gasping against your mouth.

“Take a breather,” you scold in a hum. “Your heart’s still running.”

“Of course it is,” he complains, the hand still on your side giving it a quick squeeze.

“Yes, Din,” you brush the arch of his nose with your lips, and he exhales at your words, hand shifting to your back to pull you closer. “Now breathe.”

“Now I kiss you,” he retorted, a smile in his words, unabashed happiness seeping through. “Breathing can wait.” 

And he did, heart jumping in his chest as if to reach you.

[morganwrites-starwars]

Evaar’la Yaim pt. 1

Summary: Obi-wan's home was barely made to fit one person, much less three. But since they are all outlaws, buying a new home isn't really an option. Obi-wan suggests an idea and reveals a lot of hidden guilt in the process.

Set after the event of ‘I Stand Here Right Beside You’ and ‘Tome tug’yc’

Masterlist

Next>

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

          Obi-wan’s home was cozy. And most certainly not made for three people. Cody and Obi-wan had turned the small basement into their bedroom, giving the old upstairs bedroom to Luke. Still, they were constantly running into each other. Having Cody’s vod’e, Leia, and Ahsoka visit only exasperated the issue. Plus, Obi-wan didn’t have enough evaporators to make enough water for three people to use. And, of course, Luke was a teenage boy and needed his privacy. All in all, their current living situation was bound to end in disaster. So, Cody and Obi-wan had their heads bent over the coffee table.

           “I don’t think we have enough credits to build any addition,” Cody said. “And you would be the only one able to work to get more. Luke and I are too recognizable, especially to the Imperials.”

           Obi-wan stroked his beard. “Yes, and there isn’t much room for more additions on this plateau anyway.”

           “A temporary solution would be to get another water evaporator, but that also has the same credit issue.” Cody was getting a little frustrated. Who would’ve guessed that he had an easier time planning battles than home renovations?

           “The Jawas would likely be cheaper, but the quality might be an issue,” Obi-wan mused. Cody grimaced at the thought of the furry little beasts. Obi-wan chuckled. “Or not. Besides, they likely would only have bits and pieces.”

           “Would give Luke something to do,” Cody said, smiling as he thought of his energetic teen. It was nice seeing Luke be able to express himself and not have to hold a decorum nearly everywhere. “But we’d still have space issues.”

           “We could always move,” Obi-wan suggested after a moment.

           Cody sighed. That would be the simplest solution. “That still has the credits issue. Plus, we’d have to find someone willing to sell to us without asking for ID, and it couldn’t be in any settlement.”

           Life as fugitives was so difficult, Cody lamented to himself. Once again, Cody missed the simplicity of war. Thought, he thought as he gazed adoringly at Obi-wan, this way of life had its benefits.

           “What if there was an abandoned homestead that was in decent condition?” Obi-wan asked in the tone of voice, signaling it was more than just an offhanded question. “Perhaps even an old moisture farm.”

           “That would work,” Cody said slowly. Obi-wan was frowning at the table. “Do you happen to know where one is?”

           Obi-wan sighed, still looking away. “Yes. In the Jundland Wastes.”

           Cody shuffled closer to his riduur. “Obi-wan?” Obi-wan hummed. “What is it?”

           Obi-wan’s hands were fidgeting nervously in his lap. Cody gently grabbed his hands, holding them in his own. Obi-wan took in a breath, releasing it in a sigh. “It is the Lars homestead.”

           Lars? That sounded vaguely familiar. Cody racked his brain, trying to figure out where he’d heard that name before. Perhaps it was somebody Obi-wan had mentioned in passing. Cody didn’t know anyone on Tatooine except one or two vendors in Anchorhead that were friendly enough. They were both older women who seemed to adore the fact that Cody would brave shopping on the occasion that Obi-wan wasn’t up to it. Obi-wan said they had crushes on him. Cody disagreed, mainly because the thought made him a little creeped out.

           “Lars?” Cody asked after he was unable to come up with the connection. “Old friends of yours?”

           Obi-wan grimaced. “Not quite. They are- they were Luke’s aunt and uncle.”

           Oh shit. Now that Cody thought on it, he did remember reading something about moisture farmers in Luke’s file. And he definitely remembered the occasion when Luke, while missing his aunt and uncle, declared Cody his aliit and called him buir for the first time. Cody had always meant to follow up and see what had become of Beru and Owen, so he could tell Luke when he was older. But Cody had forgotten, and Luke had never brought them up again.

           Cody mentally said a small apology to the Lars family. To let a loved one’s memory be forgotten was a shameful thing between the Vod’e.

           “Ah, right,” Cody said. He did a quick mental subtraction. “It’s been over a decade, though; how good of a condition could their farm be in?” Obi-wan was fidgeting with his hands again. “Cyare, what is it? You can tell me.”

           “I have, well, it didn’t seem right to let their home fall into disrepair when it was my fault they-“ Obi-wan cut himself off with a deep inhale. The exhale was shaky, and Cody could see the self-loathing and tears in his riduur’s eyes.

           Cody pulled Obi-wan into a hug, securely wrapping his arms around his riduur and resting their heads together.

           “What happened to them was not your fault, cyare, Cody muttered. “I imagine they knew the risks of taking Luke in.”

           “I was meant to protect him,” Obi-wan whimpered. “I was only in town for a few hours, but when I came back to check on them, their home had been ransacked, and they, they were-“ Obi-wan let out a sob and collapsed into Cody’s chest. “I wasn’t there in time to save them.”

           Cody had a feeling this wasn’t just about the Lars anymore, but he filed that away for another time. Cody tubbed Obi-wan’s back and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

           “There was nothing more you could’ve done,” Cody muttered. “It was not your fault.”

           “Buir?” Luke called from his room. Cody heard him approaching. “O’buir, what’s wrong?”

           Luke stopped short when he entered the room and saw Cody cradling Obi-wan. Obi-wan sniffed and sat up, trying to rub away the tears on his face. Cody held onto Obi-wan tightly, not letting his riduur move far.

           “Nothing is wrong, dear one,” Obi-wan said with a fake smile.

           “You’re crying!” Luke exclaimed, rushing over to Obi-wan. Cody shuffled over so there was room on Obi-wan’s other side for Luke to sit. Luke stopped in front of the couch; hands held out awkwardly in front of him. “Wha- what happened? Are you ok?”

           Obi-wan reached out and grabbed one of Luke’s hands with his own. “Yes, I am. Just remembering old hurts.”

           Luke frowned, perceptive as ever. “There’s more to that. You can tell me I’m not an ad’ika anymore.”

           “You will always be an ad’ika,” Cody chimed in, releasing Obi-wan so he could sit up fully. “Our ad’ika.”          

           Luke huffed and pouted, even if he would deny doing so. Obi-wan gently pulled Luke so he sat and was squished between Cody and Obi-wan.

           “You’re deflecting,” Luke muttered. Cody chuckled and wrapped an arm around Luke.

           “I’m just reminding you of your place,” Cody teased before humming. “O’buir might be deflecting.”

           Obi-wan sighed as Luke turned to glare at him. But his riduur was smiling again, so Cody counted as a win. “I wouldn’t call it deflecting as much as a tactical redirect.”

           Luke scoffed. “Just tell me what is wrong. I want to help.”

           Obi-wan softened and placed a kiss on Luke’s temple. “I know you do, dear. It is just- well, I have gone over a decade repressing it and to say it out loud hurts as if it just happened.”

           Luke was frowning and shuffling into Obi-wan. Cody’s heart warmed at the kindness his ad was displaying. “I- ok. Can you tell me what you guys were talking about before, then?”

           “We’re thinking about moving,” Cody said, groaning as he shifted to be more comfortable on their small couch. “We’re a bit short on room here.”

           “I don’t mind,” Luke responded, looking around their home. “Do we have to move?”

           “We don’t have to move, but I believe in the future you will want more personal space,” Obi-wan told Luke gently. Luke clearly didn’t like the idea of moving their home, having become attached to the space. Cody remembered the first time they stayed in their room on the Imperial Center; Luke cried himself to sleep because he wanted to go back to the Executor.

           “And we could use more evaporators, but we don’t have room for that here,” Cody added, knowing that Luke would have a harder time disagreeing with that.

           Luke stammered as he tried to come up with a counterpoint that wasn’t “I don’t want to,” and eventually gave up with a huffed. Instead, he asked, “Fine. Ok. Do you have an idea where to go? It’s not like we can just get a house in any city.”

           Cody shot Obi-wan a look. Obi-wan frowned but nodded. Looking back at his ad, Cody gently said, “There is an old moisture farm in that Jundland Wastes. The old owners- week they don’t live there anymore,”

           Luke’s eyes narrowed, annoyingly perceptive. Cody would’ve been annoyed at that if it hadn’t been his fault for teaching Luke to be perceptive. At least he could take pride in knowing that Luke listened to him.

           “And?” Luke asked. “There’s more to it.”

           Obi-wan sighed, and Cody could see the years weighing on his riduur. “It used to be the Lars homestead. It is where you grew up before-”

           Obi-wan cut himself off, looking to the side in a feeble attempt to hide his watering eyes. Cody’s gaze darted between Luke and Obi-wan, and an uneasy silence settled in the room.

           “Oh.” Luke’s quiet sound broke the silence.

           “Yes. I kept it in good condition, perhaps in some feeble hope they, and you, would return,” Obi-wan admitted weakly.

           “And I did,” Luke declared, gaining the glint in his eye that meant he was on a roll. Cody was content to sit back and watch his ad’ika pull Obi-wan out of his self-induced misery. “So it wasn’t just a feeble hope. Like you said, O’buir, ‘there are no coincidences-“

           “’Just the will of the Force,’” Obi-wan finished with a small smile. He looked at Cody with a fond glance. “Why is it that children only listen to me just to quote my teaching back at me?”

           Cody shrugged and remembered all of the mocking ‘this lightsaber is your life’ he listened to during the war. “At least they listen.”

           Luke lightly kicked Cody’s shin. “Anyways-“ Luke stressed. “If the home is there, we might as well use it, right? It’d be wasteful not to.”

           “Are you sure?” Obi-wan asked. “I don’t want you to have to deal with any unpleasant memories.”

           “O’buir, I don’t remember much from when I was younger,” Luke admitted. “It’s just feelings mostly- the majority of which are good ones. I’ll be ok. Will, uh, will you be ok?”

           Obi-wan smiled slightly and stroked a hand down Luke’s hair. “I think with you two at my side, I will be.”

           “Well then,” Cody said, leaning his weight into Luke, so he was fully squished between the two adults. Cody took a second to revel in Luke’s laughter. “It’s a good thing we’re not planning on leaving.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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Mando’s Translations:

riduur- spouse Cyare- beloved O'biur- buir is parent. O'buir denotes that Luke is addressing Obi-wan. ad'ika- child, affectionate

[thewriterowl]

Luke "Self-Disaster" Skywalker

I love oblivious!Din with affectionate/flirty!Luke...but man is it funny to think of Luke just getting whooosh over everything because he was sheltered on Tatooine and then he was just constantly fighting and dealing with daily PTSD-inducing occurrences and then was off to do Jedi stuff...he doesn't get anything outside of familial affection....

Luke: I don't think Din likes me...

Leia: (someone with actual brain-cells) Why?

Luke: He doesn't call me by my first name. He doesn't call me Skywalker either.

Leia: What does he call you?

Luke: (listing off) Cyar'ika, Riduur, sunshine of my life, soon-to-be Djarin, Clan, mine, Grogu's father, cyare, baby, my Jedi, little angel, and dumbass...oh and he headbutts me a lot too. :(

Leia: (face in her hands, in agony) How have you survived this long, you absolute brain-dead moron?

Luke: Luck mostly.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

These summer smooches have been one hell of a treat and I have loved them ALL (and will have more to say on them soon) but this one has been one of my favorites so far.

I always love the way you write Din and Reader, no matter what universe or storyline they’re in. They always have such a strong connection that you can feel and that feels right. Your characterization of Din is always spot on, and the reader characters you create for him are always such a good match - capable and brave and caring. Exactly what and who he deserves.

And it seems that he very much agrees here because they are MARRIED and she has ARMOR and I am just so damn happy about those two facts. I love that the armor is a physical manifestation of how much he wants to keep her safe.

I love that they get so much time alone together while on this job. Any time when they can snag a few hours for just themselves, out of their armor and stretched out (or not so much😏) in bed, is gold, even if it only comes between semi dangerous bounties. This is the way to seize the day, right?

But now here we are going after these slime buckets and they have the NERVE to shoot down MY RIDUUR?! I don’t care how much the price drops there’s no bringing you in alive after THAT. This is fantastic. Peak Mandalorian romance. It’s exactly how Din would react if the tables were turned and it was really fun for reader to get to be the avenging badass here.

Another thing that made me very happy? Din saying there’s plenty of bacta on the ship. Because FINALLY. He’s finally prepared for the inevitable disaster that WILL befall him. (I suspect that was Reader’s influence.) But Reader literally having it on her person because she also is prepared for the impending disaster that is her husband’s luck is even better.

That little cheek helmet smooch! That was so cute and loving and intimate and he was imagining it so hard that he definitely felt it and I love the way they respect each other’s feelings about when it’s okay to remove the helmets. It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

And Din wanting to make sure she’s really okay/get her out of that armor ASAP and get his hands on his badass riduur who he loves with his whole heart? The absolute perfect ending.

I loved ever second of this. It was fun and exciting and had me smiling and blushing. Thank you for this little adventure!!

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #9: Din Djarin - A Kiss on the Beskar

This one is for @panda-pascal and is the first of three (!) in the request.

This Din/Reader are entirely unrelated to anything else I've ever written for him, so it can be read as a one shot.

It was wonderful to get back to the Tin Can and see what he's up to while just trying to make it through the day. Thank you for requesting this one!

Word Count: 1,632

No warning, just some Star Wars swearing.

It shouldn’t have surprised you, because it wasn’t like you didn’t know the man. 

But when things went wrong where Din was concerned, they always went very wrong. 

That day was no different. 

It started out fine; Din dropping Grogu off with Karga while the two of you headed out to chase a small batch of bounties. The three of you said goodbye to each other in one of the opulent rooms at Nevarro’s city center, the Child waving his tiny clawed hand in the air and glowering at you as though he was reminding you that if anything happened to Din, he’d never forgive you. Like I don’t already know that, kid. 

And it went even better after Din punched coordinates into the Crest’s nav system, the two of you with hours of free time between Nevarro and Aridus. You were no stranger to finding ways to fill the time you had together on the ship. That day was no different - you and Din getting your fill of each other without worrying about anyone seeing or hearing something that they shouldn’t. 

You fell asleep on the small cot in the sleeping quarters, Din’s face buried in the crook of your neck. But when the alarm blared to alert you that you were reaching your destination, you woke up and dressed in almost complete silence, though there were more than a few lingering touches - skin on skin, his lips pressed to the side of your throat and the top of your shoulder - before Din was covered from head to toe in the shining armor you’d gotten to know before you got to meet the man beneath it. 

Even the trek from where you landed the ship to the village where the quarry was located went smoothly. The pair of you made good time across the surface, working out your strategy for capture. “It’ll be easy,” he said, voice low as you walked side by side across the uneven terrain. “We’ll take them by surprise and it’ll be quick. We’ll be back on the ship before dark.” 

But it went sideways when someone that wasn’t either of you shot first. Blaster fire bounced off of Din’s gleaming chest plate and then your pauldron with a second shot, you and Din diving for cover behind a large rock while the air crackled with the beams of energy. 

You weren’t hurt - the armor he’d had forged for you after the two of you recited your vows ensured that you were physically safe. But it did catch you off guard, knocking the breath from you for long moments until you steadied yourself, head whipping to the side to watch his movements as he readied his weapons. 

“Are you alright?” His voice came through your helmet’s internal modulator, and since you knew that he needed more than a nod to confirm, you groaned as you leaned against the rock, angling your body toward him to show that you were fine. 

“I am. Are you?” All you got was a grunt, and then Din was in the air, his jetpack lifting him without warning so that he could glide across the final open space and reach the target. Oh, are you kriffing serious? 

You didn’t have a pack yet. It was coming, but neither of you had been to Mandalore to speak to the Armorer about the progress, and so you were forced to remain behind the rock with both feet on the ground, sighing heavily as you watched him continue to take fire in midair.

The beskar meant that Din wouldn’t get seriously hurt, but it didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be bruises and soreness for days after an encounter like the one you were involved in. And Grogu can help if it’s really bad. 

A sudden shout of pain drew your attention again, your head snapping back to see that Din’s jetpack had been the target of a new attack. He was tumbling toward the ground, his arms flailing wildly while he tried to keep himself upright. Where is this coming from? You reached up, pressing your finger to your temple and turning on the thermal imaging within your visor. 

It didn’t take you long to find the source of the blaster fire - two creatures crouched on the other side of the clearing, their attention fully on the Mandalorian. And not on me. With a few more seconds of observation, you confirmed that one of them was your quarry, the chain code flashing on the screen before your eyes. Thank the Maker. 

You used their distraction to your advantage, crouching down and sneaking through the underbrush to where they were without making a sound - just like he’d taught you. As you approached, they kept firing and you used that, too, waiting until you were within a few feet to announce your presence. “Surprise.” 

They immediately turned to face you, shouting in a language you couldn’t understand. A single blaster shot from you relieved one of them of their weapon - and knocked him flat on his back, unconscious. The other repositioned his feet, glaring, but you stood your ground.

“Don’t even think about it.” Finger on the trigger, you took a breath. “Normally, I’d take you in alive for the bigger reward, but I’m not giving you that option today.”

The creature opened his mouth, snarling, and in the split second you had to react, you fired again, his body hitting the ground with a thud followed by a cack moments later as his head made contact, too. “You shot my riduur, you karking son of a Gundark.” 

Once you were sure both creatures were down for the count, you hurried back toward where Din laid, the man on his side and holding his elbow in one gloved hand. “Are you hurt?” 

He groaned the question out, the pain evident in his words. When you dropped to your knees beside the man, peeling your gloves off and reaching for him, you hissed at the warmth of blood seeping through the material of his flight suit and onto your fingers. “I’m not. But they got you, Din.” 

“Plenty of bacta on the ship. I’ll be fine.” He sat up, head shaking back and forth. “We need to get him tied for transport. I think my pack is mucked up, and that means we have to drag him, so -”

“Din.” Kneeling in front of him, you reached out with both hands, settling them on his shoulders. “Stop. Just for a second.” He froze, his visor facing forward. You knew without seeing him that he was staring at you, and when you cocked your head to the side, he mirrored the motion, but stayed quiet. “I have bacta in my bag.” Removing your hands from him, you reached up, pulling your helmet off and setting it carefully on the ground beside you. The air feels good. I wish he would … 

You knew that Din wouldn’t remove his helmet in the open. There were still days he left it on in your home during daytime hours, but that didn’t mean that you had to do the same. Having your face uncovered made cleaning his injury up much easier, despite your hands shaking as you reached into your bag, removing the canister and uncapping it. 

Using your fingertips, you spread the hole in his suit open, aiming the nozzle and letting the liquid flow onto the wound. Din bit back a grunt of pain at the sensation, but was otherwise still, and when you were satisfied with the treatment you rocked back and onto your heels, nodding. “I’ll check it again when we get back to the ship, but that’s as good as I can do here.” 

“Thank you.” He reached up, two gloved fingers under your chin. “For taking care of me.” You’d been with him for years but the praise and admiration in his voice - even when it was modulated - always struck you as hard as it had the first time. And it always will. 

Rather than replying verbally, though, you leaned in, giving him a small smile before you pressed your lips to the smooth beskar of his helmet, just to the right of the t-shaped opening - and atop where his stubbled cheek would have been. You lingered there, eyes closed. When you felt his hands on your hips, grip tight, your smile grew. “You’re welcome, Din.”  

“We need to get back so I can make sure you really aren’t hurt .” He rose up onto his knees, using his hold on you to keep balance when he straightened up further. You let him help you to your feet, too, Din’s hold on you never loosening. When you were standing in front of Din, he nodded once, the gleam of his helmet bright in the light of the planet’s bright sun. “This is The Way.”

You didn’t even try to hold back your laugh at his declaration - one that you’d heard thousands of times before - reaching up to put your palm against the cheek you hadn’t kissed. “Whatever you say, Din.” He nodded again, that one little more than a slight tilt of his chin, but then he laughed at your next words, the sound amplified by the modulator in his helmet as it joined yours. “Unless you try to tell me it’s going to be easy again. Because today was not the -”

He bent down, picking your helmet up off the ground and handing it to you. You took it, still stifling your laughter. No matter how dangerous things got, or how unpredictable your life had become since meeting Din at a skughole cantina all those years ago, you wouldn’t have traded it for any number of credits in the galaxy. And I don’t think he would, either. 

— 

[elendiliel]

Brotherly Love

As requested by @gaeasun, this features her OC Twitch. (I recommend reading her fics, in general and for more and better Twitch content.) (Sorry this took so long; life has only just ceased to be more chaotic than usual. If it has insufficient Twitch, or otherwise isn't up to scratch, please say so and I'll think of something else.) I'm still accepting requests, by the way, and hopefully will fulfil them faster now that I'm a person of fixed abode once more (as opposed to a series of unfixed abodes).

Timeline: Healing AU, the day after the battle of Sundari (described here).

---

That’ll do. Helli let the tension drain out of her shoulders and back for maybe the twentieth time that day – or possibly the fiftieth. She’d long since lost count. The man on the makeshift med-bay bed in front of her, a vod in Wolfpack grey by the name of Torak, slept on, blissfully unaware of anything around him. As the young Jedi Knight had just finished reassembling his right femur, as well as cleaning the deep cuts left by fragments of his cuisse, driven into his flesh by the impact of the slugthrower round that had broken the bone beneath, and fitting a bacta cast over the top of the whole mess, that was a blessing – one bestowed by a medic armed with some very strong sedatives. Helli could take pain away without resorting to drugs, but the sensation of bones moving around under the skin is none too pleasant, as she knew all too well from her own past injuries.

Medicine had never really been her field; she had plenty of first-aid training and rather too much practical experience, but hadn’t made any systematic study of the area. And she wasn’t aware of any affinity for Force-healing, and didn’t dare try to find out just then. But the battle for Sundari had left a lot of people injured, and anyone with any kind of expertise had been called in to help treat them, including Helli and her riduur Torrent. (It was better than listening to Master Kenobi and Lady Bo-Katan Kryze sort out the new relationship between Mandalore and the Republic. Helli was a diplomat by training, with no interest in politics – the main difference being that while diplomats deal in decades and centuries, politicians deal in weeks. Besides, she and Bo-Katan had been at odds since they first met, and any favours the new Mand’alor might owe the jetii had been well and truly used up when the latter insisted that all the casualties of the battle should be treated – Maul’s forces as well as Bo-Katan’s, the Republic’s and the few civilians that had, despite everyone’s best efforts, been caught in the crossfire. Hence the overflowing medcentre and overworked medics.)

Helli had been working flat-out for hours, like every baar’ur in the city – though her skills were rather more specialised than those of most others. She couldn’t heal, exactly, but she could convince a dying person to stay alive a little longer, set a complex fracture faster than any surgeon (at the cost of a splitting headache), or even treat a recalcitrant Child of the Watch for a head wound blindfolded. Usually, though, she had been confined to simpler cases under the official supervision of one of Bo-Katan’s junior medics and a young clone from the 501st, Twitch. Despite being attached to that battalion herself, Helli hadn’t really known Twitch well up until then – he’d first been deployed only the previous year, just before the Umbara campaign, and her unit as a whole had spent little time with the rest of the legion since that near-disaster – but she liked him immensely. He was a talented medic, compassionate and patient, brave enough to be kind in spite of everything the galaxy had tried to do to him. And by all accounts – including that of Fives, Helli’s vod’ika and one of Twitch’s special ori’vode – he was clever and cunning as well, able, for example, to manipulate the most stubborn brother into letting himself be helped or slip hair dye into the shampoo of anyone who deserved it.

The other medic, Bess Skirata, was even less familiar to Helli, but she was clearly cast in the same mould as Twitch, sweet, gentle, smart and very good at her job despite being only about nineteen or twenty, younger than the Jedi woman and not much more than Twitch’s biological age. She was a medical student, on a fast-track programme and likely to go far. And she was also what would be called on Helli’s birth-world a wee brammer. That might have been part of the reason Twitch kept staring at her when he wasn’t consciously focused on a patient, only to look away, blushing furiously, when she seemed about to turn towards him. (Not the whole reason by any means, Helli was sure. Twitch wasn’t that shallow – no clone she knew was – but he was remarkably intuitive and good at reading people even after such a short acquaintance.) Which meant he couldn’t see that Bess was watching him in exactly the same way.

Shaking herself mentally, Helli brought her own focus back to her work. She’d had no sleep for well over a rotation and no caf or food for much of that, and her attention was wandering even more than Twitch’s apparently sometimes did. (One or two of her classmates had the same issue. It hadn’t prevented them from reaching their full potential as Jedi.) Mechanically, she stripped off her latest pair of surgical gloves, stained with Torak’s blood – the medic who’d originally treated him had had to prioritise the fractured femur, so the cuts had been a mess by the time she dealt with them – turning them inside out as she did so and adding them to the ever-growing pile in the clinical waste bin. Still on autopilot, she washed her hands thoroughly before typing a brief report on her datapad, having to self-correct multiple spelling and grammar mistakes as she told the Wolfpack’s medics what she had done and what Torak would need to help him recover fully. Mostly physiotherapy.

As she checked the datapad and her intuition for cases requiring her immediate attention (there were none), she found herself zoning out again, her focus locked on her own hands. Tools of her trade, as meticulously maintained as any other, and almost as battered. Still long, slender and elegant, nearly as pale as the rest of her, musician’s hands, surgeon’s hands, but criss-crossed with a warrior’s scars, one finger adorned with a durasteel band engraved in the spiky Mando’a script. Deft and dexterous, but so strong, able to break bones as easily as set them. Instruments of pain and healing. Like her.

Stars, she was tired.

“Your prescription’s here.” Helli was smiling even before she turned around and saw who had spoken to her. Fives was always a welcome sight – doubly so when he was holding out a cup of caf. Three more disposable cups were balanced precariously in a holder in his other hand, presumably destined for Twitch, Torrent and himself. He must have prised himself from Echo’s side to take care of his other brothers and sister.

“Lifesaver.” Helli meant it. If she’d kept going without either caffeine or a break, she’d probably have made a mistake – quite possibly a fatal one. As she took her cup from her vod’ika, she could tell it was already at a comfortable drinking temperature. Fives had probably even let the hot water cool slightly before adding it to the powder, knowing she had Views on how to brew caf and tea – especially tea. In fact, he’d made it just how she liked it, as the first gulp of her favourite drug told her. Double strength, no sugar, and the right proportion of milk, cooling the caf and taking the very edge off the bitter taste without ruining the flavour. Not that there was much flavour.

“I couldn’t find anything better,” Fives said apologetically. Helli wondered how hard he’d tried. And how many people he’d argued with in the process.

“Medcentre caf is always bad. It’s a galactic constant. Probably to try to stop the staff overindulging, but when you’re as tired as I am the formulation doesn’t matter, only the dose.” She took another sip, the headache she’d been resolutely ignoring already starting to ease. “Tor’s been roped in to help in surgery, but Twitch is just finishing up, if you’d like to wait.” Fives did like. Putting the other cups down on a spare table, he leaned against the wall beside her, his own caf in one hand. Single-dose and drowned in milk, presumably. Helli raised an eyebrow and a half at him – he was supposed to be cutting down on stimulants after a near-fatal injury to his heart – but he was entirely unabashed. The battle had been hours before, and if something were to go wrong, it couldn’t happen in a better place.

The remaining cups were easy to match to their intended recipients. Torrent’s was almost pitch-black, double strength without milk or sugar. He was the only one of their team who didn’t complain about the way she made caf, even as a joke. Twitch’s, on the other hand, didn’t look like caf at all.

“Is there any caffeine in that?”

“Some. But it’s mostly hot chocolate. That’s how he likes it.” Of course it was. Fives was fluent in all the love languages, though his native one was touch, and used them at every opportunity. And few things say “I love you” like a perfectly made cup of a tired vod’ika’s favourite hot drink.

Companionable silence fell over their end of the room as they drank their caf and demolished a couple of small packets of biscuits (medcentre standard issue again, shortbread studded with little pieces of dried fruit), watching Twitch and Bess at work. Helli could sense Fives’ growing unease even before he “spoke” telepathically (not wanting the others to hear).

Are you seeing this? He knew she knew what he meant – and what her answer would be.

I’ve barely seen anything else when I’m not concentrating on a patient. They’re not as subtle as they think, except to each other. More subtle than Anakin, I suppose, but that’s not hard.

True. I am happy for Twitch, or will be if this comes to anything. He deserves all the good things he can get. I just didn’t think he’d be the first one to have a crush on anyone. Twitch was the youngest of Fives’ 501st squad, not yet ten.

I think it’s more than that. Helli was no expert on romance – she hadn’t even noticed Torrent’s feelings for her for months, and it had taken her over two years and a near-death experience to be sure of hers for him – but she was as sure as she could be in that case. On both sides.

Seriously? Under other circumstances, Fives would have looked at her in astonishment, his eyebrows almost at his hairline. That young? He’s nine, and she can’t be more than twenty. I thought that was reserved for cheap holonovels.

As far as I can tell. And he’s mentally eighteen, remember. It’s unusual to fall in love so young, but not impossible. I was eighteen when I fell for Torrent, though I didn’t realise it back then. I thought it was just a crush, and I knew those feelings weren’t anywhere near as important as my duty, so I put them on one side to deal with another time. Maybe when I wasn’t his CO. Perhaps that wasn’t a healthy thing to do, but I thought it was necessary. I couldn’t have known what that other time would be.

Nobody could. But you’re happy with him now, aren’t you? It was mostly a rhetorical question, but not entirely. Fives was fiercely protective of his vod’ikase. If he thought Torrent wasn’t good for Helli, or Bess for Twitch, he’d have serious words with them at the very least.

Very. But I’m glad we waited as long as we did. If we’d – started anything – when he first told me he loved me, I doubt it would have gone well. Logistics and the Code aside, we were too young, and we didn’t know each other well enough. We didn’t quite have that kind of two-way respect and trust that’s essential for a good marriage. They can grow after marriage, of course, as can love, but the other way round is better. Helli watched Twitch and Bess for a while. I hope those two realise that. I think they will be right for each other, but rushing into anything could be a recipe for disaster.

Twitch will. He’s smart enough, and mature for his age, even by our standards. He’s had to be. What do you know about her? That protective instinct again. Fives wanted to make sure his kih’vod’ika didn’t get hurt in any way if he could help it.

She’s Clan Skirata, which is a decent start. Kal Skirata’s cousin. Fives was too young to have been taught by any of the Cuy’val Dar, but he clearly knew Kal’s reputation as one of the better instructors on Kamino before the Mandalorians left and the Jedi took over. Clan Skirata tended to be relatively moderate – not hard-line pacifists like the New Mandalorians, but not as extreme as Death Watch either. Bess obviously agreed with the majority of her family. Her traditional beskar’gam, no doubt inherited from a family member and reforged, was painted with symbols and designs associated with healing and peace. A good match for Twitch’s shell, and especially his bucket, marked with a medic’s cross and four dots and four lines on each side, representing his batchmates, who had marched on one by one on Umbara. The brother they had left behind had, if anything, become more compassionate, more determined to save everyone he could, especially his vode, as a result. Medical student. Started two years early, and likely to graduate early as well. Top of her class. Helli had asked her and Fives’ teammate Spark to slice into Bess’s university records between patients. She might not know Twitch as well as Fives did, but she still had an interest in his welfare. Personality-wise, she’s a lot like him – maybe a bit more assertive, which is no bad thing in the circumstances. I think they’ll make each other happy one day.

One day, Fives agreed, having probably made his own assessment of the young medic. Out loud, he said, “Well, I’d better deliver these before they get cold.” Picking up the other two cups of caf, he made his way over towards Twitch, timing his approach such that his brother was clearly occupied, but Bess wasn’t, so it seemed natural for him to give Twitch’s homemade mocha and another packet of biscuits (chocolate, presumably) to her to pass on later. Helli had to conceal her smile with another sip of caf as Fives left. Smooth, vod’ika. Very smooth.

“I know that look.” The sound of her husband’s voice caused Helli’s heart to skip a beat. She leaned against Torrent, unbothered by his new beskar armour, as he put an arm around her shoulders, inhaling his scent – bacta, disinfectant and soap as well as caf and the sweet-spicy-sharp biscuits he liked, all overlaid on his indefinable but unmistakable Torrent-ness – and only mildly annoyed with herself for letting time slip away from her again. “What have you been up to?”

“Nothing in particular.” Technically true, Helli thought as she gave her cyare a playful look.

His smile, and his sigh, told her he wasn’t in the mood for her games, but wasn’t annoyed with them either. “All right. What has Fives been up to, with your blessing?”

“Just a bit of matchmaking.” Torrent followed her gaze to where Twitch and Bess were chatting away and sharing Twitch’s mocha and biscuits. “So I see. Though I didn’t see that coming. Any other vod would be in for a lot of teasing, but not him.” Not just because Twitch had many ori’vode at least as protective as Fives. The canny young lad was entirely capable of looking after himself. “How long would you give it? Five years?”

Helli considered the question for a few moments. “I’d say three.”

They were both wrong. It was about ten years before they found themselves at the younger couple’s wedding in the newly rebuilt Mandalorian city of Keldabe, surrounded by their own fosterlings and adopted children, a host of vode and their adike, Bess’s extended aliit – not just extended but elongated and protracted – and even a few other Jedi, including the chaos incarnate that was the Skywalker-Amidala family. Helli was sure Twitch and Bess had been ready to take that step for years, but it just hadn’t happened until then. Other things kept getting in the way – Bess’s training and career as a high-flying doctor, Twitch’s as a physical therapy assistant, and many other factors. They had even completely lost touch a few times, much to their burc’yase’s chagrin, but always rekindled their friendship. At last, a year or so before, Bess had finally started actually flirting with Twitch, and he had been more than happy to respond in kind. The rest was history.

The ceremony itself was short and sweet, in traditional Mandalorian fashion. Helli remembered the vows well from her own wedding, but noticed that the final part – mhi ba’juri verde, we raise warriors – was not just included but clearly important to both parties. Twitch would be a good buir, she thought, having noticed how well he got on with his many nieces and nephews, and even with Anakin’s unruly ade. And as he’d been one of the first clones to have his ageing acceleration reversed, he’d get to see his children grow up and have adike of their own, in a peaceful galaxy. Neither he nor his new riduur deserved any less.

The wedding feast would not be so short, especially as it was impossible to stop Fives making a speech when he wanted to do so. Not that anyone minded. Twitch was the last of his vod’ikase to marry and move away – though if Helli were any judge, 501st vodpiles still weren’t a thing of the past, merely rarer. And he could claim an amount of responsibility for that marriage. After all, if it hadn't been for one act of brotherly love, anything else might have happened.

---

Mando'a glossary:

Vod: brother/sister/sibling; informally, clone or honorary clone. Ori' means "older"; kih' and 'ika are factual and affectionate diminutives, respectively; -e and -se are plural endings.

Riduur: husband/wife/spouse.

Baar'ur: medic.

Beskar'gam: armour, especially Mandalorian beskar armour.

Cyare: beloved.

Adike: little ones, sons, daughters, children. Diminutive of ade, which means much the same thing.

Aliit: clan, family.

Burc'yase: friends.

Buir: father, mother, parent.

In Scottish (possibly specifically Glaswegian) slang, a brammer is a beauty, usually used of a girl or woman.

[beskarberry]

The Most Dangerous Game

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 7, Book Two Prologue

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

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

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 9k

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

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

<-Previous Next->

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So easily? How disappointing.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You...”

“Yep.”

“And him…?” 

“Uh huh.”

“So now you’re…?”

“You almost got it, Kargsy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Starsong. Is...is that ok?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cyar’ika...this isn’t-”

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

“You there! Have you seen any mandos?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you have in mind?”

“I thought you hated my plans.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-Twang!-” 

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

“Blam!”

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

“Are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” 

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

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

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

“More.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No...fresher…”

“Oh aren’t you thoughtful."

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

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

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

“Are you still hungry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No. The IG units broke it."

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

"You make me happy, buckethead."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you wish.”

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[jessiebanethedragon]

Could you do Crosshair and his so on the ship and no one around, and they just start dancing aimlessly?

Love this ask, (i love dancing even tho im hopeless at it) hope you enjoy!

Songs mentioned: Little Help -  The BossHoss,  Waterloo - ABBA

Crosshair could hear the music begin from his room, or should he say your shared room? Considering you sneak into it every night for cuddles unbeknownst to his brothers. His brothers, who were currently on a supply run in the inner city. Leaving you and Crosshair alone and unsupervised. And as the love of your life had still been asleep when you woke, you had decided your Holopad needed music and you needed to dance. 

Hair up, loose clothes and, oh yeah, the beat just kicked in. Moving with a very obvious lack of planning and rhythm you’re really starting to get into it and just as the first verse starts to turn into the chorus…

“Well, what do we have here?” Crosshair soothes out, leaning  against the hull of the ship, just in the bottom half of his blacks. You stop, mid twirl, almost crashing to the ground as you frantically pause the music. 

“Nothing, we have nothing here.” You say firmly, trying not to be embarrassed. 

“Oh do continue, I was quite enjoying the show.” He’s teasing you, loving how pink your cheeks get. But slowly a slightly evil smile crosses your face. 

“I’ll dance if you join me.” You offer with a purposeful lip bite and fluttering eyelids.

“Oh I don’t think so.” He laughs, but you’re crossing the room to get to him. 

“Come on riduur, it’s just us, and you need practice for our grand wedding” You exclaim, cheeks bunching up as you smile widely. 

“Who says I'm marrying you?” He’s still teasing you, standing up a little straighter as you get closer to him, bouncing on your toes and twisting a little with each step. It looks stupid but you love it. 

“If you need a little love, my friend, come along I will understand…” you start to sing, grabbing his hands gently and pressing play on the holopad spinning you both around at an arm's length in wild circles. He pulls you close enough to dip you with a squeal of happiness from your lips. 

“Not a word to anyone about this cayre.” He says into your ear, his arms keeping you from crashing to the floor. You purse your lips closed and nod excitedly. Crosshair pulls you up into another messy twirl. There's no rhyme or reason to any of the moves, it’s just you, him, the music and the crazy amount of love you have for eachother. He moves to stop as the song finishes but he sees you start to jump as the song beings 

MY MY!

“Waterloo!!!” You chant as you start belting out lyrics and he takes you in his arms for a very silly and messed up ballroom-esqe, naboo-royalty type of dance. 

“Waterloo! Promise to love you forevermore!” You chant as you lean in to place a peck on his smiling face. If Crosshair had his way he would spend the rest of  his life dancing with you smiling in his arms. And little do you know, but he’s living for the day the war ends and he can run off with you for good. 

You dance until the songs run out and he’s just swaying the two of you to an imaginary beat. His chin on your head, committing the  feeling of your head on his chest to memory, just like he does every night you join him in his bunk. He places a kiss to your forehead, leaning back. 

“You left something out again.” He chastises you, not serious at all.  Producing a small ring from the pocket of his blacks, the sparkling rock he found on a mission dazzling in the center of a ring made from old metal. He slips it onto the correct finger and places a kiss to your knuckles. 

“It’s not my fault I have to hide it from your brothers.” You rebuke, marveling at the ring and the man you love so much.

“You wanna tell em?” Crosshair asks as he pulls you close again to dance to a song that isn't there. 

“We have to eventually. They have to attend the wedding.” You lay your head on his  bare chest again.

“Do you want our wedding to be a gory disaster?” Cross remarks. 

“Yes, red colour palette with an isle of bones and, oooh, little droid head centerpieces, it’ll be so cute!” He laughs and shakes his head, tightening his grip around you. You two don’t get a lot of touchy-feely time but  when you do, maker is Crosshair clingy. The sound of the ramp opening results in a very large sigh from your Riddur. 

“The Hooligans have returned.” He groans out. 

“They’re your brothers.” you  point out with a playful smack to his shoulder. 

“I’m well aware.” He states grimly, and with a pout. “But I was hoping for one more dance.”

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) mirjahaal STAR WARS

The glass sand stretches endlessly before him, and Obi-Wan continues to stumble on ward, something deep inside his chest urging him to keep moving.

The mission to Mandalore had been a disaster from the beginning. He had felt at home as soon as he had seen the planet approaching in the spaceport, something in his soul singing as a tension he never knew he had lessened, but as soon as his feet had touched the ground, the fifteen year old had very nearly collapsed in agony. The planet was screaming, wailing in pain around him; sounds that no one else could hear. Anger and fear not his own had nearly overwhelmed him, a deep-rooted anguish had settled deep in his bones and hadn’t left him since.

He had continued on with the mission as expected of him. He had pushed beyond those emotions to focus on the Living Force as Master Qui-Gon had expected of him, and he’d tried to release his steadily boiling grief, and annoyance with the Duchess into the Force. It hasn’t completely worked, and the longer he traveled Mandalore with Satine Kryze, the more enraged he grew.

Manda’yaim was suffering, and Satine looked to destroy everything that remained. She wanted to ruin everything about Manda’s children, the good and the bad. She wanted to steal the very soul of Ka’ra and burn it until nothing remained so that she could build something poisoned in its place. She wasn’t the voice of healing and peace that she liked to claim she was - everything she wanted to do would bring needless destruction and death, all so she could build something ‘new’ in her own image.

Master Qui-Gon had bought into all of Satine’s propaganda, and wanted to help her kill the Beskaryc Kar'ta of Manda and Ka’ras’ children. It had led to tension and anger in the months they traveled together, and Obi-Wan suspects these arguments were the reason why his Master had chosen Obi-Wan to cover the retreat with the Duchess when Death Watch had tracked them down. Obi-Wan had managed to defeat the group of ramikade sent to kill the young Duchess, but Master Qui-Gon and Satine were long gone, and Obi-Wan couldn’t reach them over their comms.

They had left him - his Master had left him - and Kyr’tsad were still coming.

Injured, Obi-Wan had had to move. He had forced himself to run, despite the agony radiating from the injury in his gut, and led his pursuers into the desert. Obi-Wan had let his feet carry him onward into the white sands, towards something that called out to the deepest parts of his soul, and he had kept running even after he had lost the Kyr’tsad ramikade after him.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, but something calls to him beyond the dunes. Every step he takes, he sees double - glass deserts are replaced by a lush jungle with a thick green canopy and singing birds. He’s surrounded by flowers of all colours, and he can hear a river that doesn’t exist running alongside the invisible path he follows, and an overwhelming sensation of peace comes over him. He passes a dune that a part of him tells his mind a crystal lake should be - he could once see the blue and pink jewels through the clear water. He used to sit there with his riduur, and they’d share the day’s offerings between them as they spoke about their siblings and children and acolytes. He used to run his hands through his riduur’s long curls there, confident that they’d find each other in every life. They’d make love in the crystal caves behind the waterfall, praying to their Mother and Father that the seeds would take and their family would grow once more. He feels warm hands that could easily be used to destroy but are gentle when they touch him, he sees molten gold eyes and a crooked smile, and he hears loving words murmured in his ear. They’re opposites in every way, but they were made for each other.

Obi-Wan doesn’t understand these visions he’s seeing, but they’re lovely enough that he wishes he could. He wants to live those visions he sees, but the jungle is gone, and the crystals destroyed. Everything that had once been here had been reduced to nothing during the haar Dral’Han. Half the planet had been boiled by the bombings. The population had been drowned and encased in molten beskar when the god-blessed ore had been melted and forced to the surface by the scorching heat.

Whatever had been here is long gone, buried under his feet. There had been a village here, once, one filled with a loving population who would follow the very trail Obi-Wan follows now, to pray at the Temple. Who’s Temple? He feels like he should know, but those memories have been encased in a thick wall of beskar and every time he tries to push past it agony radiates from the wound in his stomach, and the bleeding starts anew, staining the white sands he walks across red.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been traveling the desert, but he’s exhausted and aching, his vision growing gray at the edges. Still he walks though; he pushes past the pain to follow the voices in his head, calling him forwards.

And then he sees it. There’s a gleaming Temple in the sands - it had blinked into existence in the few moments Obi-Wan hadn’t been paying attention. It’s familiar, and it feels like home . It shouldn’t exist, he knows this, it had fallen during haar Dral’Haan - Obi-Wan had memories of scared worshipers hiding in the walls, of the defenses woven into the structure by his Mother and Father failing as fire and molten metal swallows the land that was supposed to be under his protection. Weakened by the magicks of the Sith and the Jedi, he hadn't been able to save them as they were overcome.

He steps through the wide entrance, entranced by the great Temple and his feet carrying him deeper. He walks past thousands of carvings telling the stories of the gods and their children, and the great battles of Manda’yaim. He remembers each battle, remembers walking across the planet afterwards, healing the wounds upon its surface and its people. He remembers laying in his riduur’s massive bed in his Temple outside of Keldabe as his ka’runi rests after each conflict, tracing each scar the battles and wars left on his skin. Collecting the dead souls to deliver to their Mother and Father was a tiring job, but his ka’runi did it with such care. He cradled each dead soul with the same gentleness Obi-Wan would a newborn, and he’d punish those who committed heinous acts. Obi-Wan had loved him as fiercely as he and loved him, as much as he loved every child he carried, no matter the life.

He doesn’t know where these memories come from, but they feel right. They’re his, just as much as his riduur was, and just as much as their children were.

He lets his feet lead him, thoughts fuzzy, to the great altar set in the center of his Temple. He barely feels the blood dripping from his body, splattering glittering gold across the spotless floor as he makes his way towards it. He feels right as he sits down on the warm beskar and wood, his blood singing in his veins and welcoming him home. Around him, the crystals lining the domed ceiling light up like millions of blue stars, catching on the colourful glass of the windows and casting puzzles of colour across the beautiful chamber as it hums with life .

He’s home.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan lays down on the altar, feeling life spread across what had once been the desert around his Temple. He feels it as Manda’yaim begins to heal. Water is bubbling up past the sands, plant life is beginning to take once more, and he can sense his jai'galaare stirring. He lays down, feeling his memories come back to him like a gentle stream that soothes the jagged part of his soul that he didn’t know existed, calling for its other half.

He’s Obi-Wan Kenobi, but he’s also something more. He’s Mirja’Naak as well. He is the second oldest child of Manda and Ka’ra. He is Life, he is Peace, and he is the time of healing that follows every great battle.

(Across the stars, weighed down by chains and agony and loss, Jango Fett opens his eyes, his soul whole once more, and Tal’Kyrbash smiles as he reaches back to his love. He is of Death. He is of Bloody Battles. He is his Father's guide and executioner. He is the lover of Life, and his other half calls him home.)

[allowaykirk]

Sickfic WIP 😈

Cobb: What if I take care of myself? Will you take care of yourself then?

Din: no :)

[ccinagalaxyfaraway]

Plo/Wolffe have to go undercover as a couple for handwavey diplomacy reasons, except they’re already practically married—your choice on if everyone or no one already knows it

Mace Windu is probably having the time of his life. His birthday, the Order’s birthday, and every holiday in existence has come early. He may well have been a saint in a previous life, for this to be happening now. Plo considers that perhaps he should have been better behaved in his youth, and then he might not be faced with a very delighted Master of the Order handing over a mission brief with instructions to take his Commander with him.

“Why lie when we don’t have to?” says Mace, waving him off. 

Why lie indeed. He looks at the brief. He’s going to be attending a diplomatic reception with his spouse. In theory, his spouse would be a legal fiction manufactured to help him fit in. In actuality, Mace is laughing his ass off at the opportunity to get genuine, unspliced footage of Plo introducing Wolffe as his husband, probably so that he can win the betting pool that people think he doesn’t know about. 

For the love of the Force. 

He gets back to his quarters in the Temple, which have temporarily been adjusted for Wolffe, and curls up on one of the meditation cushions, because even at his age, his default procrastination method is to take a nap. When he wakes up, the sun is coming in from the horizon through the windows that are usually blacked-out for his eyes, and Wolffe is sitting by him stroking his head with an expression that might be considered wistful. 

“Mornin’,” says Wolffe. “How was your day?”

“Difficult, in a harmless way,” says Plo. “And in related news, we have a new assignment.” He pushes himself up and stretches, working out the kinks in his neck and his back, enjoying the firm press of Wolffe’s fingers into the knots that have formed, and then briefly pressing his mask to Wolffe’s forehead. 

“Oh?” Wolffe takes the briefing from him and skims over it, flipping through the documents while Plo goes to make tea. “Doesn’t seem so bad.”

“I would have thought you’d have more objections,” Plo says from the kitchenette.

“You’re not getting shot at, and I get to show you off as my riduur. What more could I want?”

“You do know that everyone’s having a laugh about maneuvering us into the proverbial supply closet,” says Plo. 

“Sounds like a personal problem,” says Wolffe. Plo snorts. “I even get to not wear my dress greys. Oh, hey, you think you could wear that getup you wore for that thing on Hapes?”

“Ithor’s almost all forest, so probably not,” says Plo. 

-

The reception is fairly generic, as far as diplomatic receptions go: pretty people in pretty clothing gliding across a ballroom, plates of cheeses and glasses of wine, idle chatter and gossip thinly veiled as networking. Wolffe has grown to enjoy these events since the end of the war; as irritating as being nice to idiots remains, he’s rarely the one who has to do the talking or schmoozing, and sometimes he even gets to carry over his assumed role later into the evening. His suit is well-tailored and his belly well-fed, and he has his riduur at his side in a lovely green tunic and matching scarf draped around his neck. Every time they meet someone new, he gets a flush of warmth hearing Plo say my husband. 

Plo, meanwhile, is winding tighter and tighter as the night goes on. 

“What’s wrong?” Wolffe asks when he starts rhythmically tapping his claws against his glass, the contents of which have largely been diverted to Wolffe’s. 

“There’s no reason for us to be here,” Plo murmurs. “All of this is known information.” He looks across the room. All thepl expected political rivalries are present and well-behaved, no one is fuming, even the opposing faction leaders are a half glass of drink from disappearing for private negotiations. The Force feels supremely unconcerned. He doesn’t know what to make of it. He allows Wolffe to take his hand and guide him outdoors.

“How’re you doing?” Wolffe asks gruffly. He picks a wall to lean against, one knee bent and the other locked, Plo settled in front of him with an eye towards the festivities. “Still tense?”

He doesn’t mean just now. With Palpatine’s unfortunate passing, the GAR’s dissolution, and the Force re-balanced, many things have changed in the last year. It hasn’t been nearly enough time for the atmosphere in the Temple to settle back into what it once was. Many of the Jedi are still struggling; the elders with loss, the younger with learning peace when war is all they’ve known. Even the children know something is different, with new minds and new emotions surrounding them. Plo is trying to remember a time he was not constantly anticipating a disaster; too much quiet feels like the prelude to violence now. Peace feels like a lie. 

Why are they here? There is no unresolvable conflict, no violence, no diplomatic tension. It is not uncommon for Jedi to be sent as observers, but this is not a major occasion, and there is no intelligence to confirm or refute either. Are they being set up? But why would Mace of all people go to the trouble? Is there something he’s missing?

“Come back,” says Wolffe, squeezing his hands. “There you are.”

“Forgive me,” says Plo. “I was thinking.”

“You do that a lot lately,” says Wolffe. “You know it’s just a party.”

“I want to believe it,” says Plo. He sighs. “I don’t think I do, quite yet. The last few decades have been full of twists and shadows.” 

The wind passes through the branches above them, carrying leaves in little spirals overhead; both of them look up in time to see lightning flash in the clouds. The air is warm and heavy. “Maybe your bad feeling is warning you it’s gonna rain,” says Wolffe, and Plo chuckles as thunder rolls in the distance.

“Maybe it is,” he agrees. “I’m making trouble, aren’t I?”

“A little,” says Wolffe, “but you aren’t the only one. Sometimes I forget I don’t get live intel reporting anymore. But right now - can you believe me that we’re safe, and there’s nothing funny going on, and we’re just here to have a nice time?” He pulls Plo into a hug at his nod and kisses the side of his head. “Think of it as a long-overdue honeymoon. Just you and me and nothing to do . . . “

[wtfamidoing-fam]

Codywan prompt (4/6)

 Hello there I’ve been wrestling with this for a while so I’m just gonna dump this out here. Let me know what you think! Written from a promt that SWmoddy released to find a good home!

I make no excuses for this shinanagians. 

enjoy.

Cody woke up to three shit eating grin’s and a huge headache.

Cody woke up with the taste of something dead and dry in his mouth, some asshole was slamming the door to  the sleeping area, repeatedly. With a tremendous amount of energy Cody pried one of his eyes open, Wolffe stood my the door the bastard smiled happily as he loudly placed a cup of caff down on the crate beside the rack.

“Kote! You said some very interesting things last night. Anything you want to share, with your dear old batchmate?” After a carful moment of deliberation Cody retreated silently to the warmth and darkness of his rack, ignoring Wolffe from the moment. Cody’s addled mind was not quite up to the task of reminding him exactly what exactly Wolffe was so pleased about but he hid anyway.

It did not work as well as he would have liked, as Wolffe made short work out of blanket haven reveling him to the pale light in the barracks. Cody squinted for a short moment before the feeling of an virboblade being shoved though his eye socket forced him to screw them shut and roll over mashing his face into his pillow.

“Soooo,” Wolffe sing songed over Cody mumbled protests. “are you going to tell me that te dajunar is or who I’m helping you get vengeance on? Or are you going to continue to hid in your pillow?”  Cody rolled over as the memories of what exactly happened last night crashed into him. So much about forgetting his spiraling feeling for a night. Cody groaned.

“Well that was embarrassing.”

“Yep.”

“and you know now that it’s Kenobi?”

“anyone that speaks Mandalorian knows.”

Cody swore quietly.

“If it helps your not the only one? I mean I’m pretty sure Bly is head over heels for his General.” Wolffe said hesitantly.

“Really?” Cody had to think a moment before connecting Bly to General Vos’s padawan, a young blue twi'lek if Cody remembered. Much calmer then Skywalker if Cody was to judge. Good for Bly, he was always the more quite ones.

Wolffe took Cody’s contemplative silence as encouragement and continued on.  

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure half the shinnies these days come out with a pre-programed hero worship and crush on at least one Jedi.” Wolffe continued picking up steam in his clumsy efforts to make Cody feel better about his plight. “Some of them even have a crush on General Buir!” Wolffe added on, content to throw some shines under the into the airlock for the moment.

Cody tiredly swing his protesting body up before turn to squint blearily up at his brother. “I bet they can keep their mouth shut about it at least.” Before resigning himself to consciousness, and grabbing at the offered caff. He took a long pull from it before caff, which was predictably terrible,  before carefully peering around the room which was suspiciously empty except for Wolffe.

Eventually he spoke. “Uh yeah, I don’t think they have your habit of just blurting out there feelings when they are unguarded, but at least Kenobi does not speak Mandalorian. Or at least I don’t think he does.” Wolffe said he was probably suffering under the pressure of keeping his face straight and supressing his more asshole like behaviour for Cody’s sake.

“He would have said something by now if that was the case. I just don’t know what to do Wolffe.” Cody whined. Leaning his head on Wolffe’s side. He was always a tactile person, but felt uncomfortable leaning on the brothers under his command like that. Wolffe was safe though.

Wolffe who was secretly just as tactile as Cody was leaned into it.

“Well Kenobi a good jedi and as choices go I think the Jedi are generally a good choice? I mean its not like your going crazy over some nat born with more evolution then sense?” Wolffe offered hesitantly.

“But he’s my Commanding officer, and he likes women. And every time I do something to distract myself or work my way out of this stupid crush something like this happens and all I think think about is how kind, and strong, and pretty he is. Or his sense of humor of how he makes everything in this war seem to slow down just a touch so its manageable, or how he carefully plans every encounter in this war to limit casualties, or how he takes part of remembrance and then I’m back to square one, staring at his sheebs while he talks to the other generals!.” Cody barfed out into the space between them.

Thankfully Wolffe did not tell Cody it was okay, it wasn’t. Even if Kenobi wanted a relationship with Cody, it would not work, kirff Cody could barely bring himself to call him Kenobi, let alone his name. And Cody was a lot of things, but he does not think that he could bring himself to try and court a superior officer. Or what would happen with the chain of command. Cody was also a better Jedi then to mess up the chain of command with a interpersonal relationship, unlike some other Jedi.

Cody never wanted to compromise the Gar, and was sure Kenobi felt the same, if he felt anything for Cody that was.

Underneath him Cody could feel Wolffe sigh.

“Lek, I can see that. Force knows we don’t need another romantic disaster duo like Amadala and Skywalker. But I don’t think he only like women?” Wolffe trailed off hesitantly “I mean I hear General Buir talk about Kenobi a lot, Apparently he’s considered as kind of orphan linage wise. And the older master like to keep an eye out for him. Apparently Kenobi used to have a thing with General Vos when they were younger? I mean there’s still hope there?” Wolffe trialed off, awkwardly stumbling though a conversation that Cody was reasonably sure he was not expecting.

“That does not actually make it better.” Cody grumbled while straightening himself.

“But now that you know I may need your help.” Cody said thinking of three particular troopers that seemed to be at the heart of everything at the moment.

“Oh?” Wolffe said relaxing into a much more familiar conversation.

“ You know the old stories that Fett used to tell us from Mandalore? The ones about the battling riduur?”

“The ones that fist started adoption? Or the warrior ones?”

“The combat ones, well I think the 212th are trying to encourage Kenobi and I into a relationship to emulate that.”

“Wolffe looked down with an assessing shine in his eye. “I can see it, you would make quite the pair.”

Cody studiously ignored him.

“Waxer found out about my feelings and pulled Boil into it, and the got the entire 212th in on it. And now they won’t stop trying to get us together. If it goes on any longer the generals going to start asking questions, and I you can’t lie to Jedi.”

“Hate to say it Vod’e but I don’t think we will quite be able to get them to stop.” Wolffe said.

“Oh I know that, if they were going to stop it would have happened after the third time I made them run laps in full kit. No I want help discouraging them from there more overt plans.”

“Hmmm, said Wolffe, a interested gleam in his eye.

“That I think we can manage, his face splitting into a grin that would have Waxer quacking in his meddling boots.

____________------------------------------------_____________________

The 212th was getting ready to disembark, Cody was calmly discussing the intake of supplies and munitions with the general, going over everything and making sure there was enough to last the first leg of the campaign before they met up with High General Plo Koon for resupply in above Ondo before starting an attack on Kerkoidia. As part of a push towards Enarc in order to better fortify Naboo.

The orders did not make much sense to Cody and if Cody did not miss his mark, or the worried fold of skin between Kenobi’s brows, he would guess that Kenobi did not quite understand the logic behind it either.  But apparently the chancellor himself asked that the 212th and Obi-wan secure the area around Naboo, which was slowly being encroached on by Separatist[lp1]  space. So off the 212th went, to what if history provide true would be a truly awful battle, the 212th always seemed to be in the middle of the worst of the fighting, no matter where they went. I was kind of like the separatists particularly wanted Kenobi dead and were some how tracking him. Not that any of them had succeeded in that effort. But Cody knew most of the seppies generals by sight, which is not something he could say for the High Generals he served under. It was kind of depressing honestly.

Cody was in a conversation with the General when it happened. Kenobi was the first one to notice it, as he trailed off in the middle of a sentence and looked around the storage area they were in eyes quizzically bouncing from trooper to trooper. When Obi-wan he folded his hands in front of him and did what the 212th called the Jedi sense beard stroke.

“Sir?” Cody asked looking around at his brothers who were moving much more stiffly then they were before, while they continued loading up the star destroyer. Every so often one of them would twitch with apparent frustration. Catching up to what may be happening, Cody wasted no time, in changing his in buy’ce comm off the locked command frequency and was immediately bombarded with a cheery jingly of

Bic ni skana’din tion'tuur te dajun at gotal'ur mhi a tom'adat. ibic cuyir a mirsh'nyn. Kaysh Ru'kel cuyir a  Mandokarla riduur.

Followed by a loop of What’s new Tooka kit. Before it was interrupted by the same message. As Cody switched the com back to the command channels he was glad his helmet hid his spiteful grin. At the spike of emotion from him Kenobi turned to him with an eyebrow raised.

Cody always forgot the whole sensing emotions bit with the Jedi.

Cody did his best to project a calm and satisfied feeling, while smiling under his bucket.

Kenobi’s lip slanted into a slash of a smile before turning back to the reports.

“I trust that everything is under control Commander.” Kenobis eyes darted to the variety of annoyed and frustrated troopers.

“Of course sir.”

In the back ground on of the troops stopped what he was doing and took off his bucket, Cody quietly pressed the button on a small remote in his pocket. Over the ship wide intercom, What’s new Tooka Kit wailed.

Kenobi face was carefully composed as he looked down, face twitching a bit as What’s New Tooka Kit looped for the 7th time.

“I trust the speakers in our office are turned off?” Kenobi asked façade cracking just a little, as the skin around his eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Yes sir, the malfunction seems to be concentrated around the troopers barracks rec centers, but has seemed to spare our office and the war room.”

“So long as it is handled before we disembark tomorrow it should be just fine.”

“As you say sir, I’ll meet you in the office?”

Kenobi gave him a clap on the shoulder and then wandered towards there shared working space. Cody stayed behind reviling in his brothers annoyance.

Cody could have swore he say Kenobi’s ears turn pink when  Bic ni skana’din tion'tuur te dajun at gotal'ur mhi a tom'adat. ibic cuyir a mirsh'nyn. Kaysh Ru'kel cuyir a  Mandokarla riduur. Intrupted the loop.

It was probably the contained amusement Cody went back to watching his brothers turned betrayed faces towards him and gave them his best smile.

It was a good day.

Thanks for reading!

Here is the link to Part 3 : https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/wtfamidoing-fam/190823954394

 [lp1]

[aly-the-writer]

One falling asleep with their head in the other's lap.

Okay, so since you didn’t ask for anyone in specific I assumed it was writer’s choice…and then since I couldn’t decide who I wanted to write out of these guys I just did all three.

So we have three drabbles herefeaturing: my IA, Aydin, and his bf/hubby my JK Dak. Then Tusin (my SI and Outlander) and Theron. And lastly my BH Izar and his wife the smuggler Claribel.

I. Aydin& Dak

It wasn’t as though either of them hated their lives, for all thedisaster that their work lives seemed to be determined to make of their actuallives, but if he were honest it really was the quiet nights when nothing hadgone wrong and it seemed like for just once they could by Aydin and Dak ratherthan an agent and a Jedi that he loved the most.

Dak had picked out some holomovie about swashbuckling archaeologists-slash-smugglersracing against greedy Hutt-funded treasure hunters all while attempting tosurvive unleashing a wrathful Sith spirit. It wasn’t a bad movie, he wasactually rather enjoying it despite the outdated graphics style that was utilized.

Still he kept getting distracted, during the course of the movie theblond Zabrak had resituated himself so that he was stretched out on his side,his head pillowed by Aydin’s lap. The change in his breathing – Aydin had onehand resting on Dak’s shoulder - indicating that the Jedi had probably fallenasleep.

The Mirialan smiled softly to himself, even the fact that so far both Kiraand Doc had peaked into the room and whispered (or the closest approximation toa whisper anyone on this vessel could manage) about how cute they were, thiswas a good night.

II.  Tusin& Theron

Voss had been an exhausting battle – emotionally taxing as well asphysically. A large number of their people had been injured or lost. They hadwon – but only through the assistance of the Sith Empire. A fact that hadrankled Tusin earlier despite his casualness when speaking with Acina, a womanwith whom he had stood equal with.

The healers were doing the best they could, and according to them they wouldn’tlose anyone else. It was a bit of good news that Lana was eager to share.

She found the Commander leaned against one of the walls of the nowscarred Shrine of Healing, his head tilted back against the stone and his eyesclosed. It had probably started as meditating but she suspected that he had fallenasleep sometime after the second body joined him.

The blond Sith smiled a little – Theron Shan was laying on the floor,Tusin’s heavier outer-robe over him as a blanket, while the agent’s head restedon the Pureblood’s lap. The fingers of one of the Sith’s hands interlocked withthose of one of the agent’s as if both had wanted to be sure that the otherwould still be there when they woke.

The report could wait a while longer, and if she took a quiet pic of thepair that wasn’t something that anyone else needed to know.

III. Claribel& Izar

“You’re not comfy,” the comment from the woman made him smile as he kepthis eyes on the movement in the camp.

Four years of marriage and the woman still complained about how uncomfortableusing beskar-clad thighs as pillows werewhile she continued to insist on doing it.

He knew that some among his adopted people would never approve of his riduur but he’d bet every credit thatthe smuggler was every bit as tough as any Mando woman – she certainly was justas stubborn as any he’d ever met.

“You sure, sweetheart? Most peopledon’t sleep two hours if their pillows ain’t that comfy,” he grinned, reachingdown to brush some of her bangs aside.

“Mm…only two hours?” she muttered. “Never mind, I need more sleep.”

Withthat declaration she rolled over to face his stomach, her cheek pillowedagainst his leg and curled up a little, dropping right back to sleep, not even fiveminutes later beginning to snore again. He smiled, resting one hand on theblaster at his hip and the other protectively on her hip as he continued hiswatch.