#for a lower stakes bounty it might have been

[basilibino]

This is their brand of Foreplay, Yeah?

Yeah.

[formosusiniquis]

when you're fifteen

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise.

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Mike Wheeler WC: 4044 | Rated T | Tags/Themes: Good Babysitter Steve, Period Atypical Depictions of DnD, HoH!Steve, Disabled!Eddie Ao3

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manage a table. A forever DM, four years into a lifetime sentence, he can keep a story on track and, more importantly, keep tempers in check for hours at a time. 

He kept track of a thousand little details across notebooks, binders, and just trapped in his own brain. He knew everything about his NPCs, the world, his player’s characters, and the things that drove his players nuts. He had plans, backup plans, and vague ideas of shit he could do if things went completely and totally off the rails despite all of those plans. That was one of the things he held fast on his tongue the first time he failed senior year. Of course he didn’t pass. He’d taken on the mantle of Dungeon Master. He had to put together a story that took into account: Jeff’s high stakes backstory with the missing mother and bounty on his head, Gareth’s need to flirt with anything age appropriate that had a pulse, and Joey’s tactical mind when it comes to battle. Wasn’t it enough that he was going to class, he had to do shit at home about it too?

He didn’t like saying it. He liked to bitch about it a lot, actually. Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t The DM. It was like a core part of his identity.

It made the current situation he was in more world rocking than he really wanted to deal with.

He liked to think, if he couldn’t feel the remaining muscles in his side screaming in agony because he was sitting wrong -- or for too long or both -- and if his lower back wasn’t seizing and spasming for the same or maybe a brand new reason it had decided to come up with today, that he’d be able to manage this table just as well as he always had. Eight really wasn’t that different from three.

Except that combat is impossible to manage, each round took forever and that’s when everyone was paying attention. Except that there hasn’t been a satisfying story moment for Jeffrey the Jovial or Dustin’s Sir Rathington in the last four sessions. Except that Erica has been scribbling something in her notebook that probably wasn’t campaign notes since she hadn’t called him on the plot hole he caught session planning a month ago and hasn’t been able to fix -- and is more likely to have something to do with the way he noticed her looking at Uhura and Chapel when she was watching Star Trek reruns with Steve.

Except that Mike has been screaming at Dustin and Lucas for the better part of five minutes and Eddie really isn’t sure how to fix it.

“The plan is stupid. Did you even spend more than ten seconds thinking about it or did you decide that Will could just roll another character and we could save the resources.”

“Will could roll another character. It's not the first time he's rolled another character.” Lucas points out for what might be the third time, Eddie’s lost count.

“This whole thing is about resources, Mike.” Dustin snaps, “We’ll all be rolling new characters if we go into this stupid fucking fight while Gareth has no spell slots, Lucas is down to three arrows, Joey’s already used his second wind, and half the party is below half health.”

“It doesn’t matter, if we don’t go into the fight now Will is going to turn into some bloodsucking vampire spawn.”

Eddie knows this is the point that he should grab the reins again. He should prompt one of them to make a decision, or better yet, take the decision away from them entirely. But there’s a numbness in his thigh that has somehow spread to his mouth; it’s different from the pain the rest of his body is in, not really better or worse, and just as distracting. 

The rest of the table is quiet, boredom and annoyance plain on their faces. But they’ve also stopped looking to him to fix the problem. That’s the worst thing the Upside Down took from him, he thinks, even as his body is radiating pain from places he used to be able to forget he had.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lucas points out. And it should be, but Lucas is a far better tactician than Eddie who already knows he won’t want to deal with the work it would take to do that well. “Y’know since you made all your weak spots pretty clear to Lord Ellias.”

“Or,” Dustin drawls out with a Harrington’s level of bitch and ire, “we could trust Eddie to turn this into a fucking story moment.”

“You guys are both so full of shit, just-” Mike has his nose curled and lip snarled, Eddie can feel the breeze of the blade swinging down to deliver the death blow to this campaign and adventuring party.

“Alright time to take a break.” Steve claps his hands, an angel come from on high to save Eddie. “Get up, get a snack, move your feet. Give my dining room some time to air out before it smells like nerd forever.”

Mike turns the full weight of his aggression on to Steve, who hopefully has a damage immunity or advantage on saves at the very least otherwise this is looking like a short talk, “We can't just take a break. Do you not get what the stakes are here? We've got to save-”

“Save someone who will still be in danger in twenty minutes.” Steve steamrolls over Mike’s argument with an unaffected ease. Eddie can feel the mood of the table lift just a bit, now that they’re about to be rescued.

“You just don't get it.”

“I get that it's pretend.” In a pre-Vencapocalypse world that would have been enough to get Eddie fighting on Little Wheeler’s side, but much as DnD is still his life. Fuck, it is all just pretend. “Go take a lap.”

“Ugh why do we even come over here. We could do this at my house without washed up jocks interrupting us.” Mike says but he gets up. Storming off to god knows where in the monstrosity of Steve’s house. Will, quiet as he always seems to get when he’s the center of one of these drag outs, trails off after Mike with an eye roll at the other two sophomores and an apologetic shrug for Steve.

And Eddie has his table again. Quiet and still, waiting for him to say something. Like there’s even anything to say when his very own Deus Ex Machina is leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at the poor schmucks he’s saved. “Well,” he says with a clap of his hands, “My blood sugar is dropping, so I’m going to shove as many of those cookies I smelled earlier into my mouth as I can in twenty minutes.” Because as much as they weren’t looking to him before, they need the DM to break the spell of the table. That’s how the whole thing goes.

And they scatter once it breaks. Eddie’s original Hellfire boys stay at the table, their ease at the Harrington house has been hardwon and the argument has rekindled something nerdy and skittish in them. Erica has headed off to the corner of the house Steve has let her claim as her own, nose still buried in her notebook. He doesn’t know where Lucas and Dustin are, but wherever they’ve gone they aren’t around to watch him struggle to pull himself out of his throne with his cane. He should just give in and let Steve raise the seat, half the problem is that it sits too low -- but knowing that and being willing to admit it at any point other than when he’s in PT levels of misery from pulling himself up are very different things.

Steve has his back to the door again, by the time Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. He has a bizarre semi-awareness of his surroundings that can be hard to predict. Sometimes it’s freaky how Steve can call out Dustin or Erica from a different room with an almost parental ‘eyes in the back of his head’ sixth sense. Other times his own soulmate can get the drop on him, managing to get her arms wrapped around his middle before he even realizes they’re in the same room.

It’s better to slam his cane against the floor a couple times. To let Steve feel the vibrations through the floorboards with his sock feet, that way nobody has to get hurt or feel guilty for doing the hurting.

Getting to see Steve’s grin bloom across his face as he flips that famous hair and catches sight of Eddie isn’t so bad either.

Next to Steve, it’s safe to prop his cane against the counter. He can rest his hips against the sure, solid surface and relax in the presence of his boyfriend while the blood returns to his limbs and a new kind of discomfort settles in. A hand, warm and sudsy finds the back of his neck. A strong thumb digging into a knot that had been there since at least last week with an erotic precision.

“You’ve got to stop letting them keep you in that chair for so long.”

"If we take breaks we'll just be here longer."

He shrugs, pulling his other hand from the dish water to pull Eddie into a gentle hold. "So be here longer."

"You'd get sick of the fighting. I'd get sick of the fighting." Actually it was probably better not to remind Steve of that. "You know I really did want one of those famous Stevie Henderson cookies."

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise. "I know the yelling is a lot, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You don't have a migraine, do you? I can talk to him and make him chill out a bit." That last part is absolutely a lie; he doesn't think he could get Mike under control right now if he had a stun gun and half a pound of Argyle’s primo Cali weed.

Not that it matters Steve has on his scrunchy faced 'you're wrong about something,' look, Eddie just needs to give him the minute it'll take to get his thoughts together. "You know I love you right?"

“In this dimension and any others,” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles, feather soft, and runs a soothing hand through Eddie's hair the way he always does right before he says something atrociously bitchy. "I turn my hearing aids off the second you all start playing. If I had to listen to your game three different times, three different ways I'd drive my car into a portal."

He keeps going the way he does when he's afraid he's been too mean and wants to try to soften his edges for general consumption, like Eddie hadn't fallen in love with him the first time he called Dusin a butthead. "This way you and Dust can still use me as a sounding board for your plots and theories and I don't have to listen to my favorite nerds try to remember if 5+7 is 11 or 12."

“So what’s?”

“I’m worried about him!” Steve insists. Eddie might pride himself on his ability to handle a table, but he knows Steve is proud of his way with the kids. His relationship with each of them is rich and distinct, the way he handles each of them unique.

But it’s Mike.

Something must cross his face. He can only call it something, because he’s honestly not sure what emotion he’s feeling other than headache and how many cookies can I eat before they start tasting like nausea. But something else must have been there that causes Steve to cross his arms and glare.

“Yeah, of course, you’re worried about him. We are worried about him. Why are we worried about him, other than worried about what an asshole he’s been lately?”

That was not the right thing to say either, Eddie’s really rolling straight ones today. Steve’s glare shutters even further closed, and seriously it’s Mike. The same kid who called Steve a washed up jock not ten minutes ago. Who takes every single offered opportunity, and even some that he makes himself, to bitch and glare at Hawkins own #1 babysitter and monster hunter. 

“He’s a teenager with more trauma than a ‘Nam vet. But even if he weren’t he’s not an asshole for being barely fifteen and not knowing when to shut the hell up. Do you remember the kind of shit you were saying back then?”

Big brother Steve has successfully landed a critical hit. Eddie does remember the kind of shit he used to say. Just like he knows Steve remembers the kind of shit he used to say. And they both remember the shit that they used to say to one another. How Eddie called Steve a braindead future Reganite who wouldn’t know good taste if it spit in his mouth. How Steve had called Eddie a tryhard that was so desperate to be different because that was the only way he could hide having nothing to offer.

“So we’re worried?”

“I just don’t want him to say something he can’t walk back because he forgot the thing he’s getting upset over is pretend.” He runs a finger down Eddie’s splayed hands. A tickling sensation he can feel down the path it traces from the back of his palm and down his middle finger and, in a phantom mirror, down his spine. “I know you get into your characters, or whatever, I’m sure this is bringing up a lot of memories but he’s going to regret lashing out if it means he pushes away Dustin or Lucas or one of the other guys.”

“I notice you left out Will.”

“Yeah well, Will is more likely to get hurt by something he says when lashing out while they aren’t playing exposure therapy the game. I mean seriously, you had to kidnap him? That’s where your, ‘Stevie, baby, what should I do with them this week? They decided to do something stupid,’ bitching and moaning landed you?”

Eddie doesn’t even really have time to let himself feel the fluttery, squishy feeling he wants to feel -- cause Steve does actually listen when they’ve got their feet tangled on the sofa together, each working on their own things -- before it’s getting smacked by down by the paladin of his heart. “No, no, that isn’t where I landed. I had a perfectly acceptable diplomacy mission prepared, with a back up fight that they were supposed to run away from. What do you want me to do, Sunshine? I gotta give the game some stakes. It’s not exactly fun for Will if he knows he’s indestructible.”

Maybe, he thinks, he should just stop talking today. Just cancel the rest of the session entirely. Will gets carried off by the vampire spawn, half dead and unsaveable, the party on its last legs, unable to agree on a course of action; and actually that’s where we’re gonna end things come back next week and hope Steve even lets us in the house after the screaming we’ve all done. Why? Because he can feel every joint in his body and every one of them is in pain. Because there’s been the dull throb of a low grade headache beating an even pulse in his temples since he woke up this morning. But mostly because every time he opens his stupid fucking mouth to talk Steve stops touching him, and that sucks absolute balls.

“I maybe had an idea,” Steve says. His voice dips and slides while he keeps his hands small, quiet, and close to his chest. Something Robin told him, and he’s now noticing, means Steve has thought about this idea a lot, long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s bad. Eddie’s noticed that even when these ideas aren’t phrased well, they’re never bad.

“I know it’s like rule number one: don’t split the party,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes when he says it, an instinctive bit of brotherly mockery of Dustin, he would guess. “But what if you split the group a bit. Mike can go after Will, I’m sure Erica would be down to kill some vampires. She loves a chance to test drive her new feats and shit. Then Jeff and Dustin and whoever else can finish up that thing? With the missing girlfriend or whatever? And once that’s done they reunite to do whatever’s next on the list, save the kingdom.”

Eddie sits with that for a bit.

Impulsive is still his middle name, but sometime between being eaten alive by other dimensional hell creatures and getting a thousand and six tiny, itchy stitches removed he’s started giving things second and even third thoughts. Though in this case the second thoughts are less ‘is this a good idea’ and more ‘will Steve bend me over that solid oak dining table and critique my DM notes while he rails me.’

As his stomach swoops, his lower body twinges in a much less enjoyable way. Letting him know that now he’d been standing too long, or leaning against the counter the wrong way, or maybe something else entirely that made his legs tired of doing one of the few things they were made to do. 

Figures he finally lands a hot boyfriend and he's got chronic pain keeping him from getting his dick wet.

“If you’ve already got another idea-”

“No,” he rushes to assure Steve, who needs to stay confident in his own ideas for all kinds of reasons but right now mostly so he’ll be willing to play into this new fantasy of Eddie’s once his body is willing to cooperate with the standing and the bending it’s going to require. “No, it’s a fantastic idea. I’m plotting as we speak.” 

And that isn’t a total lie. Forever DM, he can think about all the fun ways the love of his life and reason he’s still living could degrade his current campaign -- An oath of vengeance paladin questing to save a lost love, isn’t that a little played out. Oh wow, rat swarms in a dungeon, they’re never gonna see that coming -- and figure out how to trick the group into thinking splitting the party was their own idea.

“How long,” he asks his resident child expert, “do you think it would take Will to roll up a new character?”

The smile that tips the corners of Steve’s face is the best part of his day. “Will always has an extra character rolled up with the rest of his stuff in his folder."

Things are slotting together in his head now, and as Steve's hands come around to do something magical in a spot on his back that probably has a name but mostly makes his legs feel like they should really belong to a baby deer.

“So Will…”

“Can convince Mike, and get a chance to try out the new thingy he built. He’s been waiting to talk to you about it.”

Eddie’s getting excited now, hands shaking in the good way. He doesn’t even care that his knee locks as he tries to bounce on his toes, just lets his hands get out the excited energy. “And the band can go do the story side plot shit I’ve been putting off…” 

“With Dustin,” Steve reminds, “cause he’ll want to go wherever there’s the best chance to stir up shit. You already know Erica is going to go where there’s a chance to prove she’s the best at fighting, Lucas too. Not the fighting thing. He’ll go to round out the group, and so his mom doesn’t have to worry about keeping track of one more thing on the family calendar.”

“You’re a genius, Sweetheart.” He snags Steve by the collar, ignoring his bitching that the two fingered pinch he’s got it in is going to stretch it out, and pulls him close. Pressing a kiss on the corner of his perfect boyfriend’s pleased little smile. “I gotta go talk to Will about this character.”

“Send Mike down when you do?”

He’s surprised when he gets no argument, barely gets acknowledgement, when he finds Will and Mike in the guest bathroom and separates them. Mike slips from the room with nothing but a backward glance at Will, who smiles supportively. Once he clears the room, it takes next to zero prompting to get Will to talk about his backup character. The ‘thingy’ he'd been working on a tricked out ranger build that's going to annihilate. 

There's something fresh, brightening, about Will's enthusiasm for the character that infects Eddie too. It gets him excited, for the first time since everyone arrived, to sit down around their over crowded table and play the hour of set up it's going to take to get the party ready to be split. 

And Will doesn't duck his head anymore when Eddie pushes at him and his DnD expertise, he just pushes back. Together they work out a couple tweaks that will make the build fit better in the party, flesh out a backstory that they can integrate even if it doesn't end up going anywhere, and it doesn't really feel like time passes at all. Until Sinclair is sticking his head through the door, surprise artfully hidden at who he finds, as he asks if they're ready to go.

Mike is conspicuously absent from the table when Eddie makes his way to it, and that won't do at all. He's not an asshole, he's just 15. Something like shame crawls up the back of his throat as Steve's reminder sounds in his head. He remembers 15 and the things he said but more than that, as he looks around the table, he remembers being the last to arrive at a hangout of people you're already worried hate you only to find them having a good time without you. 

Eddie has always prided himself on his ability to run a good session. "Stevie, gimme back our paladin, do I need to bring in a hostage negotiator."

A cookie held in one hand while the other smooths down the ruffled fringe of his bangs, Mike re-enters the dining room. The back of his Hellfire shirt is bunched and, if that weren't sign enough he'd been on the receiving end of a perfect Harrington hug, he looks settled. A smile tugging at his face that Eddie hadn't realized how much he missed, he looks boyish and happy and if Eddie didn't before he understands Steve's mission to keep these kids kids by whatever means necessary.

"Alright, now where were we?” He says once Mike is back in his seat beside Will, “Ah yes, you all watch in horror as the vampire spawn, hastened, dash away from you all with the unconscious, but still alive, body of Sir William the Wizened." Before anyone can restart the shouting, and he knows there will be shouting now that they’ve all had a chance to look over their notes and their character sheets, he barrels on. “From the hill behind you comes a shot. An arrow flies, thwip thwip. It slices between you all, before sinking into the back of one of the spawn at the back of the pack. He stumbles to the ground and the rest of the pack leave him to die.”

“We can interrogate him!” 

“Worry about who’s behind us, dude.”

He doesn’t let Mike or Dustin derail him, Eddie continues, “As you turn the hill behind you is nothing but mist. You all know the range of an elven bow, but whoever fired it is nowhere to be seen. You wait, breath held, as a figure all in black slowly approaches. You get the feeling you see him now only because he wants to be seen.

“Will, describe your new character for us!”

[gloomwitchwrites]

High Stakes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: canon-typical swearing, mando’a lanaguge, yearning, denial of feelings, placing bets, light dom/sub (with bratty behavior), possessive behavior, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie

Word Count: 7k

When your employer loses a bet to Jabba the Hutt's favorite contract killer, Boba Fett, you are suddenly placed in his control. But you and Boba are not enemies. The two of you have known each other for a while now, and this only pushes the two of you closer together.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart mesh’ika – little beauty mesh’la – beautiful

The artificial air kicks in and its refreshing coldness brushes against your neck. You sigh heavily, appreciating the luxury that few establishments have in Mos Espa. Not even Jabba’s Palace can boast to having such a feature.

Glancing over your shoulder, the rest of the room begins to melt into smoky shadow. The large shutters over the windows start to shift downward to ward off the light and heat from Tatooine’s twin suns. They stop two-thirds of the way, allowing for natural light but shrouding Tranquil Sands in shadow. The small lamps at each of the tables turn on, giving the place an intimate glow. In the far corner, the band changes up their song, and spice smoke from hookah pipes fills the air.

It might be the middle of the day, but Tranquil Sands is full. It always is.

Need a drink? Tranquil Sands has a full-service bar.

Want to spend all your money gambling? Tranquil Sands has all the best tables.

Do you desire more carnal pleasures? Tranquil Sands can provide.

Or are you simply wanting a place to rest your head? At Tranquil Sands, there are plenty of beds.

Tranquil Sands has it all.

And you are its bookkeeper.

Lady Sheku, a beautiful Twi’lek female with peachy skin, is the owner of Tranquil Sands. You’ve been keeping her books for several years. The two of you have grown close over time, forming a subtle friendship built on mutual respect.

Trust is important for something like this. You work closely tracking every credit and form of currency that enters or exits this establishment. It’s not just to ensure that proper dues are paid out to Jabba, but to be as transparent as possible for when—not if—the Empire comes knocking.

“Is everything in order?” asks a sultry voice.

You spin around just as Lady Sheku approaches. The Twi’lek is gorgeous, and she doesn’t even try. Many with money on Tatooine show it off, but Lady Sheku is all gentle elegance.

“As it always is,” you reply, knowing exactly what she’s referring to.

Today is payment day. Today is the day that Jabba the Hutt receives the protection dues from Tranquil Sands. But it isn’t Jabba who fetches it, nor is it his loathsome second Bib Fortuna. It’s Jabba the Hutt’s favorite bounty hunter, Boba Fett, that comes calling.

He is always on time. Never misses a single payment.

“You look lovely today,” murmurs Lady Sheku, her brow rising slightly as she admires your outfit.

When out on the floor, you have to look like you belong, not like you sit in a backroom all day hunched over ledgers. Yet you also cannot look like any of the workers. That might give some guests the wrong impression, and the last thing you need is a misunderstanding out in the open. You’ve opted for black, a color none of the workers wear. They prefer brighter colors, and the ones for pleasure purchases are even brighter with golden bangles and necklaces. You’ve gone completely bare other than the thin black fabric that hangs on your body.

“Thank you,” you reply.

Lady Sheku leans in, her voice dropping even lower. “It can’t be because a certain bounty hunter is coming today?”

“No,” you answer automatically, but it’s not entirely a lie.

Boba Fett is sweet on you, and everyone knows it. You are the one who interacts with him, who hands over the credits, who makes sure Jabba is paid and satisfied. Boba Fett is the man between, and yet he is enticing. A flavor of spice you cannot seem to shake.

But no matter how much attention he gives you; it simply isn’t possible. The two of you cannot be together. Boba Fett is a bounty hunter. He wears Mandalorian armor. He works for Jabba the Hutt. Everyone knows how deadly Boba is, that he’d rather vaporize his bounties than bring them in alive. A man like that makes enemies, and you’d be first on the list if they plan on targeting him.

“Liar,” teases Lady Sheku, waving her hand dismissively.

As if speaking his name summons him, Boba Fett enters through the front doors. For a moment, all conversation ceases, even the music seems distant. His helmeted head swivels, scanning the room. When it lands on you, everything stutters before hurtling forward. He takes one step, then another, and then he’s moving toward you with purpose embedded into every slap of his boots against the marble.

“Boba Fett,” greets Lady Sheku, her head dipping slightly with acknowledgement. You do the same, knowing it’s better to show respect to one of Jabba’s favorite contract killers.

When your gaze returns to him, the T-shaped visor is aimed at you. Though you cannot see his eyes, you feel his stare. It brands your skin, peeling back the flesh to reveal your deepest secrets.

“Everything is in order,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “The credits are in the back if you’ll follow me.” You shift and raise an arm, indicating the backroom you and Boba always meet in to make the exchange.

Boba shifts in your direction but Lady Sheku raises a hand. “A moment. Please.”

He pauses, and you drop your hand back to your side slowly, unsure of why Lady Sheku is delaying the proceedings.

“I have a proposal for you. An offer, if you will.” Lady Sheku’s shoulders shake a bit as she straightens her spine. Boba says nothing but inclines his head. “You never partake in anything we offer here at Tranquil Sands. As the proprietor of this fine establishment, I’d like to know what I can do to make you a loyal customer.”

You keep your face completely blank even as your mind races. Why is Lady Sheku asking this now? There isn’t any reason to delay. All the credits are there. In fact, there is plenty, so why make him wait? Why make you wait?

Boba Fett considers Lady Sheku’s question for a moment before he answers. “What I want isn’t on the menu.”

What I want isn’t on the menu.

When Boba says this, his helmet is turned in your direction, the T-shaped visor pinning you to the spot. Lady Sheku grins, her gaze subtly shifting between you and Boba.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” shrugs Lady Sheku. “For a price.”

Is she really selling you to him? You’re not a slave. You’re an employee.

You’re about to protest, the words forming on the tip of your tongue, but Lady Sheku gives you a look that silences you completely.

Trust me, it says.

Boba inclines his head. “I’m listening.”

“Wonderful!” Lady Sheku claps her hands together. “Let’s make a game of it. Shall we?” Placing one hand on Boba Fett’s upper arm, she guides him over to the gambling corner. Boba allows himself to be led and you follow right behind him, tension tight in your stomach.

“A wager,” says Lady Sheku. “If I win, you pay a portion of the protection money. If you win, you can have the woman you want for the evening. She will be…yours. Completely.”

“Lady—” you begin but Boba cuts in.

“What game?” he asks.

“Cards.” Lady Sheku gestures toward one of the tables.

“Sabacc?”

“Afraid, Boba?” teases Lady Sheku.

“Hardly. Let’s play.”

The two of them sit down at the nearest table. You stand there in shock, your feet unable to move. A droid dealer approaches, shuffling the cards, and still, you do not move. Others begin to press in, watching on as cards are dealt.

You want to rage, to curse everyone and everything, and yet, at your core, you’re not entirely angry. Lady Sheku has stepped over the line, crossed into territory that is blurry and wrong, but she’s not doing it for her own gain.

Everyone knows how sweet Boba is on you, how he always stands close whenever he’s near you, or how he compliments you at every visit. Even when he goes to the backroom with you, Boba is a complete gentleman. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t disrespect your boundaries. None of that accounts for all the gifts that arrive at Tranquil Sands’ doors. The ones for you never have a name on them, but it’s easy to guess who they’re from.

Something solidifies in your soul, and you take a step forward. A crowd has gathered, eager eyes watching on as the owner of Tranquil Sands and Jabba’s favorite bounty hunter face off over a few rounds of Sabacc.

The air is stagnant, and your gaze is glued to the floor.

Should you look? Should you watch on? Or should you let it be?

Even if Boba wins, you know he’d never hurt you. He has it in him to be cruel and sadistic, but he’s never raised a hand to you. He’s never taken what you haven’t freely offered. In this, if he wins, will Boba remain the same? Do you even want to know?

Kriff it, you think, shoving through the crowd, coming up behind Boba. Just as you squeeze between a Zabrak and Weequay, the crowd gasps. Boba leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread wide. Lady Sheku appears disappointed but you know her tells.

She glances up, winks, and then stands, sighing loudly. Your gaze falls to the table. Boba’s winning hand stares back at you tauntingly.

“You’ve won, Boba.” Lady Sheku inclines her head, hands spreading wide before her. The crowd around the table begins to disperse, their interest disappearing quickly. “My assistant will make sure you receive Jabba’s payment and then she’s all yours.”

Boba starts to stand and you shoot Lady Sheku a look. The Twi’lek shrugs casually. You’re welcome, she silently mouths before greeting a new wave of customers.

With Boba Fett looming over you, it’s hard not to notice his height and broad shoulders. The Mandalorian armor he wears is worn and dented, the paint chipped and peeling in some places. Yet it only adds to his aura, his sense of strength and power. His helmeted head dips as if he can kiss you through it. For a moment, your face rises as if to meet him, but you back out at the last second.

“This way,” you choke out, taking a step back, gesturing toward the other end of the room.

Boba leans away but he doesn’t create any distance other than that. It isn’t until you start walking that Boba moves, keeping pace with you. At the doors to Lady Sheku’s office, you scan your card and enter with Boba following behind.

“I’d offer you something to drink but this will only take a minute,” you say over your shoulder.

At the massive safe, you enter the code, retrieving the credits in their locked box. Turning around, you set the box down on the table, opening the lid to reveal the credits inside.

“Everything appear satisfactory?” you ask.

Boba doesn’t say anything. It’s infuriating because you don’t know if he’s looking at you or the credits behind that bucket.

“It’s all there. You can count if you—”

“You’re mine,” says Boba, like it’s an indisputable fact.

You take a deep breath, hands balling into fists at your sides. “For the evening,” you amend.

Boba glances down at the credits. He shuts the lid, reengaging the lock. His head tilts and his hand ascends, one finger pressing to the side of his helmet.

“I’ll need a pick up,” he says to someone that clearly isn’t you.

Boba does not pick up the credit case. Instead, he steps around the desk until he’s standing next to you. Reaching out, the back of his gloved hand brushes over bare skin. You feel the ridge of knuckles through the leather.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly.

You nod because you don’t trust yourself to form proper words. Boba’s touch is like a stun wand. Electric but lethal. You are struck, ripped apart, and pieced together. It hurts, not because he’s touching you but because this will end, and the two of you will return to your lives. He is not meant for you. This cannot be more than just the evening.

Lady Sheku meant well by losing, but this might be too much.

Boba drops his hand and plucks the credit case from the desk. “When we return, you’ll sit with me. In my lap.”

His tone is assertive. Boba isn’t asking, and that stirs something inside you. While you like this, you also want to push back. But you’re not quick enough in your response. Boba points in your direction, chastising before you even get a word out.

The two of you stare each other down before Boba curls his finger in and presents his open palm. It’s an invitation instead of an order. While Lady Sheku needs to mind her business, Boba is the man that haunts your dreams. Every interaction with him is a memory that sticks to you like syrup.

Slowly, you extend your own hand, slipping it into his offered palm.

Boba’s hold is gentle as his fingers encase your hand. You allow yourself to be led from the room, to be escorted to a large booth tucked into a private corner. From here, Boba can see the rest of Tranquil Sands. It’s private yet strategic, a habit of any good bounty hunter.

Placing the container of credits on the table, Boba takes a seat in the booth. The cushions are soft and wide. The table in front of it is low to the ground. Boba never let’s go of your hand. He keeps you close, drawing you into his lap.

You fit perfectly there, and the naturalness is startling.

Boba keeps one arm around your lower back for support, his broad hand planted firmly on the curve where your hip and upper thigh meet. You’re tucked against him, leaning into the crook of his arm, one hand resting on his armored chest. With his other hand, Boba guides your legs over his thighs.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, that same hand running up your thigh, parting fabric until he’s touching bare skin.

“Yes,” you reply softly, a shiver running through you from the contact.

Boba’s answer is a gentle grunt as his hand on your thigh tightens. It’s a possessive hold, and you don’t entirely mind. Around you, patrons move about. Many don’t even glance your way, entirely preoccupied with their own endeavors.

It isn’t long before two Gamorreans enter Tranquil Sands. Between them is a woman in an all-black body suit with cape and cowl. The only visible part of her are her eyes which glow a subtle shade of purple.

“Boba,” she says on her approach.

Boba Fett only nods toward the container of credits. She is swift, fetching the credits and leaving without another glance at you or Boba.

After a few moments of silence, Boba adjusts, and it only draws you closer to him. “Are you upset with me, cyar’ika?”

The question surprises you. “Why would I be upset?”

“Why would you not be? Didn’t ask what you wanted.”

You snort. “Did you even consider what I wanted?”

The answer comes automatically. “No. I want you. And I saw an opportunity,” he says. “But you know that.”

You do know. You’ve known for over a year now and so does everyone else. Whenever Boba walks in, Lady Sheku and all the workers immediately look at you with amusement on their faces. Boba might not be overt in his attentions, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t gone unnoticed.

“What’s your plan, Boba? To lure me in? To convince me I should be yours?” You’re pushing him, feeling bold, but how could you not be? You’re in his lap, almost straddling him, and Boba’s hands are everywhere even though they’ve hardly moved at all.

Boba inclines his head. “You’re already mine. Always have been.”

“You don’t own me,” you murmur.

Boba’s silence is deafening, and you have no idea what it means. You desperately wish you could see his face, to look into his eyes and glimpse even a semblance of understanding. That silence is all there is because the matter is done the moment the doors of Tranquil Sands open.

Boba is all business after. He shifts you out of his lap, having you sit beside him instead like a pretty thing on display. But Boba keeps one hand on your inner thigh as he conversers, never removing it even when you adjust against the cushions.

Strangely, Boba never removes his helmet. Whenever he comes to retrieve Jabba’s payment, Boba almost always removes his helmet in front of you. But that has always been in a private setting behind closed doors. This is out in the open.

He orders food and drink, offering it to his guests as much as he offers it to you, and yet taking none for himself. You remain quiet, listening attentively but mostly staying out of it. Boba doesn’t ask for your input, and the various individuals seem to understand that you are off limits.

It isn’t until Tatooine’s suns begin to descend that Boba shifts gears.

“We’re going upstairs.”

Upstairs. The only thing upstairs are rooms. Rooms to sleep. To rest. To—

Your heart thunders in your chest. Excitement rushes in along with an underlying nervousness you can’t entirely place. It’s not geared toward Boba. He’d never hurt you, never push himself on you. No. This nervousness is a questioning of whether or not he’ll accept your advances if you give them.

It's a silly thing to question. Boba likes you. He’s smitten, willing to pay an entire month’s worth of protection money just to have the chance to be with you.

Boba stands and presents his hand. You take it, and he helps you to your feet, but he doesn’t drag you to the lift. He stays right there, towering over you, his free hand grasping your waist.

“What is it?” you ask, gaze roaming over the room in one quick sweep before returning to Boba.

“Do you want this?”

You blink, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Boba?”

“Do you want this?” he repeats. “With me?”

When you don’t answer right away, Boba gently squeezes your waist. “Give the word and we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Boba—”

“If you wish to leave, tell me now.”

You swallow. “Does this mean I can’t go if I change my mind?”

Boba’s chest heaves. “No. You can always go. You can always walk away. I won’t stop you.”

Even though Boba played Sabacc with Lady Sheku in order to possess you, he is still giving you a choice. This is up to you. Boba has already made it clear what he wants. All you need to do is accept him, or walk away.

“I don’t want to go,” you breathe, knowing with these words you’ve changed your future forever.

There is no going back. No reversal. You are confirming what you already know and what he’s suspected. You want him.

Boba’s hand slips away from your waist only to travel downward to grasp the back of your thigh. This one touch makes you inhale sharply, and the soft chuckle Boba makes sends heat straight to your core.

“My mesh’ika,” he croons.

Boba keeps using these words you don’t know. You can take a guess as to their meaning. He’s used them before but only in private. Only when you’ve allowed him a passing touch before you depart.

Now, with his hand massaging the back of your thigh, the meaning is clear to you. And this place is far too public for such affection.

“Upstairs,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you’re surprised the voice receiver in the helmet even picks it up.

Boba’s hand disappears from your thigh, leaving an emptiness behind. You long to draw him back to you and indulge in his touch.

The ascent to the room is sluggish, and yet with a blink, you’re at the door. You cling to Boba’s armor-clad arm as the door slides open, and Boba guides you into the dark. The moment the two of you cross the threshold, a lamp near the window clicks on.

This is one of Tranquil Sands’ suites.

You enter into a small sitting area with a lounge sofa and low table. The curtains are closed, keeping out the light of Tatooine’s suns. To the right are sliding double doors. They stand open, revealing a large bed. The door to the bathroom is through there but you cannot see it from where you’re standing.

Boba releases your hand, and you are reluctant to let him go. He presses a few buttons on the control panel near the door. More lights turn on. It is dim—almost intimate—and all you want to do is reach out to him.

This is just for the evening. Only for the night. Then it’ll be over. You will return to your books, and Boba will be the vicious bounty hunter he has always been. He will come for Jabba’s payment, and you will hand it over, never meeting until the time to return rolls around again.

Hesitantly, you stride forward into the middle of the room. With hands clasped in front of you, you turn in Boba’s direction, only to find him within arm’s reach.

The two of you stare at each other, not speaking, hardly breathing.

With an aching slowness, Boba reaches up with both hands, clasping the sides of his helmet. You hear the hiss of the seal releasing, and then it’s gone, revealing his face. This is not a surprise. It’s no gut-punch. Boba’s face is one you’ve seen before, but this is not a business exchange. This is personal.

Boba moves past you and gently sets his helmet down on the table. He is right there, and when he straightens to undo his leather gloves, your hand finds his bicep, resting where there is no armor. His dark eyes swivel towards you, and you have the urge to run your fingers through his hair. It looks so soft and inviting—just long enough to give it a little tug.

He removes one glove and then the other, tossing them onto the table next to his helmet. Your eyes track every movement, the casualness of Boba’s undressing a mesmerizing dance. You cannot look away.

“You’re staring, cyar’ika,” muses Boba, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You cough, and discreetly check for drool. “Want me to stop?” you shrug. “I can do that?”

“No.” Boba’s tone startles you, but it is his hand on the back of your neck that truly makes your stomach flip. He drags you against him, and your hands instinctually rise, pressing against his chestplate.

His dark gaze is sharp. Piercing. “Draw me a bath, cyar’ika.” Your lips part and Boba’s gaze drops momentarily before returning to your eyes. His grip on the back of your neck tightens a bit before releasing.

“Go,” he says, voice husky and rough. “Before I get dirt on that pretty dress.”

Heat rushes up your spine and flares hot in your cheeks. Pressing a hand to your burning face, you quickly enter the bathroom. Built into the wall is a massive tub. It’s all smooth, clean lines and easily fits two.

“Kriffing hell,” you murmur at the ceiling. You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart.

Shaking your hands out at your sides to release some of the giddy nervousness, you reach for the small panel in the wall. Hot water begins to emerge from the faucet. Pressing a few more buttons bring forth an aromatic aroma, and the water starts to turn sudsy.

It looks inviting. Entirely heavenly.

Water is a heavily sought-after resource on Tatooine, but Lady Sheku has connections, often transporting water in from off world. It’s expensive but it supplements what can be purchased on Tatooine.

You pause, hearing soft footsteps. Turning, your eyes widen, and the heat that you banished from your cheeks returns. You quickly look away as Boba’s nude body brushes past you and steps over the edge of the tub to slide into the water.

Boba sighs heavily, and the sound goes straight to your sex. It’s contentment and satisfaction, and you want to know if that’s what he sounds like when he’s buried deep.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” you say, keeping your gaze averted. But as you turn to leave, Boba reaches out, his wet hand grasping your wrist.

“You’ll stay,” he commands, releasing your wrist to tap the side of the tub. “Right here. Where I can look at you.”

Slowly, you ease down on the edge of the tub. It’s not entirely uncomfortable. It is wide and flat, large enough for you to sit without sliding onto the floor and into Boba’s lap. You place one hand behind you, and one on your knee to keep balance. Boba submerges himself a bit more, the water coming up to the middle of his chest.

“You look lovely today,” he murmurs, gaze roaming up and down your body in appreciation.

“Thank you,” you reply. “Am I not lovely to you every time you see me?”

Boba smirks. “You are. And even when I don’t see you.”

“Oh,” you whisper, fingers playing with one of the gauzy, black strands of fabric.

It’s loose enough that the material spreads out and hangs toward the floor, revealing plenty of bare leg. Boba’s hand is nearby but not touching. Yet his fingers flex like he wants to touch you but is resisting the urge to do so.

“Join me,” he rasps, those fidgeting fingers forming a fist.

“Is it a command or an ask?” It doesn’t really matter if he’s asking or demanding. Sliding into that warm water with him is a desire you don’t want to resist. Will you straddle his lap, sitting face to face? Or will Boba want you to recline against him, back pressed against his chest?

Boba’s dark gaze is unmoving when he speaks. “It’s what you wish it to be.”

You swallow and sit up straighter. “Look away.”

Boba laughs, and runs his hands through his hair. It sticks up at an odd angle and you giggle.

“Fine,” he agrees, glancing at the wall, whistling to himself.

Slowly, you stand. You partially give Boba your back as you slip one strap over your shoulder and then the other. You loosen the band at your waist, and then the dress is on the ground, a dark pool of fabric at your feet.

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Boba still turned away, but he’s stiff, almost rigid. That is when you notice your reflection. It is blurry, mostly an outline, but it’s clear that you’re nude.

Turning quickly, you cover your breasts and step into the tub at an odd angle to hide yourself. It’s silly, since you’re already taking this leap, but it’s natural to want to hide yourself. This is new. Different. While you’ve always liked him, this is beyond anything the two of you have engaged in.

A few stolen kisses in a backroom means nothing compared to this.

As you start to sink down, Boba’s head turns. Your gazes lock, and then he’s reaching for you, bringing you against him. He does bring you to a straddling position. Boba guides you around until you’re sitting in his lap, back pressed against his chest and head resting on his shoulder.

The water hardly covers your breasts.

“I want to see all of you,” he murmurs in your ear even as his hands run up and down your thighs, waist, and hips under the water.

The motion stirs the water, revealing your breasts to him. Boba groans against your throat as one of your hands reaches back to rub the back of his neck. While keeping one hand on your thigh, Boba gently cups one breast, lightly pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Your breasts have never been overly sensitive, but Boba’s touch is immense. All-consuming. You’ve never reacted to anyone’s touch like this.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs. Boba’s hand beneath the water grasps the inside of your thigh and squeezes. “All mine.”

Boba’s lips trail over your neck and then the curve of your jaw near your ear. You turn your head just enough to look at him, and all trepidation you might have held vanishes. This man is enamored. In rapture.

“Let me kiss you, cyar’ika.”

But you do not let him. Instead of saying yes, instead of agreeing, you’re the one who responds with action. Your lips connect with Boba’s, and it seems to surprise him. At first his lips do not react, but then he’s answering back, kissing deeper. Seeking. Wanting to taste.

You open for him, and Boba moans, his hand upon your breast sliding upward to grasp the front of your throat in a possessive hold.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this, cyar’ika?” murmurs Boba against your lips. “Do you know how much I’ve craved you?”

“I thought we were bathing,” you reply, and he smiles. It’s so sweet. Soft. Something you’ve never seen on his face.

“You’re right,” he croons. “We are.”

You’ve never been cleaner. Boba keeps you reclined against him as he scrubs and strokes every inch of your body. He is gentle the entire time, pebbling your throat and lips with soft kisses that has your pussy clenching around nothing.

When you’re refreshed, Boba hands over control, and you are just as thorough. You adjust positions, straddling him. Boba wiggles further into the water, leaning back entirely, one arm splayed across the back of the tub while the other rests under the water where it rests on your thigh.

Boba never looks away. His gaze is always on you. There is a dreamy, happy quality to it, like he can’t believe you are truly here with him.

“You’re clean,” you say, twisting out the excess water from the handcloth. You set it aside just as Boba releases the valve for the water to drain.

You start to stand but Boba grabs your waist, drawing you back into his lap. Words begin to form on your lips, but Boba is quick, silencing whatever you wanted to say with a kiss.

“Can I take you to bed?” he asks, drawing back enough to stare into your face.

The water is quickly disappearing, and the sudden rush of air prickles your skin.

“You can have whatever you want,” you answer, and Boba’s grip on your waist tightens.

“And what if I want you on your back, hm?” he prompts. “Would you spread you legs for me?” He leans in for another kiss. This one is chaste. Quick. “Would you let me in, cyar’ika?”

Would you let me in, cyar’ika?

You have to bite back a moan. You’ll give this man anything.

“Dry me off and find out.”

With a swiftness that has you grabbing on to the back of Boba’s neck, he manages to lift you and step onto the bathroom floor in open fluid movement. He holds you in the air like that, and you pretend not to notice his hard as it presses against your inner thigh.

Slowly, Boba eases you to the ground, but he doesn’t let go. Keeping one arm around your waist, Boba snags a towel from the shelf. It is clean and white. Freshly laundered. He drapes it over your shoulders and you find the edges, bringing it in. Boba grabs another for himself.

You start with your ears and throat, then the rest of your body before drying your hair enough that it’s slightly damp. Boba is much faster than you, and he does nothing to help, only watches. Admires. It’s far too intimate, and you keep glancing away, smiling like a kriffing idiot.

“What?” you laugh, and Boba returns the smile.

He gently grabs hold of the towel and you release it to him, leaving you completely bare. The towel falls from his hands, and then Boba is grasping your hips, walking you backward into the dimly lit bedroom.

Boba comes to a halt when the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed. Keeping one hand on your hip, his other hand grasps the side of your throat, titling your head back a bit as his mouth meets yours in a searing kiss.

Heat is everywhere. It burns beneath your skin, soaring outward until you’re pushing up onto your toes in an attempt to draw closer. Boba is all eagerness. All hunger. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pause for air. He is devouring and you want to be consumed by him.

“I want to taste you,” he says between kisses.

When he leans in for more, you pull back, giggling. “You are.”

“No,” he replies, voice growing husky. “I want to taste you here.”

On here, Boba slips his hand between your legs, fingers gently parting your sex to revealing your slickness. The moment his fingers make contact, Boba growls, and it is a needy sound.

“That is what I want,” he reiterates, and you will not tell him no.

“I told you, Boba. You can have whatever you want.”

Boba withdraws his hand from between your legs. “On your back, love.”

You ease down onto the bed and then lean back on your elbows as you scoot away from the edge. Boba’s fingers brush against the tops of your knees before sliding between, easing your legs apart, guiding them wide so that he can move between them.

His rough, calloused hands are soft brands against your inner thighs. They slide upward toward your sex, only to purposefully pass over it instead to grasp waist and stomach.

Boba adjusts, leaning onto one elbow, his other hand roaming across your skin.

He studies the curve of your hip, the softness of your belly, the places where you think there is too much and not enough. Boba worships it all, leaving nothing untouched.

“Ready?” he asks, and you nod.

Boba’s thumb hovers at your entrance where your slickness pools. He draws some up to your clit. Presses. Swirls. It’s a sharp tug. A sudden burst.

You gasp, back arching slightly as Boba continues to play with that sensitive bump. His fingers aren’t even inside you. And you are falling apart, fingers clawing at his shoulders, hips flexing into his touch as your body clenches. The moan is choked, suppressed. Boba grins against your thigh.

“Good. That’s it, cyar’ika,” he purrs, wrist rotating, his middle finger sliding through your wetness.

He finally adds a finger, begins pumping. Your hips buck, and Boba meets with a thrust of his hand. His thumb on your clit is relentless and it isn’t long before you’re clenching again, this time mewling softly, trying hard to relax but failing completely.

That is when Boba descends. That is when he finally takes his taste.

Boba parts your pussy with a slow swipe of his tongue. He swirls up, teasing your clit with just the tip, and that is enough to make your shake, for your back to come off the bed. Without thought, your hands seek him. One slides through his hair, tangling, twisting, anchoring yourself as your hips roll against his mouth, riding his face.

Boba sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s over. You hear yourself but it seems so distant, like you’re falling into a deep hole. Your thighs clench like you’re trying to trap his head between them, but Boba is strong. Insistent. He keeps spread, forcing you wide again to take his tongue without resistance.

You say his name until your voice grows hoarse and you skin is tingling in the afterglow of pleasure.

Around you, the bed sinks as Boba shifts forward, pushing off his knees, crawling over you until the two of you are face to face. Your chest heaves as you gaze up at the man you’ve always held at a distance. Boba’s lips are slightly parted. In the small slashes of light, you glimpse the glossy shine on his lips.

You reach up and run your thumb across that mess only for Boba to suck that digit into his mouth, wiping you clean of yourself.

Boba is so close, and you arch your neck, seeking his mouth. He gives you what you’re seeking, and everything in you melts, becoming one with his warmth. Your hands slide up his chest and then back down, nails grazing over his skin.

He breaks the kiss, panting. “I need you.”

“You can have me.” It’s a wonder that you’re even able to speak.

Pushing up onto one elbow, Boba grasps your wrists, and then you’re rolling on to your stomach, Boba’s weight heavy at your back. Your arms are above your head, pinned there. With a quick adjustment, Boba shifts your wrists to one hand while the other runs up and down your back in a gentle caress.

“Mesh’la,” he murmurs, and you shiver.

Slowly, Boba releases your wrists, but you do not move them. You hold them above your head, awaiting Boba’s next move. Both hands join, moving lower and lower until his hands are full of you. He squeezes your ass and mutters something under his breath that you’re unable to hear.

Boba’s hands fall to your hips. They adjust, bringing them up off the bed a bit. But Boba does not part your legs. Instead, he tests your entrance with a single finger.

Grunting, he withdraws, and then reaches up, snagging one of the pillows.

“Lift your hips,” he commands. You comply, and Boba slips the pillow beneath your lower abdomen. “Better,” he growls, hands returning to your ass.

The bed sinks as he shifts, and again, Boba does not part your legs. He adjusts the pillow some more, arching your hips a bit higher. His hands slide down to the backs of your thighs, pausing near your pussy. With a little pressure, Boba spreads you a bit, but it’s not nearly as much as you expected.

You push up onto your forearm, twisting a bit to look over your shoulder.

Boba’s gaze meets yours just as the head of his cock finds your entrance. He holds himself there, and then thrusts forward.

You cry out, not from pain but from pure pleasure. The stretch is intolerable but so kriffing good you nearly come undone right then.

Boba retreats, and then returns, each roll of his hips giving you more and more of his cock.

“You’re so kriffing tight, cyar’ika,” he groans, feeding you more until your toes curl from the intrusion.

Boba pauses when he bottoms out, holding himself there as his hands slide up and down your back in a soothing caress.

“How do you feel?” The question is one of genuine concern.

You’re no longer leaning on your forearm. You’ve collapsed, cheek pressed against the bed. “Good, Boba. I’m good.”

Boba rolls his hips again, and the slow drag has you clenching. The whimper that accompanies it arrives unbidden, but it is only one of many.

His thrusts begin slow before becoming steady, each one a claiming. Boba drapes himself over you, his forehead resting against the back of your head, and his hands planted on either side of you. Boba uses that as leverage to drive into you over and over.

You are pinned beneath him, taking everything, and it is delicious. You don’t want him to stop. You want to be claimed. To be possessed. To be known by him.

Boba’s breath is hot against your neck, and the words he mutters are of a language you don’t know. He might be cursing you, praising you, or praying to gods you know nothing about.

It isn’t until Boba’s thrusts become quick and erratic that his mind seems to return to you. Keeping one hand anchored to the bed, Boba uses his other hand to tangle his fingers in your hair. Without hurting you, he turns your head just enough to look into your eyes.

“Let me come inside you, cyar’ika.”

“Boba,” you groan as he grinds his hips against you.

“Please,” he begs.

Boba slows his thrusts, awaiting your answer.

You start nodding, but Boba shakes his head like it isn’t enough. “I need words. I need to hear you say it.”

He lightly tugs on your hair and you moan your answer loudly. “Yes.”

Boba’s grip on your hair releases, and your head drops back to the bed. In his end, Boba is relentless, a pounding pace that drives you into the bed. Your fingers claw at the bedding, everything in your clenching and unclenching, your clip rubbing against the pillow until your own release bursts like stardust.

Boba groans against your throat, and then he stills, pressing down with all his weight, burying himself to the hilt. You don’t even care how messy this will be. You only care about how his arms start to go around you. How he completely drapes himself across you like a blanket. How he whispers your name between kisses to the space between your shoulder blades.

Adjusting some of his weight off of you, Boba grasps the front of your throat, and then you’re looking at each other.

“How many more times can I have you tonight?” he muses, lips curling into a smile.

“We should take what we can. Before we depart. Return to our lives,” you answer.

“You think I’m letting you go, cyar’ika?” counters Boba.

You shift to see him better. “Isn’t that what has to happen?”

 Boba’s mouth forms in a wide grin. “No. You might return to your books, but when I come calling, I expect to be treated like this.” He lightly thrusts, and you whimper. He’s growing hard again. Needy.

“Boba,” you groan, arching into him.

He kisses your shoulder. Kisses the dip and then your throat. “I’m never letting you go, cyar’ika.”

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[lillified]

can i ask what the general lore for your au is? love me some good lore

I think I’ve done a pitch outline before that’s covered some of this, but I can give you the basic background for reference! (Tumblr page search seems a bit broken the further back you get anyway)

Cybertron is an alien planet with a long history of strife. Following the reign of the Quintessons, a hostile and colonial alien species, and their eventual ousting, the remnants of a military-industrial state and its tyrannical caste system left only a matter of time before massive conflict erupted.

Cybertron: The original home planet of the Cybertronians, and the current territory of the Autobots. Cybertron is a very ancient planet formed around the remnants of an enormous organic “ancestor,” whose blood and other material is extracted for use as food. This organic material is vital to the survival of all Cybertronians, and the most important component, Energon, is extremely highly coveted. It can be found sparingly in other parts of the universe (notably other early established Cybertronian space colonies), but without access to the original ancestor, or its sparsely documented relatives and protégé, it is unrenewable, which would inevitably mark the end of the Cybertronian race. Extensive industrialization on a global scale made Energon sparse, and an exhaustive global war only exacerbated this scarcity.

The Decepticons: Made up primarily of the former lower castes of Cybertron, the Decepticons are a mish-mash group of revolutionary mercenaries, banded together to end the tyrannical rule of Cybertron. Although they were originally known as the Ascenticons, they gained the derogatory name after their defacto “leader,” Megatron, permanently maimed her rival for the primacy, Optimus, during a political demonstration that turned violent. Optimus was famously left without a lower jaw, and the brutal scuffle was used to galvanize moderates against the perceived extremity of the group.

Now, having been largely driven off of Cybertron after a battle which devastated both sides., the fractured branches of the Decepticons struggle to find places they can recoup and regather amid the cosmos. Their primary squad, team Alpha, is currently drifting in space, eagerly anticipating the day it can find the resources to reestablish communication with what remains of the Decepticon army.

The Autobots: A faction formed out of the former military of Cybertron and its allies. Figureheaded by the stoic and personable Optimus Prime, the Autobots barely hold onto control of Cybertron, and seek to persist against the Decepticons’ demands for radical reconstruction. Now made up of many of Cybertronian’s youth, plenty of Autobot soldiers aren’t fully aware of what they’re fighting for, and barely retain memories of life before the war. If the current course of the war continues, they hope to drive the Decepticons out of anywhere they’ve hidden until they surrender and concede.

The Present: With impassible stakes for everyone involved, if they want any hope of surviving and reclaiming Cybertron, the Decepticons must do the impossible: overcome their many differences and work as a team. Our story starts in the far reaches of space, where Decepticon Team Alpha is searching for resources and a temporary residence where they can begin to reestablish communication with their allies.

The members of Team Alpha include:

Megatron: the melancholic leader, whose reputation does not match her lethargic withdrawal.

Starscream: the second in command with a penchant for mutiny. Her disloyalty is kept a secret, for both Megatron’s sake and Starscream’s.

Soundwave: the enigmatic and cynically self-important communications officer and third in command. Their speciality is espionage and information control, though they haven’t seen much of it recently.

Lockdown: former bounty hunter turned medic. this mean-looking ‘Con might not be certified, but in a pinch, he’ll patch you up—by any means necessary.

Knockout: the only thing worse than a mad doctor is his lackadaisical and negligent assistant. Knockout doesn’t really believe the Decepticons will win, but his hate for the Autobots is stronger than his realism.

Breakdown: a bruiser-in-training rescued from a docked Decepticon warship. He and Blitzwing were the only trainees who survived being stasis fried. Albeit a strong and capable fighter, this ‘Con doesn’t really have the “Deception grit” yet.

Blitzwing: Breakdown’s fellow soldier. Though she was also trained to be a mercenary, Blitzwing lacks a lot of the natural talent for fighting Breakdown has. Her unrecognized skill lies in weaponsmithing, though Starscream hopes to make a competent combatant out of her yet.

Ravage: don’t be fooled—this weapon class Minicon only looks like a Cybercat. The eldest of Decepticon team alpha, this odd bot gave up his Cybertronian appearance to live out the laid back life of a lazy mechanimal. His powerful spark makes him Megatron’s weapon of choice.

[burnwater13]

Grogu looking over at another student at the school in Nevarro City. Grogu is sitting at a desk. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 4, The Siege. Calendar by DateWorks.

Grogu thought, on the whole, that he had spent far too much of his time in school. First, every day of every year for twenty two standard years at the Jedi Temple and now, for a couple of hours on Nevarro. Those few hours brought back all of the feelings, and thoughts, and frustrations of those first twenty two years. Every. One. Of. Them.

In the big scheme of things, Grogu knew it had been a tiny fraction of his actual life. But that really didn’t make anything better. He still had to sit there and pretend the kid next to him wasn’t selfish and that the teacher wasn’t programmed poorly, and that the other kids weren’t fascinated and kind of weirded out by him as the same time. Just like at the Jedi Temple, only this time without his best friend being there and having his back. 

That’s right. Without Ian, his time at the Jedi Temple wouldn’t have been interesting or fun or dramatic or high stakes or any of those other things he’d experienced with his favorite pal. He wouldn’t have learned nearly as much about ethics, planning, re-planning, acting, the Force, and all of that. Ian was his educational linch pin. He gave Grogu a reason to be excited about learning every day because Grogu never knew when those lessons might just come in handy. 

If Ian had been present during the discussion of smugglers routes, the Hydian way, and pirates active in the Outer Rim, the next thing the two of them would have been doing was tapping into the vast information resources in the Jedi Library and finding away to obtain rare and interesting objects from far away places, like the candied gorgs from Cantonica or the chocolate covered cava nuts from Naboo. As it was, those items were obtained through street vendors in one of the lower level markets at an obscene amount of credits. 

Grogu never asked Ian how he’d managed to accrue those credits because you don’t ask questions you already know the answer to. Based on the information he’d picked up during his twenty years away from Temple and Coruscant, Grogu was certain that if they’d known about the pirates and smugglers they would have gotten a much more competitive price from those vendors.

That was another great thing about having a best friend in the same class you attended. You could test your knowledge right off the bat. You could climb very high in the Life tree and jump and use the Force to help you float down like a tiny green flutterby or you could stand on the ground, look up, panic, and arrest your best friend’s downward descent because it was clear that he was testing you the best way he knew how. Grogu missed that aspect of his friend a lot. 

The kids in the classroom were bored. Grogu could understand that. How many days in a row had the protocol droid ‘taught’ them about pirates, when their families and friends already knew about pirates and bounty hunters and Mandalorians just because they lived on Nevarro in the back of beyond in the Outer Rim? There was no telling, but Grogu was pretty sure that the answer was greater than one and only slightly less than infinity. That was a very conservative estimate. 

Now, he was stuck in the classroom with these younglings and he’d already lived a strange and dangerous life that he wouldn’t wish on any of them. And really, that was the most galling part of being left behind. He wasn’t just older than these children, he was older than the protocol droid teaching them. He had nothing in common with them except for some impatience and real desire for the ‘school day’ to be over already. 

Which made him miss Ian even more. At the end of their lessons, the two of them would compare notes and then go off to get some food and determine what kind of research they needed to conduct. Did Master Drallig really have a lightsaber that once belonged to a Sith? Did the candy in Master Kenobi’s desk actually come from Dathomir? If you asked Master Beq to review your homework prior to turning it in for a final grade would that really result in the kitchen staff sending you a frozen dessert? The research opportunities were plentiful and varied. Grogu missed that almost as much as his missed his friend. 

At least he could show these children something they had never seen before. They were far too young to have ever met a person who could ‘use’ the Force. Which was great! That meant they didn’t know if he was just performing a magic trick, which required forward planning and a co-conspirator, not. It also meant that they didn’t know if using the Force to snag of a sleeve of tasty, crunchy things was hard or easy peasy. He hoped that they would think it was hard. That way they wouldn’t ask him to do things like that every time they saw him and they would understand that hard work required substantial rewards. 

After all, as much as he liked sweet crunchy things, he preferred that those things were small frogs, gorgs on a stick, or the occasional plate of krayt dragon meat. If he was going to do the ‘magic’ hand thing for them, the least they could for him is provide his favorite snack. Ian would be upset with him for accepting anything less than the best, because he deserved it. 

“Listen, kid. You gotta know your value. If we were on Corellia I could charge at least a credit person just for them to see you. If you used the Force, well, the sky’s the limit!”

Yup. When you have friends, the sky really is the limit.

[echoedcrosshairs]

Just Cad / Cad Bane x F Reader

After reading @sinisterexaggerator post about Cad being depressed it gave me a angst/fluff idea if you haven’t read it you should & @dreamswithghosts for gif

Summary: After pairing with you Bane kept you around, one day he drops you off realizing he made a grave mistake seeing you take a bounty with the last people he ever wants to see again.

/ Bad Batch Era Bane / ~> might rewrite and develop more but idk

Warning: Angst, Fluff, Rough Cowboy & Cuddly Cowboy, mild adult subject. PG-13

Word count: 3.1k

After completing the score, Bane had grown more quiet than normal. He was already a man of a few words but the silence was heavy in the air, even Todo had been quietly sitting in his copilot chair. It hadn't been a high stakes bounty or a high profile case, it was open and closed the closes one would get to easy money in this line of work. You spun your chair in a circle groaning before getting up and wrapping your arms around the silent Duros keeping yourself under his hat not to knock it off. Smelling the familiar blaster traces and leather on him, he didn't even try to pry you off.

"Okay, Cowboy, what is it?" you asked letting the concern lace your voice.

"Nuff'in."

"Cad Bane, don't you lie to me," you said pulling yours arms off him staring down at the brim of his hat, "What is it? Bounty too boring? Let's find any another to do."

"Dat ain't it."

"So tell me!" you said impatiently.

"Droppin you off."

Your blood ran cold, time stood still looking down at him and it was if reality was breaking, "For how long?" his silence was answer enough. You went back to your seat but you couldn't sit still, your leg bounced wildly. You got up headed to the bunk room, you looked down at his bunk shaking your head grabbing your stuff off the top bunk and mini closet. Both of you weren't a couple but why did it hurt like a break up? You thudded your ahead against the shelf of the bunk trying to pull yourself together. Sure there had been moments where glances lasted longer than they should have or nights where a little to much was drank that opened him up to talk or maybe the occasional hug to the man you considered a friend. Thought was, you mentally corrected, but was never more than that so why was he kicking you out? You wanted to demand answers but you knew once he made up his mind that was it.

You unholstered his LL-30 copy you had on for the bounty just incase nothing had gone to plan, you laid it on his bunk not having enough strength to face him. Bane was a cold blooded killer, most would consider this a blessing but you knew him deeper down than most there was still a person underneath those sharp teeth and crimson eyes. For a man who had it all, the title of the best, the first pick of any bounty he the fear and respect that came along with that there was always something under the surface the loomed over him that you couldn't describe other than lonesome.

You took yourself down to the ramp bay with the two duffels in tow. Minutes went by, you heard the metal of his respirator and the click of his boots against the floor, "I still don't understand why..." you paused to take a deep breath, "I guess I'll see you when I see you, Cowboy," you uttered at his shadow waiting by the ramp.

"Ya betta off."

"I'm better off? I'm better off with the one person I trust."

"Dat's a weakness a cute lil lady likya can' afford."

You turned to him gawking, "Bane did you just call me cute?"

"Ya know whatta mean'" he grumbled looking at you, "ain't this no place for ya." His skin crawled at the hurt in your features and the surprise at the comment, she don' know... he realized. He exhaled, "Missy, ya gotten too close to ma, I don' wancha gettin hurt over meh ya can' ghet close to people in dis profession."

"That should be my decision, Bane..." you looked down to see the ramp lowering you stood at the top of it not wanting to crumble, "You hear me, Cad, I love you," your stomach fell at the confession and it took every ounce of strength to hold it together as you walked down, "Just so you know someone in this universe does."

Bane quickly hit the ramp button the moment you were off, he leaned against the wall supporting himself. He allowed himself a few tears instantly regretting it when Todo showed up.

"Mr. Bane you are crying," Todo said worried.

"No kiddin" Bane grumbled pulling himself up by the boot scraps.

"You should go-" Todo started before Bane cut in, "Quit ya yappin, da woman is a risk."

"A risk to your heart maybe," Todo said sourly.

"What was dat?" Bane growled.

"You don't let anyone close anymore, it was obvious how you felt about each other."

Banes fingers found the metal plate on his head, "Lets go, Todo," no one knew him not really or what was going on in his head, left for dead on one of his bad days by so called colleagues. He wanted to spat at the memory of falling and Boba. If they didn't understand him to see what was wrong no one would. Being abandoned by Jango, he didn't want to go through that again but  ain't dat what I just did to 'er...? Bane frustratedly kicking the wall, "Dang nabbit," he gridded out at how hard he had kicked it.

"Mr. Bane, I do insist you go fix this," Todo said putting his hands on his hips floating himself to Bane's eye level, "before she gets to far."

"Shut it, droid. 'I know wat I'm do'in."

"I don't think you do if your kicking your precious ship."

Bane growled stalking back off to the cockpit and slumped into the set staring out the window finding you walking away. His eyes trailed you until you were no longer visible as you disappeared deep into the streets. A familiar ache formed in his chest causing his finger to drum against the armrest of the chair, he wanted to take off and continue but he couldn't bring himself to start the ship. Bane had forgotten to shut off the alert for when you got to far from him, it dinged almost causing him to jump. He looked down seeing a bounty rooster with your name on it, drat woman you haven' been gone fora hour, his frozen blood boiled seeing who you were signed up with.

"She don' know 'em," he seethed seeing both Boba's and Bossk's names along with a couple other less noticeable hunters names.

"You did terminate your partnership with her, Mr. Bane," Todo pointed out, "It's only natural she continues with others. However if we retrieve her..."

"Can' care 'bout er," Bane affirmed but didn't make it any easier then he saw Embo's name on the list, "Ya getting ya way this once," he growled getting up heading into the bunk room eyes narrowing on the blaster, "She ain't even armed," he hissed holstering it.

"We will find the annoying mammal," Todo hated having her around causing Bane to split his attention but he seemed more like his old self having her around.

"Betta find her fast before dey leave."

Info fob took you to a run down busted cantina that definitely shouldn't have had their license to operate but it was the perfect out of sight place for Hunters to met up, which you suspected is the only reason the establishment was still open. You didn't know anyone from the list but you easily picked them out in the small crowd clustered in the back and the anxious looking people around them. You slide into booth introducing yourself, all of them glared at you.

"Is there something on my face?" You asked nervously.

"Nothing," the one called Boba's say, "Didn't realize your ball would give you enough chain to be by yourself without him."

"Bane...?" You asked stupidly which got a stupid reply of yes, "We're not a team anymore, he dropped me here and is probably long gone."

Boba hitched an eyebrow, "Is that so?"

"What does he need with a geek like me anyway, he has that droid anyway."

"We should get going, Bossk is going to meet up with us on the ship." All of you got up after Boba following him to the ship dock. You didn't even think twice about it even with Boba's connotation about Bane made it seem like they were less that associates it would be off whatever world this was.

Shuffling into the seat you heard the Trandoshan's breathing and turned around watching him stroll in sniffing, "I recognizess your ssmell but I don't recognizess you."

You rolled your eyes greeting him with your name and your former partner, "Is it really that big of a deal?" you muttered to yourself.

"Only to a select few."

Before you took off you saw it, the Justifier still docked and a blue figure staring straight at you. No one else seemed to noticed him in the distance and the ship took off towards everywhere the assignment was. You hadn't even bothered checking other then it was off planet. You fidgeted in your seat trying to shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"Whatss iss it?" Bossk hissed.

"I feel... like we're being followed... I can't explain it."

"Bane," Boba growled, "Anyone want to say hi?" he said sarcastically before the ship got one single blast.

Your pad started beeping, "Are you farking kidding me?" you grumbled pulling it out staring at it, Ghet back on da ship, now, 'You made me leave,' you replied, "Let's go."

Boba punched it, hitting light speed to get out of there, "What did he want?"

"Me," you mumbled. You pulled your legs up to your chest wrapping your arms around them letting your head slump against the seat. You eyed the room discreetly, feeling dejected but wondering why he didn't want you around them if that was what this was about. Your pad went off again, I'm comin, don' trust'em.

"I take it you don't know?" Boba said.

"Don't know what?"

"Bane was one of my mentors. Absolutely cruel to me; irony because my father was his mentor. One day while we were out on a bounty, Bane didn't care about how we went about it or if we even completed it. Him and I dueled for leadership, he lost and somehow lived."

"Oh..." you had wondered about the metal plate, remembering how every time you asked how belligerent he got especially after a couple drinks.  You were very aware of Bane's temper and ruthless but unlike them you understood there had to be a deeper reason, at least there had to be... right? "Well he's coming," you didn't know what else to say. You saw the silent conversation between Bossk and Boba wondering if you were about to catch in the crossfire, "What's the plan?"

"We'll see what he does when we land."

The moment you land hell erupts you and boba barely getting off the ramp finding Bane there guns drawn glaring, "Wan'da little lady, hand'er over," he was staring directly at Boba. If his eyes weren't already crimson they would have been with the rage rolling off of him. His pinky tapped against the butt of the gun waiting, he wanted to look at you but didn't want a distraction in cause this went south.

"We're busy," Boba glared Bossk and Embo following standing behind us, "You're the one who's going to hurt her Bane, not us," Boba added.

"Bessst be leaving," Bossk hissed.

"Gimme the girl an' I'll be gone," he watched fangs bared as Bossk pointed his blaster at your head and it was not on stun, "Don' dink 'bout it."

"Bane..." fear laced your voice as much as you tried to hide it your eyes looking at the blaster then at him, "I don't know what's going on in your head but please, go."

"What ya said gave meh to much to dink'bout, so yer comin with meh," he exhaled calculating how fast he could shoot and drop them before they dropped you realizing his odds were good but not great.

"Cowboy, it's been a great ride... but for me, you have to go," we're you putting his safety over yours? The things people do in the name of love, by the look in his face you no one had ever done that for him.

He snarled looking at them but he backed into the shadows furious at himself for stepping away. He listened for what seemed forever when he heard one blaster shot ring out. Bane seethed fist curling around his pistols even more enraged that he let his emotions get the better of him m. He'd uncharacteristically shown his weakness the one thing he had tried to strengthen Boba against so he wouldn't make the same mistake his father did and they killed you for being his. Bane wanted to turn around, stand his ground and make them pay but the pleading in your voice for him to go kept him walking, He'd face worse odds before but there was a time and place for revenge.

"Mr. Bane?" Todo asked.

"Dey killed her," he said, his voice laced with defeat as he climbed back into the Justifer, alone.

"That sshould buy uss time," Bossk hissed.

"That farking hurt!" You snapped grabbing the wound, Embo already returning with the med kit.

"Had to make it convincing," Boba shrugged, "Complete this bounty, you won't need to worry about needing Bane to make a name for yourself."

"No but I'll have to worry about you sticking your neck out for me, we both know he'll be back with a vengeance," you had a choice, you could earn yourself the respect to work alone or you could keep them from waring each other.

Bane put a leg up on the dash letting the other bounce realizing how much of his life had fallen apart, mentor dead, person he considered a friend turned out to a Jedi in disguise, getting injured, losing a major bounty and now this. He stuck a toothpick between his teeth and set his hat in his lap wondering about the exactly moment everything went wrong.

"Mr. Bane! Look!" Todo said pointing the limping figure towards the ship.

Bane didn't look he put his hat back on and ran to the ramp, "Yer alive," he said dumb founded grabbing your limping form from the bottom of it.

"Don't make me regret un-faking my death," you gridded out the steps up the ramp causing the pain in your leg to make you grunt, "Already regret it," you groaned forcing yourself to sit down the moment you were up the ramp.

"Why'd ya do it?"

"Come back? I didn't want you blaming yourself, the bounty was tempting however," you admitted, "could have made a name for myself," you mumbled.

" 'gain why didn' ya?" Bane poked.

"Don't make me say it again," you groaned standing up finally feeling the patch start to work, "First time was bad enough," because it had, it had hurt to admit the truth. You never had the intention of telling him, happy to just let things be but there was rarely a moment you couldn't read him and standing there dropping you off there was nothing you understood then again trying to get you back the look on his face said he going to go down a war path he couldn't come back from and it would have been your fault if he got killed. You blinked as you felt his arm reach out and curl around you vice gripping you to his lean frame, "Bane?"

"Cad," he grumbled breathing in your scent no longer able to smell the iron over powering it, "just Cad."

You put your arms around him, not once had he ever voluntarily hugged you or hugged back, you felt his chest rumble almost like a pur. Your face nervously smiled not wanting to say anything, he tried to pull away but you pulled him closer listening to it, "I like it, although would be better without these," you said tapping the breathing tubes. He didn't even hesitate removing them dropping them to the floor before returning his arm around you. You seemed to melt closer to him, it sounded more authentic without the metal rattle.

His pulled his arm away, “Leave it,” he said looking down at the breathing piece tugging you by the hand to the cockpit, “Gotta gehet da ship outta here,” he said dropping your hand as he slide into the pilots seat.

Much to Todo’s hovering annoyance you took the copilot seat, “I hope you prematurely take off your patch.”

You rolled your eyes snatching the droid mid air and hugging him, “Careful lil fella, I might give ya an accent like Bane’s and make you sing,” you teased releasing the companion, you chuckling as that instilled the fear of the maker in him because he knew how good and fast you could reprogram him.

“Mr. Bane you’re not going to let her… right?!”

The Duros chuckled, “Maybeh.”

“I’m going to go lay down,” you yawned forgetting how draining the patches were. It didn’t take long before you heard foot steps behind you, stalking your movement to the bunk room.

“Don’ dink bout hopin up there,” he voiced watching you look up, “ ‘mer,” he said taking off his hat resting it on a post and climbed into the bunk. He watched you stare at him, “ ‘Mer, ain’t gonna bite ya,” he watched you climb in and he wrapped himself around you practically half laying on you. Life had broken him down, but thinking you were dead had destroyed him albeit temporarily. He felt your arm wrap around him feeling nails lightly in his back not lustful but in need of his solidarity. Bane’s lip twitched as that infernal purring started again.

“What do have you have to think about?”

“Ya really didn’ know how I feel?” He whispered.

It was weird seeing the bounty hunter who astutes confidence and authority in every moment seem so.. just human, “No. I never expected to see you again either.” The purring stopped replaced with a momentary growl, “Bane?” You said tilting your head to him, “What is it?” He was silent. “Cad?”

“Da feelin’ mutual,” he felt compelled to say after hearing his name on your lips. The purring started and he heard you make a small happy hmm noise. He didn’t need to say it, you both knew what he meant. “When it’s meh and you, it’s Cad.”

“Cad,” the name rolled off your tongue like expensive spotchka, “Only I get to call you?” he nodded. Your hand roamed his head gently and the other light stroked his back, “I don’t regret it anymore,” you teased, “so cowboy, what’s next?”

“For ya missy? Go ta’bed, wanna enjoy dis,” he said exhaling enjoying the scent of you and feel of you finally touching him, “Maybeh we go ta’beh,” he mumbled feeling heavier and suddenly tired.

“Let’s go to bed… Cad,” you smiled turning a little more into the blue space cowboy’s embrace hearing the pur slowly stop as both of you fell asleep.

[barbwillbrb]

Gonna work on some art, but first— gonna info dump about my babies , Rackal and Clairice:

- Grew up in Baldur’s Gate in the Lower City, near the docks. Both Rackal and Clairice no longer live in the city fulltime, but were there for their yearly visit when they for captured on the Nautiloid. Embarrassingly, it wasn’t anything noble that brought them there; it was their usual visit/shared vacation, where they usually see their mom, take on some low stakes bounty that can be accomplished in a couple days, hit up the Elfsong and then go to the tattoo/piercing parlor.

- Half-drow. Mom is a 6’5 human Barbarian from up North, dad is a 5’10 Drow cleric. Dad died 8 years ago (longterm chronic health issues with his lungs), but Mom is still alive and well. All height/muscle comes from Mom.

- They’re twins, 52 years old. Clairice insists Rackal is the older one.

- They are each other’s best friend, but drive each other absolutely nuts. Rackal can be far too stern/serious for Clairice’s liking, hence why they don’t adventure together too often anymore. For example:

“An adventure is supposeed to be FUN and you’re killing the vibe.”

“Well, SORRY that my idea of ‘fun’ isn’t FUCKING DYING.”

“It’s a brush with danger.”

“WE ALMOST DIED.”

“But we didn’t-“

“No, ‘WE’ didn’t because WITHERS BROUGHT YOU BACK YOU—“

“And it was the best sleep of my life now can we PLEASE move on.”

- Both characters handle the realization of what’s happening to them with various levels of “not well.” Rackal’s breakdown/freakout occurs during Act 1 at the tiefling party. Clairice, meanwhile, has a pretty obnoxious, optimistic outlook throughout Act 1, coming off annoyingly carefree, only to quickly lose it when the magnitude of what they are up against becomes unfathomable when they hit the Shadowlands.

Rackal Orro:

- Former Flaming Fist, joined in his mid-20s and remained until about 5 years ago, choosing to become a mercenary/vigilante instead because he found himself clashing more and more with leadership.

- Fighter turned Oath of Devotion Paladin, although he’s been finding it extremely hard to maintain it these days (what good is an oath if it’s not serving those who you took it up for in the first place?). That Oath gets shattered during the story. Uses greatswords/hammers heavy armor, leans towards heavily offensive combat tactics.

- Main attributes: strength, constitution, charisma

- Sexuality: He gives zero shits about gender, and physical appearance matters very little to him (although, if pressed, he might admit a slight preference for taller partners and/or larger body types, namely because as a big guy he is afraid of hurting a smaller, thinner partner. That said though, it doesn’t really matter— they can always ride on top). Emotional connection is what matters most; he’s drawn to strong personalities and people who hold fast to their convictions, or who put in the work to grow as better people. Perseverance and a willingness to stand up for the weak are all traits he’s attracted to. He’s far more likely to find himself developing romantic/sexual feelings for someone after knowing them for sometime, rather than having them from the start.

- Love life is… not really something he’s trying to think about. His first love was Meirin, a tiefling barbarian who has his childhood best friend turned lover. They were his first for many things, and going from a deep friendship to a gentle love was as easy as an afternoon nap during the summertime— just another thing they did together. While they developed feelings for each other during their late teens, things turned romantic/sexual in their early 20s, shortly after they joined the Flaming Fists together. The two were partners in arms and in life until around 10 years ago when a mission went fatally wrong, killing Meirin and permanently scarring Rackal both physically and mentally (the burn marks across his face, chest, and arms are from this). Over the past four years at the encouragement of loved ones (and a therapist) he has attempted to date, but with very little success; he doesn’t really know how to navigate a more traditional courtship as he went straight from a deep friendship to romantic love, so he finds himself either coming off too strong or too reserved/distant. Casual flings are also not his cup of tea and just make him feel like shit. At the start of the story, he is single and very much not looking for anything (too busy trying not to die/have sister die/have world die/why isn’t anyone else freaking out about this shit?!). Fortunately/unfortunately, it sneaks up on him and he finds himself falling hard for Rolan (Rackal is very oblivious though, and doesn’t realize what’s happening until he is doing something for the tiefling and it dawns on him that he wasn’t asked, he was just thinking of the wizard because he saw something and thought “huh, Rolan would like this” and the feeling is so natural and so familiar and…oh no, oh gods no).

- General persona: Serious, headstrong/arrogant, blunt. Extremely protective of family/friends/loved ones, and can very much be manipulated by this. Can come off as very intense. Very firm, unyielding sense of justice.

Hobbies: Collects things he finds interesting (this has no rhyme or reason, and is not connected to monetary value) as well as items for family/loved ones (usually picks up crystals/mushrooms for his mom, as they remind her of his dad. Also does end up collecting books/scrolls for Rolan as well, especially anything on the history of the Weave/wizardry). He’s very keen on keeping up his combat skills and overall enjoys exercising. Also can drum and carry a tune/sing if songs are kept more story/campfire based (Clairice needed someone to practice with growing up, and dragged him into being her music partner).

Clairice Orro:

- Clairice is the sibling who was always getting into (and out of) trouble growing up. She attempted to turn the right foot and joined the Fists with her brother and their friend, but it turns out she is far better at breaking the rules than keeping them. Clairice ends up affiliated with the Guild after a few successful years on her own, and served them well until before the events of BG3.

- Dual class Bard/Rogue. Prefers to avoid fighting at any possible occurrence, be it through stealth, deception, persuasion, or simply ignoring it. However, crossbows are her weapon of choice.

- Main attributes: Charisma, intelligence, dexterity

- Sexuality: Pansexual. Attracted to pretty people who promise a good time.

- Love life: Clairice is here for a good time, not a long time, and that definitely shows in her relationships. She prefers keeping things casual, and should she be faced with the question of “what are we?” chances are she will flee. Her longest sort-of relationship lastest for a couple of years with a particular leader of the Guild, and it might be the abrupt dissolution of that non-relationship being the reason she is no longer with the Guild, and sought out her brother for a reunion. During the events of BG3, Clairice… gets around. A lot. She cannot be tamed (well, for a good while anyways).

- General persona: Carefree/doesn’t take many things seriously, a natural silver tongue, enjoys causing a scene/being the center of attention. Can be considered loud/abrasive, but also bright/jubilant. Loves to talk her way into and out of situations, and just talk in general.

- Hobbies: Multi-talented musician, but best at string instruments and signing with a preference for the lute. Also likes to paint, and collects feathers.

Been working on a sketchy reference sheet to introduce my main Tav that I keep doodling with Rolan, along with his twin sister who was also hijacked on the Nautiloid.

Meet Rackal and Clairice Orro, a pair of twin pansexual disasters here to 1) get the fuck back to Balder’s Gate to make sure their mom is okay and 2) save the world. Shenanigans in their adventure may or may not include:

- Letting a sketchy “doctor” give you a lobotomy because your dead girlfriend keeps telling you to eat fucking tadpoles in your sleep

- Three words: tequila and tadpoles.

- Screwing an incubus while your friends/brother kill a devil in the other room

- Many improper uses of featherfall. Or desperate. Or creative— depends who you ask.

- Lots of Bluetooth tadpole nonsense

- Fighting god?

- Correction: killing gods.

Rackal and Clairice are two of my OCs who’ve been with me the longest, and I’ve been using BG3 to explore their personalities a bit through an AU idea I’m still tinkering with. Hoping to maybe doodle some comics about it eventually.

Also light censor in case tumblr gets mad.

[hayleysayshay]

Really like the 4 Sided Dive discussion on the Otohan fight

— They probably could have avoided the fight if they sneaked away instead of using the crawler (or if Laudna hadn’t tried to spider climb, then plant a tracker on Otohan). There would have been a bounty put on them

— Otohan initially only wanted to disable the party, but then recognised Imogen and that she had an emotional connection with them all and that turned the fight deadly

— Otohan was ‘pretty low’ and it breaks my heart because of the initiative was better they might have got a few more good hits in and it might not have been as deadly

— Marisha saying they all enjoyed the experience and them all wanting the stakes to be high

— Discussion that points out that if Sam had rolled 1 lower he wouldn’t have been able to revive Fearne so they would be trying to revive three characters

Pretty good discussion. I think the original episode was so intense it was a little confusing why things were happening it felt railroaded. (unless you think Matt is lying then idk)

[sleepyowlwrites]

find the word tag CCLXXXV

the stories that I'm not writing have much better names than the stories that I am. however, a name is not everything, and if there's nothing to follow it up, it's not much good. so I guess I'd rather have a story with some kind of name than a name with no story. @spacetimewraithwrites fun fact: you're Timespace because I am not very clever but I do like reversals. like this tag, too.

rain (illusion of context, 2012)

Supposition's over Drowning in a lake How do I know to believe?

Crawling in the rain I know what's at stake Now I have to know it's time

Searching for the gain Before I have to brake Is it too late to save what's mine?

glance (beating hearts, 2021)

“It’s just the river is very loud. But since we entered this tomb, I’ve felt like something was off. No, even before. I’ve felt something was wrong all day, and it’s only getting stronger. I don’t have an explanation, but I couldn’t keep it to myself.”

Wu Xie exchanges a glance with the others. He’s not trying to hide it, which is nice. Liu Sang hates it when they exclude him one moment and include him the next. Even if they do understand each other so well that they can communicate just by looking at each other, they don’t have to rub it in. Liu Sang has learned that this particular type of exchange is saying something like, “well, that’s not ideal, but what are we going to do about it? We’ll just be careful going forward,” and it does make Liu Sang feel the smallest bit better.

choice (pickles at midnight, 2012)

Choice midnight snack: pickles. If there's no pickles then I might eat some kind of chip or cookie, but I'd prefer pickles - not because they fill me up, but because that's what I like to eat at midnight.

night (summon story d0)

“You’re staying at The Copper Kettle?” Zan approached the inn warily.

Beside him, Shae nodded, unperturbed. “They lowered my room cost because I helped them contract a likal for their stores. It was entirely unexpected. I’d never done a likal summoning and was going completely off of Shraders’ and just hoping for the best. And they have a small yard. I’ve been practicing there.”

Zan placed a hand on Shae’s arm to get her to stop talking. “This place is not safe.”

“Of course it’s not safe,” Shae said irritably, tugging her arm back. “We’re right at the border of Claybeak territory. Why do you think I don’t do bounties at night? I’m not stupid.”

sink (met-portal, 2021 - I dunno if you've noticed, but I absolutely adore platonic kisses)

“It is wasted if multiple people try it?” Kevin asks.

Jisung considers this. “I don’t think so. Because it’s just a regular kiss, otherwise, not as a curse breaker. I don’t think you can waste a kiss.”

“That’s what I said!” Eric whispers loudly to Sunwoo, who sinks in his seat. “Kisses aren’t wasted.”

“Alright, fine,” Sunwoo says, grumpy. “You like kisses, weirdo.”

“I like them too,” Jisung says in solidarity.

side, straight, sight, stick. BONUS: sarcastic, singular. @wisteria-eventide @writeblrfantasy @druidx @jaxwolffwrites @ink-fireplace-coffee @ashen-crest OR ANYBODY or nobody

[hrtiu]

@luoiae​ thank you for the prompt! “Boba realizing fennec's cyborg tummy gives away her true emotions 8DDdd.”

AO3 link.

“Drop the rifle and walk away or I’ll shoot!” the Human assassin yelled, the barrel of his blaster pressed to Boba Fett’s temple. “I swear I’ll do it!”

Thoroughly unimpressed, Fennec Shand stood across the audience chamber from them, rifle trained on the assassin. “Do it. He means nothing to me.”

The mechanical innards of her torso hissed and cranked, and the assassin’s eyes grew wide. “What… What are you?”

“Rotta didn’t even tell you what you’re up against?” Fennec said with a tsk. “Amateur.”

Boba narrowed his eyes at his partner, unconcerned by the blaster held up to his head but confused by the clanking. He knew he’d done a good job creating her cybernetic torso, and it had never made that noise before.

The assassin didn’t know that, though, and he was terrified. “S-s-stay back! I’ll shoot!”

“You already said that,” Fennec said flatly. “Maybe try a different tactic.”

The would-be assassin panicked and turned his blaster on Fennec, squeezing off five or six wild shots. She, on the other hand, only shot once.

Boba shoved the assassin’s smoking body off of him, dusting himself off and striding across the room towards Fennec.

“You were lying, when you said that,” he said.

“Said what?”

“When you told him to shoot me. That I mean nothing to you.”

Fennec furrowed her brows at Boba. “Are you serious?”

“Your stomach made that funny sound.”

“...And?”

Boba Fett considered her for a long moment, a theory coalescing in his mind. Fennec stared back. She was one of the only people who could manage that.

“Let’s get this place cleaned up,” he said finally, gesturing to the body on the floor. “We can’t have my palace looking a mess.”

“We certainly can’t.”

---

Boba had to engineer an opportunity to test his theory with a game of sabacc. Fennec rarely gambled, so it took a few solid months of casual suggestions before he finally coaxed her into a game.

They played for small stakes. Boba knew the infighting and conflict that could come from serious gambling debts within a crew, and Fennec didn’t seem particularly interested in the thrill of potentially losing her life’s savings. The credits weren’t the point, anyway.

“Five credits,” Boba said, tossing his credits into the pot. He had a green three of circles and a red two of squares—a decent hand.

“I raise you ten credits,” Fennec said, stone-faced, pushing her credits in.

Boba looked at her from over the top of his cards, eyes narrowed. “Have a good hand, do you?”

She shrugged, but said nothing. That wasn’t going to work for his experiment.

“I’ve got plus one,” he said, leaning forward across the table. “Can you do better?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He shook his head. “There’s no way you’ve got better than a plus one. Convince me otherwise.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Boba. I have a good hand.”

The hissing rattle of metallic parts emanated from Fennec’s stomach, and she froze. A slow smile crept across Boba’s face as he stared down his opponent, a weakness spotted.

“I raise you fifty credits,” Boba said, pulling the extra currency out of his pocket.

To her credit, Fennec’s face betrayed nothing. Unfortunately for her, her body had already given her away. “I fold.”

Boba smirked as he gathered the credits to himself. He’d won something much more valuable than credits this game. He’d won information.

---

“I can’t resolve this if you won’t tell me what’s wrong,” Boba said, trailing Fennec as she stormed through the lower levels of the old Hutt palace. 

She’d been in a fowl mood ever since their last excursion to Mandalore, and Boba couldn’t figure why. It had been a simple mission—helping a sister-in-arms out with some Pyke Syndicate thugs. Everything had gone smoothly, but Fennec’s silence had felt sullen and off these last few days.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, but her gut gurgled away the truth.

“Just tell me! You’re obviously upset about something.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Your stomach says otherwise.”

Fennec rounded on him, her impassive expression broken for once into a nasty snarl. “Look, if I wanted to tell you why I’m upset then I’d tell you.”

Boba took a step back, caught off guard by her sudden anger. Part of the reason they worked so well together was the uncanny way they seemed to understand each other’s moods and temperaments, but this was a version of Fennec he’d never seen before.

“Fine,” he said, feeling strangely hurt. “Why don’t you take off for a few days. Do whatever you need to sort yourself out.”

“Fine,” Fennec snapped, then she stormed from the room.

---

“I’ve brought the Rodian, as requested,” the Mandalorian woman said, shoving the smivelling creature in question in front of Boba. “I want 10,000 credits for him.”

“The bounty was for 5,000,” Boba said, leaning back into his throne and looking her over. She was from the old class of Mandalorians—simple bounty hunters, a breed after Boba’s own heart.

“The bounty was for 5,000, but then nobody caught him for six months. So I upped the price.”

Boba brought a hand to his chin, considering. 10,00 was steep, but the Rodian in question had tried to sell him out to Rotta the Hutt. The twerpy little Hutt kept coming for Boba and wasn’t likely to stop any time soon, so Boba needed to send a message about loyalty. And he had to admire the bounty hunter’s nerve.

“Alright. Collect your 10,000 from my treasurer,” he said, waving her in the direction of the bespectacled, nervous looking man Boba kept around to look after his finances.

She nodded and Boba signalled for his guards to take the Rodian away, rising to his feet and leaving the audience chamber without truly registering the screams of protest echoing down the halls. Fennec followed after him, ever in his shadow.

They made their way through the subterranean hallways of the old palace, but once they were well away from the crowds Fennec stopped. She huffed, and the barely-audible sound might as well have been deafening, coming from her.

“What is it, Fennec?” Boba asked, turning to her.

She pursed her lips. “You gave that woman much more than that bounty was worth. You’re always soft on Mandalorians.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Fennec crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “Come on. We asked for 5,000. Maybe you can give her more because he was harder to catch then we expected, but double?”

Boba felt a twinge of guilt at Fennec’s frustration. She’d started as his guardian, bound to him by a life debt, but over the years they’d become something more like partners. And yet he hadn’t considered talking over the bounty hunter’s proposal with her first.

The guilt only irritated Boba more, activating his defense mechanisms. “You’re acting like a jealous lover,” he snapped.

“No I’m not,” she said, her sharp features accentuated by the heavy shadows of the dark hallway.

Her stomach popped, a cranking, rattling sound hissing out, and Fennec froze. Boba blinked stupidly at her for a long moment, his brain taking longer than it should to process this new information.

“Are you... interested in me?” he asked, incredulous despite the evidence before him.

“No,” Fennec said firmly, her arms crossing over her stomach. Unfortunately for her, her arms couldn’t stop the hissing and rattling of her abdomen.

He stepped closer to her, feeling a strange sort of hope paired with uncomfortable nervousness. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” she said, louder now to cover the insistent burbling.

He took another step towards her, and she didn’t back down. Slowly, with the patience of a man who’d survived years on his own in the desert, he inched closer. He brought one hand to her cheek, his thumb resting along the curve of her cheekbone. His forehead touched hers, his nose nudging the bridge of her nose. “Do you want me to kiss you right now?” he said, quietly, intently.

“No…” Her protest was barely audible over the rattling of her midsection.

“Fen… this is something you have to tell me with your words,” Boba said, looking right into her dark eyes.

Her eyes were wide with something he’d never seen in her before. Fear, nerves, hesitancy—whatever it was he knew it was a privilege to bear witness to in a warrior such as Fennec Shand.

A decision was made in the set of her jaw, in the steel of her eyes. “Yes,” she said firmly.

Boba closed the distance between them and pressed his mouth to hers, his fingers sliding into her hair and her arms looping around his shoulders. She held on tightly and he could feel the gurgling of her stomach settle down to a contented peace. One of her hands moved up to his face, memorizing the lines of his scars and honoring each one. He let one arm fall down to her waist, marvelling in the strength contained in a body so small. 

She pulled away some time later, breathless and flushed. She prodded Boba’s chest with a finger, her jab as sharp as a knife. “If you let anyone know I have such an obvious tell, you’re dead.”

He smiled at her, pulling her into his arms again. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[brokenbeskar]

Interception

Chapter Four of Memories Reforged (Din Djarin x Reader) 

Word Count: 7.8k

Summary: Karga had warned that the two of you would have to work together to catch this bounty, but who knew working together would be so difficult?

Warnings: some canon typical violence, but nothing else! 

A/N: This chapter was a STRUGGLE to write, but I have been so excited for it! I hope my hard work payed off and you all enjoy it!

Sixty thousand credits. Sixty thousand credits. You have to keep repeating it to yourself as you scan through the passing crowd on one of the lower levels of Galactic City. Taking bounties on Coruscant was never easy, and quite honestly it was beyond exhausting. Thousands of city blocks stacked on top of eachother and spanning the entire length of the planet made it that much easier for bounties to blend in and hide. You and the mandalorian had decided to split up to cover more ground, but even between the two of you it could take weeks to finally find your quarry, and that was time you didn’t have. 

So here you were, on a vantage point scanning the streets below you on the west end, looking for any sign of your bounty. Nothing...nothing...nope...still nothing. A lot of the passersby were shady, as to be expected, but not who you're looking for. The lower you got in Galactic City, the more crime ridden and poverty stricken it became, a prime place for spice runners and black market trades. Which is exactly why you were looking here. 

The bounty you’re after, Kargra warned that the two of you would have to work together to catch her, and you know why. Her name was Yanu Nuld. This particular bounty was a renowned thief. She was known for pulling off incredibly risky heists but somehow managing to never get caught. She was incredibly cunning and deceitful. Known for convincing others to help her only to leave them abandoned and easily caught with nothing in return. All of the intel gathered on her was information happily given up from those scorned by her mendacious ways. Above all though, she was incredibly smart, a master evader. The price on her head was only as high as it was because of how many failed attempts there have been made to capture her. 

Yanu was clearly a thrill seeker. Hearing how high stakes her last few heists were, you wonder if she’s getting bored. It was no wonder she was here on Coruscant, there were plenty of valuables to go after, and with the thriving black market beneath your feet, she could easily make more than a few credits in one evening alone. That can’t be why she's here though, no-- she has to be after something bigger. She’s not here for some measly credits and you know it. That would be too easy for her, she needs something more exciting, more risky, more fun. What though? You didn’t intend to find out, just grab her and go as fast as possible. Sixty thousand credits were on the line here, and maker, you needed them. She was just a way to get you one step closer to your new ship. 

As you’re scanning the crowd you notice a familiar, irritating gleam of metal. You huff angrily and activate the commlink in your helmet. The two of you had synced them up before you split up to communicate, but clearly there wasn’t enough of that going on.

“What are you doing here?” You bark out through the comm, and you see him immediately look up to your vantage point as if you had shouted it over the crowd. 

“Looking for the bounty.” He deadpans and it infuriates you, you roll your eyes under your helmet. 

“Stand up at the cantina not work out for you, shiny?” A mocking tone was oozing from your voice before you suddenly changed your demeanor and snapped out at him, “We agreed I would take the west end, and you would take east.” 

“I finished sweeping the east end, she's not there.” 

“Well I don’t need you to double check my work.” you spit out bitterly at him. How he managed to constantly get on your nerves was a skill of its own. You try to push your irritation aside to focus on the bounty you still had zero leads on. “I’m assuming since you’re here you didn’t get anything good from the jeweler?”

There's a long pause on his end before he replies, “I didn’t speak to the jeweler.” He says it slowly, drawing it out. He sounds almost as irritated as you. 

“What do you mean, you didn’t speak to them?” You speak out through your clenched jaw. Your irritation is much more obvious than his, but you can’t help it. 

“You never asked me to.” it’s true, you didn’t, but you thought it should have been obvious when you told him you thought they might have some information. 

“Dank farrik! Fine!” You spit through the comm and jump down onto the dirty street below you, heading off in the direction of the jeweler. “Just keep doing whatever you’re doing. Let me know if you get anything.” You switch off the comm before he can say anything else.

You’re grumbling angrily under your breath as you trudge through the dirty streets. You and the mandalorian had been constantly getting into each other's way, you don’t work well together at all. It’s not like you don’t know how to work with others. Kriff, you got into this profession with a partner, working with someone else should be more natural to you than it would be alone. Something about this mandalorian however, was making this job far more difficult than it already was.

 Since you landed he’s been getting on your nerves. The both of you couldn't agree on anything, you are uncoordinated together, pushing each other away like opposing magnets. At the same time however, you kept getting in each other's way as if you were being drawn together-- like magnets. You would go to question someone, only to find he was already there with the same idea. You would go to search a new area, only to see his damned shiny armor somewhere close by. The both of you even physically collided with each other once rounding the same corner. You were seriously only one more run-in away from locking him back in his ship and finishing this job yourself. 

You pull out your tracking fob and hold it out in front of you to see if you can get anything, but the beeping is still just as steady as it has always been. She must be screwing with you on purpose, running in circles around the same block. At least you know she's still in the area. You keep walking, sweeping the fob in front of you to see if you pick up anything new, but you feel someone watching you. You feel it on the back of your neck, like electricity running through the air. You look to your right where you feel it, and see someone dart into the darkness. 

Interesting...

Pocketing your fob you decide to investigate. 

You step down a couple steps into the dark alley and change the setting on your helmet’s display to look for footprints. Bingo, bright red and clear as day. You follow them with your visor, whoever it was, they were running when you caught sight of them. You can tell based on the spacing of their prints and just how far they went considering you just saw them a minute ago. Walking along with them, you keep your eyes peeled, scanning your surroundings with your visor, looking for anything out of place. You’re just hoping this isn’t a trap. 

You follow them down the dark and damp alleyway, until the footprints your tracking come to a halt. It’s like whoever you were tracking simply disappeared. You look up and around the buildings next to you, whoever it was had clearly taken higher ground. You spot them on the heat signature, crouched on a ledge. 

“Do I have business with you?” You call up to them, letting them know you can definitely see them. 

“Should have expected a mandalorian to find me that easily.” They jump down from their ledge and saunter over a few steps closer to you, but make a point to keep their distance. You can’t exactly get a good look at them, their hooded robes concealing most of their features. 

You can’t help but scoff, “You say that as if that wasn’t the most obvious hiding spot. Too predictable. Now what’s your business with me.” 

“I have...information.” They seem to hesitate with their offer, but it causes you to tilt your helmet up in interest, so they continue, they’re voice dropping in volume, barely above a whisper, “I know the bounty you’re after.” oh now this was interesting. Definitely not what you were expecting, and you have a pretty good feeling it could be a trap, but maybe that's exactly what you needed.

“I’m interested,” You admit, “What can you offer me?” 

“Not so fast, I need something in return--in exchange. I need you to guarantee my safety.” They seem rushed, on edge.

“Your safety? From what?” You tilt your helmet at them quizzically. 

“From her. And--and I want to walk away with my record clean. I don’t want anyone to know I’m involved.” They were definitely panicked, there's an urgency in their voice, a sort of desperation.

“I can’t do anything about your record, but I have no bounty on your head so you're free to leave this planet, I won't stop you. Though I’m curious, why do you need protection from my bounty?” You relax your stance slightly, shifting your weight to one leg, but keep your shoulders square.

“Listen, Yanu...she’s dangerous. I thought I knew what I was doing getting caught up with her, but when I found out there was a mandalorian holding her puck--,” They cut themselves off and shake their head slightly, “look, doesn’t matter, this ended up being more than what I signed up for. She’s acting careless, like she wants to get caught--and I for one, don’t want to end up frozen in carbonite next to her....or worse…” They trail off at the thought of what their fate could be at the hands of a mandalorian, despite you not even really being one. There's no bounty on their head, at least not one that belongs to you, so for all you care you would shoot them without hesitation if they got in your way. And you get the feeling they know it. 

“How’d you know I was after her?” You rest your hands on your belt as you continue to question them. So far their story makes sense, but you’re checking for holes. Any little hint that something doesn't add up. 

“We saw you. Two days ago, maybe three hundred levels up. She knew immediately you were looking for her. ‘only a matter of time,’ she said.” The stranger in front of you shakes their head to themselves before continuing, “I didn’t believe her until I saw you interrogating some shopkeep and I saw your puck light up.” They swallow harshly, hard enough you can hear it, “She told me not to worry about it, and I didn’t...until she changed the plan. Look, what she’s planning is insane, and I want out. I tried talking her out of it, but she won’t budge. I feel like she’s left me no other choice. If she finds out I came to you, she’ll--she’ll kill me.” Their voice cracks at the end and you can tell they’re being sincere. 

They’ve so far only mentioned you though, they must not know about your mandalorian hunting partner. You want to ask, but know better of it. You don’t want to risk giving up any information that you could use to your advantage instead.

“So why did you come to me then?” You tilt your helmet curiously with your question. Truly it made no sense. “Why didn’t you just hitch a ride off this planet as soon as you got the chance? No reason for you to be helping me.” “Well I -- she…it’s--” They struggle immensely trying to explain, and it immediately puts you on high alert. This was it, that hole in their story you were looking for. The confirmation you needed that this was a set up. A trap. 

“Spit it out then.” You punch out the words through your modulator more aggressively than you intend. You hope it’s taken as a warning, a warning that you know exactly what they’re up to. And with the way they snap their gaze to you, you’re sure they get the message. 

“Look, it's not what you think,” They wave a hand dismissively. 

“What is it then?” 

“It’s complicated…” 

“Oh I bet it is. Now tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you here and now, you’re wasting my time.” You move a hand to the blaster in the holster on your thigh.

“Wait hold on! You aren’t listening, I told you it’s not like that--” 

“Well you better start explaining, and quickly, because I’m losing my patience.” 

“I…I--I love her, okay?” They blurt it out in a panic and it takes you by surprise. There was nothing in the galaxy that could have prepared you for that one. Of all the things they could have possibly said, that was definitely not what you were expecting. They hang their head defeatedly, “I love her...but--but she doesn’t--not me. She doesn’t even care about me, I’m nothing more than bantha fodder to her.” They scoff and shake their head, “She was willing to put my life at risk just so she could have a good time…” 

“So you came to me as a sort of...revenge?” You tilt your helmet inquisitively. You’re trying so hard not to let the amusement drip from your voice. This was clearly very serious to them, but this all feels so childish to you. This whole situation was borderline hilarious. 

“Do you want the information or not?” They cross their arms in front of their chest. You beckon them to continue with a slight wave of your hand, and settle both of yours back onto your belt. They give you a determined nod before they start spilling everything. 

“She's going to intercept a trade, some kind of rare crystal--I don’t really know what they are, but I know they’re probably worth more than double the beskar on your shoulders.” “Clearly that's an exaggeration.” You scoff. Beskar, mandalorian iron, was one of the most legendary metals in the galaxy. To imply these “crystals” were worth double? Hearsay. “It’s not. Like I told you, I don’t know a lot, but I guess they were stolen after the fall of the Jedi Temple. I don’t even know where she got the information about the trade, they’re keeping the whole thing incredibly confidential.” The stranger keeps their own voice down, as quiet as they can while they explain this to you. You don’t know much about jedi, honestly you don’t know anything. Whatever these crystals were, they weren’t important to you, but you realize why your bounty has an interest in them, if what your hearing is true. 

You take a step closer to the stranger in front of you, “Tell me everything you know about the trade.” And they do, they spill everything they know. It’s not a lot, but it’s everything you need. 

“Some kind of black market trade to a private client--I don’t know anything about the guy, but that doesn't matter. They’re doing the exchange on the upper levels tomorrow night. Some kind of hotel or something-- it’s big, real fancy. I’ll give you the coordinates. The crystals are in a case. Yanu is planning on intercepting before the case trades hands. I don’t know exactly how she’s planning to pull it off, but you’ll see her. She's...hard to miss.” The stranger trails off before giving you the coordinates, which you punch into your vanbrance so you can find the location later. 

“Thank you.” You nod to them, “You better get going, get off this planet and find somewhere to hang low for awhile.” 

“I plan on it.” They toss back at you and begin to head off in their own direction, before pausing and looking over their shoulder, “Be careful, Yanu is dangerous. Even for a mandalorian.” And with that, they continue on their way without looking back. 

You wait for them to leave, watch them disappear behind a building, and then wait a few seconds more before you activate the comm on your helmet. 

“Hey, shiny. You there?” You call out through the static of the comm. 

“You find something?” His voice rings back to you through the static.

“Yeah. Got some information, bounty’s going to intercept a trade. Some kind of rare crystal or something.” Maker, just repeating this stuff out loud sounds so ridiculous. Maybe you did get conned. 

“Rare crystals? You got that from the jeweler?” He sounds dubious, but intrigued. How were you even going to begin to explain the situation to this tin can.  

“It’s a long story. Rendezvous back at the ship, I’ll fill you in.” 

“Copy.” You hear his end of the comm click off and you begin your trek back to the ship. 

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

You’re perched up high in the immaculate hotel lobby, somewhere high on one of the various balconies, out of view from the bustling travelers beneath you. To call this a hotel lobby felt...disingenuous. Truly it was something else. Yeah it was the main lobby and lounge for a hotel, but it was unbelievably fancy. Marble, decorated flooring, chandeliers, huge windows, decor unmatched by anything on the lower levels. Large and impressive staircases surrounding both sides of the main desk area, It even sported a small cocktail bar in the lounge area. Staying here alone was a symbol of status, and it showed. 

The patrons below were just as decorated as the impressive area around them. Flashy jewelry and flowing fabrics. It always felt strange, seeing the stark disconnect between classes especially since the fall of the empire, and even more so especially on Coruscant. The glittering and extravagant spectacle of it all, it felt so fake to you. You knew the harsh realities of the galaxy, that no amount of glistening gems or extravagance could cover up. 

“You sure this isn’t a trap?” The mandalorian’s voice crackles over your helmet’s comm. 

“No, but it’s the best chance we got.” You admit. It could very well be a trap, a set up, but that was a risk you were willing to take. Even if this wasn’t a trap, you know she probably knows you're here. 

You couldn’t see your mandalorian hunting partner from where you were, he's perched up somewhere away from you, watching the lounge area through his pulse rifle scope. Where though? You have no idea. you both agreed it would be best if he stayed out of sight, since as far as you knew, your bounty was only aware of you, and only you. If you have even the slightest chance of catching her off guard, you definitely want to use that to your advantage. 

You notice down below a well dressed Pantoran gentleman leaning against a wall. Nothing outwardly paints him as suspicious, but with the way he’s scanning the crowd, and seems to be lingering for no reason catches your attention. Not to mention the fact that you somehow didn’t even notice him walk in. You continue to watch him. He adjusts his clothes, crosses his arms, shifts his weight from one leg to the other, nothing odd or alarming--until you see him fiddle with something on his wrist and hold it up to his face. 

You click a switch on the side of your helmet to zoom in, focusing on him. Oh yeah, he was definitely speaking into a comm unit. You glance down a little lower, and notice the hint of a holster under his jacket, only revealed when the edge of his jacket rides up when he speaks into his wrist. Now he definitely looks suspicious. 

“Hey, you see that Pantoran over there by the window?” You ask over the comm, hoping the mandalorian notices the same thing you do. 

“Yeah. He’s got a friend at the bar.” you look over, and sure enough, another well dressed man is sitting at the bar, speaking into his wrist. Sitting at the bar, but no drink. A pretty big red flag for you. He was much bigger than the one leaning against a wall across the lobby, built, and clearly strong. 

“Extra security, you think?” You ask.

“Probably something like that.” You can hear him shift slightly over the comm, as he adjusts his position. 

“No case though. Might be the buyer.” You know the mandalorian you're working with is probably thinking the same thing. At this point you're just trying to make conversation. Not that the silence bothered you at all. It was just...habit? It’s been  a long time since you worked with anyone else, but your old habits still get kicked up every now and again. When you and your late husband would go on hunts together, there wasn’t a second of silence between the two of you. It definitely made the job a lot more enjoyable, when the conversations weren’t just strategy and business, but they were filled with playful banter and jokes too. You can't help the snort you let out when you remember the dumbest joke he once told you.

“What’s so funny?” The mandalorian’s gruff voice asks through the static. 

“It’s--,” You shake your head lightly and let out another breathy chuckle, “Here, how do you unlock doors on Kashyyyk?” 

“Is that really what your laughing at right---” 

“A woo-kiee. Get it?” You cut him off, and immediately laugh at how ridiculous it is. Hearing his sigh over the comm only makes it that much better. You remember your response being about the same when you heard it for the first time. 

“Hey, pay attention. I got eyes on the case.” he cuts in through your chuckling sternly, and it snaps you back to reality. 

You peer down below you, and there, coming through the entrance. Another well dressed man is striding through, a shining silver case at his side. The man at the bar stands, and the one leaning against the wall, begins to make his stride to meet the one with the case. Bingo. That's the trade. You’re searching all over for your bounty, but you don’t see her anywhere. Did she abandon her heist? Did she decide it wasn’t worth it with you after her? Her partner, the one you met in the alley yesterday, told you she would be hard to miss, so why is it you’re not seeing her? The closer together the two men get to exchanging the case the faster your thoughts are racing. 

Then suddenly they all come to a halt when a deafening blaster shot zips through the crowd from seemingly nowhere, immediately there are panicked screams and the man holding the case drops to the ground in an instant. 

Suddenly, it’s chaos. 

Patrons of the hotel lobby are scrambling all over, every which way, screams echoing through the shimmering entryway as disorder reigns beneath you. Did...did the mandalorian just shoot him? 

“What the kriff are you doing?!” You shout over the comm, while you quickly scramble to jump over the banister of the balcony you’re on. You aren’t sure why your first instinct is to go for the case, but it is. You’re rushing down to the ground level, trying not to get caught up in the swarm of panicked people surrounding you. 

“Wasn’t me.” You hear the shuffle over the comm as he starts to make his move. Well if it wasn’t him then that must mean--she was here.

You keep pushing your way through the crowd the best you can, picking up the pace at the realization that your bounty is close-- when another blast rings through the air. You hear a thud, and see the man who was at the bar earlier on the floor, face down. Between people, you barely catch sight of the silver case lying on the floor next to him. You get shoved harshly from someone on your left, it knocks you off balance for just a second, and when you get your footing back, you finally see her. 

It's quick, she darts in to grab the case, picking it up off the floor without a break in her step. And then she's sprinting. You immediately start to sprint after her, aggressively shoving anyone out of your way as you chase her. Luckily she's easy to spot, her partner was right, she's hard to miss. Her bright pink skin, fiery red hair, and even brighter jumpsuit stood out easily in the crowd. 

“She’s on the move!” You struggle to get the words out as you fight through the sea of people all swarming to escape the turmoil. There's a break in the crowd, and you use it as an opportunity to close as much space between you and her as possible. She glances back at you over her shoulder and gives you a smirk, before she whips out her blaster and fires twice at you. 

Sparks erupt as it hits you once in the chest, and again in the shoulder, the brutal force of it causes you to lose your footing and stumble. The beskar protects you, but the impact is still hard and painful. You quickly try to shake it off and continue on your pursuit, the adrenaline from the chase making the pain dull quicker than it would otherwise, but then another shot, in the same shoulder, combined with someone colliding into you at the same time, and you fall to the ground with a rough grunt through your helmet. You can’t see anything but strangers’ feet passing by you, kriff you need to get it together, and quickly. You cannot let her escape. The shock from the blast still rings through your whole arm, your fingers are tingly and numb, pins and needles stabbing into you while you try to pick yourself off the ground as quickly as you can. You try to ignore it but--maker, the sharpness radiating from it was serious. 

You hear another blast just as you get to your feet, immediately followed by the loud crash of glass shattering. You look up ahead of you just in time to watch your bounty jump through the now shattered window, as glass continues to fall around her and all over the lobby. Light catches every tiny shard causing it to glitter as if it were part of the expensive decor. You rush your way over to the destroyed window and peer down, to watch as she takes off in a speeder, case in hand. 

“Dank farrik!,” you shout out through clenched teeth, and angrily pound your fist into the edge of the window. You drop down from the open window onto the balcony beneath you with an aggressive THUNK. “She got away, she's heading towards the port on a speeder.” 

“I’m on it.” Is all he says back to you. You’re about to ask for an explanation, but you don’t end up needing to, because you see him soar into that direction. The lights from the city reflect off his armour as he bolts through the air with his rising phoenix. Well, that definitely wasn’t fair.

 You’re desperately trying to come up with a plan, there's no way you can catch up to her in time on foot-- 

But then, you have the most stupid, most crazy, most riduclous idea you think you have ever come up with. 

You look over the railing of the balcony and take a deep breath. Fuck, you were really going to do this weren’t you? 

Yep. 

You hold your breath when you jump off, your heart jumping to your throat, as you fall through the air.

 You roughly catch onto the side of a speeder passing underneath you, and it dips dramatically with your weight. The person driving makes a loud noise in distress and you fear your going to pull the whole thing right out of the air. Your grip is slipping from your left hand as you struggle to keep hold, your feet dangling in the air below you. Speeders are zipping past you, beeping loudly as they pass your disruption. You’re terrified you're going to fall.

This was it. This was by far the dumbest thing you could have possibly done. 

“Sixty thousand credits...sixty thousand credits...sixty thousand kriffing! credits!” You’re repeating the amount over and over to yourself through gritted teeth as you attempt to haul yourself up over the side of the speeder. You get one arm hooked firmly over the side of the passenger door, and you're struggling to pull your legs up, when the driver shouts at you in some foreign language you don't understand. They swerve viciously to the right and the sudden shift in force causes you to slip, smacking the bottom of your helmet against the side of the door. 

“Cut that out!” You shout angrily at them and you attempt to pull yourself up again, ignoring them as they continue to shout at you panicked and angry. They jerk the speeder again, even harsher this time, and you get whipped back against the side of it, causing you to lose grip in your left hand and let go of the side of it. Now you’re barely hanging on with one hand, struggling to keep your grip while you dangle in the air as the driver speeds up and continues to veer dramatically to shake you off. Other neighboring speeders beep loudly and swerve dangerously close to your flailing limbs, the rush of air from them passing by only making holding on that much more difficult. If you don’t fall off this thing, you’re definitely getting hit by a different one. 

One more rough jolt from the diver and your gloved hand can’t hold on any longer. Wind rushes from your lungs as you start to fall, but you quickly hit the whipcord thrower on your vambrace, and a long length of fibercord shoots out above you, just barely grappling onto the bottom of the speeder you just fell from. The driver yells loudly as the whole speeder tips sharply with the sudden yank of your cord. The sudden halt from the cord pulling taut, yanks you aggressively, and combined with the weight of your beskar helmet, sends a sharp pain through your neck and makes you dizzy. 

You shake your head, and try to straighten up, gripping the fibercord with both hands, only to be met head on with blinding headlights from an oncoming speeder. Your breath catches in your throat as you brace for the oncoming impact, the blaring beep ringing through your helmet--but the speeder manages to swerve away from you just in the nick of time, causing your fibercord to sway, swinging you along with it as your grip on for dear life.

You clench your jaw tight as you haul yourself up, climbing the fibercord attached to your wrist, slowly reeling yourself closer and closer to the speeder above you. Some bounty hunter you were. The mandalorian probably had no trouble flying off after your bounty with his jetpack, and here you were swinging wildly from some poor soul’s speeder like an absolute fool. 

You continue to haul your way up until you get to the end of your fibercord, and grab back onto the side of the speeder, wasting no time to haul yourself up and over the side of it before there's any further mishaps. The diver continues to yell at you loudly in their forien language, fear lining every inch of it. You grunt as you finally make it into the passenger’s seat, and they start shouting at you louder, growing more and more desperate to shoo you off.

“Let me drive.” You gruff out, ignoring what you assume to be their pleas. Only, they don't move, just continue to shout at you, and honestly you’re getting irritated. You’ve wasted enough time dealing with this, you need to catch up to the mandalorian and your bounty--quickly. 

You pull out your blaster and point it at them. The driver shuts their mouth immediately at the sight of the blaster and you can see them gulp harshly. “Move...Let. me. drive.” You enunciate every word, dropping your voice to a threatening level. They make a small noise of distress before nodding once. Good, they understand basic. Or at the very least, they understand the blaster. You grab onto the steering controls with one hand and you awkwardly and unceremoniously trade places with the driver. 

“Hold on tight.” you shout over to your unwilling passenger. The second you get a firm hold of the controls, you immediately accelerate, speeding up as fast as the small civilian speeder would go. You can hear the driver next to you muttering what you assume to be prayers under their breath, while they clutch to their seat with all of their strength. They gasp and cry out every time you make a risky maneuver. You're pretty sure you break every flying law Coruscant has, as you zip through lanes of traffic, cutting through with no regard to anyone else flying around you. The aggravated beeps of other drivers fall on deaf ears. You can’t be bothered, you need to catch up. 

You see the mandalorian first, following close behind the bounty, dodging the occasional blaster fire she shoots out blindly at him. She's heading right for the dock, she must have a ship lined up and ready to go. Maybe if you’re quick enough you can cut her off from the front. The mandalorian was already right behind her, it was the perfect plan. There's no way she could escape if you pull this off. You quickly veer the speeder to the side and make your way to the opposite side of the dock, picking up as much speed as you can. 

The driver in your passenger seat screams as you come barreling down towards the platform of the dock without slowing down. You pull up tight on the controls and level out the best you can, scraping the bottom of the speeder as you slide along the platform. Sparks fly around you, before you come to a sharp halt. You immediately jump out over the side, and start sprinting in the direction of your bounty without a word to the driver. 

You can’t see your bounty yet, or the mandalorian for that matter, there's too much clutter along the platform. Crates, supply lifts, workers, and ships are scattered all over, but you know what direction she was heading, so you don’t stop running. Picking up as much speed as you possibly can, blaster in hand, you’re ready. You will not let anything stand in your way. 

There was no way she was going to escape. 

You hear blaster fire to your left, and see worker droids fleeing the area. You round a corner around a large stack of supply crates when you finally catch sight of her in a wide open landing area. Her neon jumpsuit makes her easy to spot from the rest of the clutter. She doesn’t seem to notice you as she continues sprinting towards what you assume to be her ship, case still in hand, firing behind her at what you can only expect to be your mandalorian hunting partner.

This was it, this was your chance. Your blood is rushing in your ears, you’re locked onto her, the only thing you’re focused on as you continue to barrel towards her. She was close enough, you could catch her by surprise and tackle her to the ground, and the mandalorian could catch up to support. No mistakes--no hesitation--you have to go for it--

But as soon as you take the leap--

PANG 

Your vision goes black, a deafening ring goes echoing through your helmet that shifts into a horrible, loud, and awful white noise. 

Then, a pain. An absolutely excruciating, sharp, pounding pain, surrounding your entire head. The pressure feels unbearable, the ache searing behind your eyes. Your wincing at the pain only causing it to grow. 

You groan gruffly as things slowly come back to you one at a time. You flex your fingers and find them pressed against some kind of metal beneath you--you were facedown on the ground. How did you end up on the ground? You go to lift yourself up, but your vision is blurry and fading in and out. You manage to sit up slightly, and it takes you a minute to realize he's shouting at you. 

“Get up! She’s getting away, we gotta get back to the ship.” He grabs you by your arm and roughly helps you to your feet. But? You’re so confused, what just happened? Your head is still pounding, and you feel like you could fall over any second, but you try your best to keep steady. 

“Wh-...what happened?” You barely manage to get the words out as the both of you start to run towards your ship. There’s no way it was the quarry...was it? She wasn’t even looking at you, she didn’t even see you. Right? 

“You ran into my line of fire, now keep up or we’ll lose her!” he shouts over his shoulder to you, over the noise of the bustling dock. Wait...ran into his line of fire? The realization hits you like a ton of duracrete. 

“You kriffing shot me?!” The anger building in your chest sobers you up almost instantly. This idiot actually shot you! You would have had the bounty, she was right there. You practically had her in your grasp, but this absolute, bantha brained--bucket headed---fool, let her get away because he SHOT YOU in the back of the head. 

“You jumped in my line of fire.” He snaps back angrily at you. He sounds just as furious as you are. Not sure why--he's not the one that got shot in the back of the head. 

“You idiot! You’re lucky I'm wearing beskar, you could have killed me!” You’re shouting only increasing in both volume and fury as the two of you make it to the ship. The mandalorian hits a control on his vambrace to lower the ramp as you approach. 

“No, I think you’re lucky you’re wearing beskar.” He challenges, as he quickly makes his way up the ramp and through the hull. Oh you’re gonna kill him. Snap his neck and grab the bounty yourself. 

“Are you really that dim?!” You stomp through the hull right behind him, shouting up the ladder as he climbs to get to the cockpit, “Do you not look where you’re shooting? I can’t believe my bounty is getting away, because you shot me! Like a dumbass!” You grip the rungs of the ladder with such force and you stomp your way up, pure resentment filling every single movement as you make it up to the cockpit, “You kriffing moof milker!” 

He’s ignoring you now. Slamming down buttons and initiating take off as quickly as he can in hopes of catching up to the bounty as you continue to sling insults at him. You angrily sit in the copilot’s seat and buckle in as the ship begins to ascend. 

“I nearly had her! You tin-headed moron!” Despite the quietness inside the ship compared to the dock outside, you’re still shouting at him just as loud. Your irritation for this man is at an all time high, and that's saying something considering how often he seems to bring you to the edge of murder on the daily. All of the times he had gotten in your way this entire hunt, all of the times you felt like he was slowing you down, all of the times you felt like you were better off doing things yourself, and now this? Ohhh you hate him. You cannot wait to capture this bounty, collect your reward, and be on your way. You relish the day you get to turn away and never see this shiny mandalorian ever again.

The ship jerks roughly as the mandalorian rushes the ship through the air, twisting and turning wildly to avoid colliding with the heavy air traffic of Coruscant. Struggling to catch up with your bounty’s ship as it barrels towards the atmosphere. Every rough jolt of the ship only feeds into your seething rage. 

“Kriff! Did a wampa teach you to fly? Get it together, dumbass!”  He continues to ignore you as he flies, like he can’t even hear you, and maker, it pisses you off. The two of you are gaining on the bounty’s ship, quickly closing the distance between her ship and yours. She’s barely managing to dodge around other ships making their way through air traffic, before  it looks like she's going to directly collide with one. She doesn’t slow down and she accelerates towards it, until she fires. Blasting right through the ship and flying through the smoke and debris. 

The mandalorian tries his best to swerve out of the way of oncoming debris, jerking roughly to one side, which sends you slamming into the side console despite your seatbelt, but a large chunk still collides with the side of the ship. It’s like deja-vu when the ship gets knocked over in air, the rough shaking and awful clang of metal on metal, alarms blaring deafeningly, reminding you of your wreck nearly a week ago.

“IDIOT!” You shriek over blaring alarms as the mandalorian struggles to get the ship to straighten back out in the air. “Are you trying to kill us?! First you shoot me, and now you’re trying to get us stranded on Coruscant! Do you know how much repairs cost on this maker forsaken planet?!” The ship is rattling violently as he attempts to break through the atmosphere after the quarry, and you’re not sure you’re going to make it. “How did I end up stuck working a job with such a blurg-brained-no-good discount droid?!” You have to shout even louder to even be slightly audible over the blaring alarms, and brutal clunking and rattling of the ship, as she struggles and groans to break the atmosphere. 

You are almost positive the whole thing is going to come apart before you can make it into open space, but much to your surprise, the ship manages to stay together and make it through the atmosphere--just in time to watch your bounty jump into hyperspace. The stretch and blink of her ship disappearing is the final blow to your already shattered mood. 

“Farrik!” You shout and slam your fist into your armrest. You turn to face the mandalorian next to you, with every intention of flinging more insults his way, when you see him furiously flicking controls on the pain panel. There’s no way--he's not actually planning on trying to make the jump is he? This ship is on the verge of falling apart, you won’t make it. This whole ship will be ripped to shreds with you still in it. 

“What are you doing?! We won’t make it! You’re gonna kill us!” Your shouts fall on deaf ears, with the way he’s ignoring you it’s like you haven't said anything at all, like you aren’t even there. You watch in horror as he tightly takes hold of the controls and pulls back, forcing the ship to make the jump. You hold your breath, and the ship jolts and rattles violently, as stars start to smear past the cockpit viewport. Ear-splitting alarms still echoing throughout the ship, as you somehow make your way into hyperspace-- 

That is until you’re being ripped right back out. The whole ship jerks forward with such force that both you and the mandalorian end up colliding with the control panel with an accompanying grunt. You hear a bunch of things shift in the ship's hull and you pray to the maker the kid is okay in there. You come to a sudden halt and everything in the ship powers down, until you are left floating, sitting in the cockpit in complete darkness, minus a few red emergency lights. There's a slow whirr of all the ship's machinery powering down, until there's nothing. Complete silence fills the cockpit. 

“You…,” You start to break the silence, starting off quietly, barely above a murmur, until you gradually raise your volume back to an aggravated yell, “You absolute MORON! Bantha fodder! Moof-milking asshole!” 

He says nothing, continues to ignore you as if you don’t even exist as he slowly gets up from the pilots seat and goes to open a panel in the back of the cockpit. 

You murmur to yourself again, pressing one of your hands to the front of your visor in pure exasperation,“Di’kut…,” You shake your head, before turning to shout at him again, “Di’kutla!” The mandalorian flinches slightly, so subtly you think your eyes might be playing tricks on you in the dark. Oh, but that fuels you, all it took was that slight movement, and you know that must have struck him differently. 

You’re not fluent in Mando’a by any means, but you know what you learned from your late husband. And insults were his favorite. They were the first thing you learned, and the thing you’re most familiar with. And now that you know those might actually affect the idiot you're working with? You start throwing out every insult you know, “Utreekov shabiir!” Empty headed screw up, “Gar mirsh solus!” you’re a dumbass, “Di’kut!” Idiot. You say each one with such a passion, because maker knows you mean it. 

After messing with the control panel, the lights come back on, and you hear the low hum of machinery powering back up. He doesn’t acknowledge you as he walks back over to his seat and starts flicking switches to power up the ships thrusters. 

“We’re going to have to stop on the next closest planet for repairs.” He finally speaks up, but it's your turn to ignore him. You’re furious, this was the worst hunting experience you have ever had, and it was all his fault. Your bounty was long gone by now, probably halfway across the galaxy. All that time on Coruscant? Wasted. He doesn’t say anything when he gets up again and leaves you alone in the cockpit, probably to go check on the kid. 

You sit there alone angrily staring out as the ship slowly crawls its way along the stars. Seething in your own frustration. At this point, you don’t know if you’ll be able to make it to the next closest planet without killing him first. You hate him, you absolutely hate that shiny, tin-brained, fool of a mandalorian.  *** Previous - MASTER - Next 

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (43) || atz

It’s a fine day once more.

The morning sun shines down upon the Treasure, its golden rays touching your cheeks as you glance up at the sky. It’s been peaceful the last few days, and you’ve heard from Yeosang that your captain has begun considering sailing back to Nassau so that Seonghwa can visit his childhood friends Seohyun and Soobin.

The cook’s been in a much more cheerful mood for the last few days after hearing those words, excited about seeing how their baby is coming along. He can’t stop gushing to you in the kitchen about how cute he thinks the baby is going to be, worrying endlessly whether they’re going to be alright, to the point that you’ve resorted to stuffing bread rolls in his mouth to keep him quiet so that he can focus on his cooking.

You don’t him to end up with two less fingers like Soobin.

After preparing breakfast with Seonghwa, you’re now seated in the rigging swaying back on forth with the wind, letting the sun warm your face as you prepare for another day ahead.

“I can’t wait to get back onto dry land.” Yunho comments with a groan from above you on the main mast, hanging upside down from the ropes. You glance up at him with a smile, shielding your eyes against the sun.

“I’m sure Jongho could always throw you overboard if you’re sick of being on the ship.”

High pitched laughter comes from beside you and you turn to see Wooyoung swinging over from the mizzen mast, grinning as he steps over to you, expertly keeping his balance on the yardarm. He’s surprisingly steady on his feet, considering the last time you’d seen him yesterday, he was screaming drunken insults about Yunho’s apparent pea sized brain for not understanding how the mizzen mast was the better of the two. He bows mockingly, gesturing to the sparkling ocean far below you.

“Maybe you’d like to go for a swim, your majesty?” Wooyoung jibes, barely able to keep the snicker out of his voice. The lookout tosses his shoe at his friend and Wooyoung ducks easily, catching it in his hand.

“Be silent, you knave.” Yunho grumbles, now missing a shoe. Reclining against the ropes, he gazes at the horizon with a steady eye, body bobbing up and down with the pitch and roll of the ship. “I still haven’t forgotten the last time you pushed me off the yardarm to save your own ass and I fell into the sea because of you.”

You raise your eyebrows as you glance at a shamelessly grinning Wooyoung, who is neither denying nor confirming it. Knowing the head gunner, however, it’s probably… no, definitely true. “How did that happen?”

Wooyoung opens his mouth to answer, but before the silver tongued charmer can say another word, Yunho cuts in, obviously knowing full well Wooyoung is going to twist the story upside down to his own advantage.

“We were on the main mast, arguing about how the main mast is obviously the better mast,” Yunho begins with a haughty tone, ignoring Wooyoung’s cry of indignation. “When San was at the wheel he stupidly beached the Treasure on the shore and the whole ship jerked. I, being the better rigging monkey, caught my balance, but Wooyoung-”

You unconsciously grip the ropes beneath you a little tighter, suddenly wary of falling off the mast yourself. Ahh. So that’s why no one on the ship trusts San with the wheel. You sometimes wonder how they even trusted him with their injuries in the first place.

“I’m a better rigging monkey than you!” Wooyoung splutters in outrage, but Yunho flat out pays no attention to him, continuing with his tale. “As I was saying, I caught my balance but Wooyoung fell. I was reaching down to save him, but then he grabbed my arm-”

“I didn’t need any saving-”

“And I fell off instead! It’s twice as bad because he stayed on the mast and I didn’t!”

“I was perfectly capable on staying on the mast myself, thank you very much.” Wooyoung grumbles, but Yunho isn’t listening to him in the slightest. In fact, he’s so pumped up with ranting that he’s starting to wave his long arms around like a windmill, complaints spilling from his mouth completely unchecked.

“And do you know what else he did? During a battle at sea, he even jumped onto the main mast on purpose! My precious main mast! The crow’s nest got blown off, you know? That’s like the head of the mast!’

You’re starting to lose Yunho to this silly argument, having no idea where this is going.

“Why is it Wooyoung’s fault the main mast got hit?”

Yunho stares at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because he’s so ugly everyone tries to shoot him.”

“What did you say, Yun Hoe?” Wooyoung screeches in the background like an offended pigeon. “Haven’t you forgotten that time you grabbed onto the mizzenmast sail and ended up tearing a huge hole in it? You defiled my beautiful mizzenmast and exposed her for everyone to see!”

You’re utterly lost from this conversation now, baffled as to why any of this matters in the first place. “Come on, guys…”

“You blew the mainmast’s head off!”

“You shamed the mizzenmast in front of the whole crew! The disgrace, Yun Hoe, the disgrace-”

“Oh yeah?” Yunho actually looks furious now, drawing his cutlass from his side. Panicking, you turn to Wooyoung, expecting him to use that glib tongue of his to somehow worm his way out of the antsy situation, but you’re shocked to see that he’s drawn his own blade as well, looking every bit ready to fight Yunho.

“Come at me, Yun Hoe!”

“It’s on, Poo Young!”

Sighing at their antics and the sheer stupidity of it all, you turn around to glance at the sea before you. It’s the same as before, an endless expanse of shimmering, deep blue as clouds drift past the horizon, sun shining-

Wait.

Frowning, you block out the sounds of Wooyoung and Yunho’s ridiculous squabbling, leaning forward to squint at the delicate line separating the ocean from the sky. Puffs of white clouds are rolling across the blue sky, but there seems to be a patch of white moving in a different direction from the others.

“What’s that?” The words leave your lips in a mutter, but Yunho hears it even over his argument with Wooyoung. His eyes narrow warily even as he sheathes his cutlass, stepping over to you.

“What is it?” He asks you and you point far into the distance, trying to understand how that one white shape is moving towards you instead of away from you, like the rest of the clouds are.

“That cloud is acting weird.” You tell him, feeling Wooyoung step towards you from behind, curious as to what is happening.

Suddenly, Yunho stiffens next to you, staring at the white shape. Frowning, you turn to ask him exactly what has gotten him to tense, but Wooyoung seems to realise it as well, fingers tightening on your shoulder unconsciously, all traces of his argument with Yunho vanishing in sight of the odd cloud.

“That’s not what I think it is, am I right?”

Yunho chews on his lower lip. “But why would any of ship be out here?”

You finally realise it now. The white shape that’s growing in size is actually a sail, starkly contrasting against the blue sky behind it. A chill runs down your back as you lean forward unconsciously, trying to catch a better glimpse of it, but Wooyoung pulls you back before you can fall over.

“Wouldn’t want you taking a dip now.” Wooyoung tries to smile at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s obvious that he’s worried at what the sight of this white sail could mean, considering it could be a simple merchant ship or even a Royal Navy frigate.

The three of you wait with baited breath as the ship grows in size.

Then suddenly, as if they can read each other’s minds, Wooyoung and Yunho both freeze at the same time, the very tension in the air sends a shiver down your entire body. You turn to glance at the two of them, confused as to why they’re acting this way.

“What is it?”

“It’s them.” Yunho spits as he stares at the horizon, seeing the snowy white sails crest the waves. You frown, unable to see as clearly, leaning forward and squinting to see what exactly could be causing your two fellow rigging monkeys so much distress.

Wooyoung curses, baring his teeth as he leaps to the ropes as fast as he can. “I’m going to tell Captain.” With that, he slides to the main deck with an urgency you’ve rarely seen in him, in such contrast to his usually easy-going and cheerful self.

But then you catch sight of it and your own eyes widen in horror.

On the sails fluttering in the wind is a red shape, starkly contrasting against the snow white background.

The same sigil decorating the shoulders of the coat you had woken up with.

The symbol on the red wax seals of Lucio’s letters.

The emblem of a crimson rose.

Your heart sinks in your chest.

It’s the Royal Navy.

“Damnit.” Yunho curses under his breath, fingers tightening on the handle of his cutlass. He’s afraid of what this might mean, for the crew and for him. How did they find you here? Was it simply by chance? Or have they been tracking you somehow? “We’re going to get into a huge battle again. I hope you’re ready for a fight, Chin Hae.”

“Is it stupid to hope that they’re not here to kill us?” You mumble under your breath but Yunho snorts, shaking his head.

“We literally all have bounties stamped on us. There are rewards of up to five hundred gold pieces for our captain’s head. Fifty for each crew mate. Two hundred for San. Two hundred fifty for Jongho and I. Three hundred for Mingi and Wooyoung.” He exhales shakily, staring as the blood red rose grows ever closer. “If they don’t want to kill us, I’ll eat my own shoe… and Wooyoung’s at that.”

You laugh nervously, trembling fingers seeking his and gripping tight as you watch your impending doom. “Want to raise the stakes?”

“I’ll even admit the mizzenmast is better.” Yunho mumbles uneasily under his breath. Just as he says those words, the sound of a iron bar being struck repeatedly rings throughout the air and the deck floods with activity, the crew swarming to the bulwarks to search for the impending threat. He pushes you lightly to the ropes. “You should go. San will want you with him when the action starts.”

Nerves rise up in you, but you force it down and slide down the rigging, careful not to burn your hands on the ropes from friction. You drop onto the deck, making your way to the quarterdeck where you had last seen your master.

To your surprise, Yeosang is there as well, Mingi at the stairs bellowing orders to the crew to ready the cannons and prepare for battle. You hear the sound of the cannon carriages being wheeled to their spots, the powder monkeys running about in organised drills to ferry the gunpowder to their guns. All of the crew are readying their weapons for battle, suiting up and loading their muskets.

Tension runs high in the air and adrenaline in your veins as you step to the railing, where Yeosang and San are. Wooyoung must have headed to the gunwales to handle his powerful cannons, the long nine and the 42 pounder, the two most deadly and lethal weapons on the Treasure. San reaches for your hand nervously, squeezing it tight.

“Are you scared?” He asks, and you don’t bother lying to him.

“Yes.”

You hate the way your voice cracks even though you’ve been in battle twice already, once with the Royal Navy before and the other on Nassau. You wish you were braver than this, but you can’t stare death in the eye without the slightest whit of fear like your captain and Yunho and Jongho can.

Yeosang takes your other hand, and even though his face is ashen and pale, he still pats your hand comfortingly.

“Don’t worry.”

You’re reminded of the first time you had been attacked by a Royal Navy ship near Tortuga, Yeosang too, had taken your hand and told you not to worry. The difference this time though, was that you were no longer just a amnesiac girl who had to be protected by Jongho, but a person reasonably well versed with the cutlass and musket, who had experienced dangers and could help people around her with her healing ability.

You just hoped it would be enough.

“Yeosang-ah, can you tell anything about the ship?” Your captain calls from this wheel, his voice eerily calm as if they aren’t on the verge of a massive battle.  Yeosang leans forward a little, squinting as he tries to make out distinctive features of the ship.

“It looks like a standard Navy ship, about fifteen cannons down each side on the upper deck. A three masted frigate with no battering ram and it relies on sail power, not on rowers. But…” Yeosang’s voice trails off in shock and you glance at him in worry.

“But?”

You had thought that Yeosang was already pale from fear, but then all at once every drop of blood seems to drain from his face, leaving him white and bloodless. His fingers tighten on the railing of the ship, mouth falling open in horror and pupils dilating in fear as he stares at the approaching ship in shock.

Concern floods you. “Yeosang-oppa?”

“The flag they’re flying…” Yeosang breathes, barely above a whisper. “It’s a black crow.”

San stiffens.

“What?”

Hongjoong somehow manages to hear that over all the noise coming from the main deck, because he whirls around in shock to look at the ship coming from the stern, instructing Mingi to take the wheel. His boots click on the deck as he makes his way over to the three of you, his one green eye narrowing in fury as he stares at the approaching dark shape. His anger radiates him like some sort of black miasma that’s poisonous to the touch, the very air around him almost acrid with sour rage.

“How dare he…” You captain seethes, before turning to Yeosang. “Yeosang, are you alright?”

But the navigator only continues to stare at the ship in shock, unresponsive to his captain except a mumbled ‘yeah, I’m fine’ that no one believes.

You’re confused as to why this ship seems to have such a massive psychological impact on Yeosang, but then San tugs on your hand lightly, his usually bright eyes grim.

“That’s the ship Yeosang’s father captains.”

Memories rush back to you, from that night you had decided to heal Yeosang with your very life force. An officer with a single, golden monocle, thin lips pulled into a permanent scowl, a white scar above his brow bone, golden patches on his shoulders.

Commander Kang. Captain of the Royal Navy ship the Black Crow. Yeosang’s father.

The man who’d abandoned his only son to bloodthirsty pirates and had left him for dead.

“Oh shit.” You mumble under your breath, realising the gravity of this situation now, how it not only crosses the physical boundaries but also the emotional and psychological. You take Yeosang’s hand in both of yours and clasp it tightly, hoping to offer some comfort, but he doesn’t seem to register it, eyes still fixed on the ship.

Then something catches your eye that makes your heart stop in your chest.

“Are they… are they seriously hoisting a white flag? A parley flag?” You spit out in shock, and your captain stares at the Black Crow, utterly furious at the sight and yet completely bewildered by this abrupt change of events from what he’s used to. A Royal Navy ship offering to parley with the Caribbean Sea’s most wanted pirates? That was wholly unheard of in the whole of maritime history.

“Are they mocking us?” You hear San growl under his breath, obviously incensed, but you must have gone a little crazy from the mixture of shock and terror, because an unsteady little giggle leaves your mouth, your hands trembling from both suspense and trepidation.

Your master glances at you, obviously concerned. “Chin Hae? Chin Hae, are you alright?”

Another near deranged chuckle spills from you as you shake your head, mind as blank as the parley flag being hoisted from the foremast.

“Oh no…” You begin, unsure what to say, every thought fleeing from your mind as the dark shape almost looms over you in your imagination. “It’s just that…”

Another uncontrollable laugh escapes you.

“Yunho needs to eat Wooyoung’s shoe now.”

[diana-3]

Crow’s Nest.

Diana sighed as she climbed the last few stairs to Devrim’s perch. The Gentlemen Sniper pulled his rifle back inside the windowsill and turned, having earlier waved to Diana he smiled at her approach. “Ah,” His warm tone brought a smile to her face, “Di, hello dear, how are you?”

“I’m alright I guess..s’been a while...huh?” There was guilt layering her tone, like a child who was admitting to a wrong--ready for a scolding.  

“Works kept you busy,” Devrim settled against the wall and his smile held, but his eyes turned downward and with it the mood lowered. “Seems as if the whole world is trying to burn around us.” He nodded to the radio on the shabby table with the teaset near by. “I’ve been keeping up on the radio chatter, you’ve been busy out toward the Tangled Shore lately?”

“Oh yeah,” Dianna removed her helmet and went to settle on the floor next to Devrim who glanced out the window. “There’s this new baddie, Xivu Arath? A hive celebrant...whatever that means...trying to corrupt Fal---Eliskni and Cabal into being Hive mind slaves. Causing a lot of trouble on the Shore and in the Dreaming City. Been working with Spider’s crew to get it cleaned up but its been weeks now.”

“A month yesterday,” Joel corrected as he appeared by Diana’s side. “I overheard Glint and Crow talking about it as we were walking away yesterday.”

“A month…” Diana repeated with weight behind her long sigh that followed. “Has it been that long already?”

“Between the constant crucible matches and vanguard operations to charge the lure, not to mention the individual hunts themselves, I’m not surprised we hadn’t realized.” Even Joel sounded exhausted, flying low until he settled in Diana’s hands as she crossed her legs and closed her eyes. “It’s been...hectic to say the least.”

“When was the last time you had any time off?” Devrim asked, raising a dark brow as he removed himself from the window completely now. Hanging his rifle on carefully placed hooks in the collapsing church to avoid accidental misfires. “You both look absolutely ragged.”

Diana hummed in thought. Her head slowly lulling from side to side before she spoke. “The Festival of the Lost?”

“Can’t really count that as time off when we were fixing the infinite forest…” Joel reminded her and she nodded.

“Soooo, before then?”

“My word,” Devrim’s shocked outburst made the tired guardian and her ghost both open their eyes and look at him. He was standing with his teapot in hand, “You’re going to need something a bit more strong than tea then to unwind.”

“You know what I want?” Diana chuckled softly, the fatigue showing through her defeated tone. “A nap. A nice, warm nap.”

“You’re more than welcome to come back to the farm,” Devrim offered, putting down his teapot and reaching for clean cups and saucers. “You could rant about anything bothering you until you can rest, or you’re free to do so after over a nice hot cup of tea.”

Diana smiled, watching the older man go through his motions to prepare his staple drink. The care he put into making it and the glance he gave her when he felt her stare. “Thanks,” She smiled back, “But,” She tapped Joel’s shell and woke the little Ghost from his quiet rest, his eye blinking open and his shell twitching in a stretch. “I think seeing Mythrax would just wind me back up again...remind me of everything going on on Europa.”

“Ah,” Devrim’s smile fell as he watched Joel take a lazy flight, hovering just above Diana’s shoulder as she climbed to her feet wearily. “Do you have somewhere else to stay then? I have no bed or blanket here, but I can offer great conversation and drink, a little light on snacks I’m afraid.”

“Actually…” Diana rubbed her head before her face and sighed, “I think there’s somewhere I want to...revisit. It’s not the Tower, but right now I’d rather avoid the tower if possible too…”

“Just seems like there's nowhere for us to go to get a rest away from everyone.” Joel admitted, his eye downcast as his shell shook side from side. “There's always someone looking for the next report, the next ship out, the next bounty to be taken…” He glanced at Diana who was lost in thought, her cyan eyes following the floorboard toward the window. When she slowly walked away to peer out Devrim’s window, Joel flew near Devrim and whispered. “She’s had a lot thrust onto her shoulders lately Devrim, I don’t know...I don’t know how to help her right now…”

“Is she alright?” Devrim asked, pretending to busy himself with cleaning his table as he waited for the water to boil.

“Physically she’s fine, she’s just so mentally worn out...A lot of old emotional wounds opened up…” Joel twitched in the air, flying a few degrees lower, “You’ve heard about Io, Mercury and Titan?”

“I had.” Devrim nodded, his face stern with thought. “She had friends on those planets didn’t she?”

“Yes, Asher Mir for one,” Joel shook his shell, “She’s still holding out hope that he’s in the Pyramidian, holding out. But no one’s heard from him...or Sloane and Vance...Then...we heard about Sagria…”

“Sagria?” Devrim whispered back, glancing over his shoulder to Diana, who was watching something out the window. “A guardian?”

“

A Ghost,” Joel corrected, “She was Osiris’ ghost...she sacrificed herself to save Osris from Xivu Arath’s influence...he’s Ghostless now...without the light...he’s taken refuge in the tower and asks Diana about how she and Crow--”

“Crow?” Devrim asked, raising a dark brow as he picked up the teapot and began pouring the tea into two cups. “Is that a guardian?”

“S-something like that…” Joel hesitated a tad too long and it drew a long and measured look from the marksman. “He’s a new guardian but...it’s part of the old emotional wounds opening up...that’s all I can say…”

“Mmhmm..” Devrim kept his stare on the little ghost who twitched and flew a few inches away.

“The less you know, the better.” Joel sighed.

“Wouldn’t happen to wear red pants...would this...Crow?” Devrim asked softly, glancing back at Diana who was still preoccupied with scanning the distance.

“You’ve seen him?!” Joel flew close to Devrim’s face, making the older man chuckle and straighten his back a bit.

“I’ve seen someone bustling around in the distance,” Devrim nodded with his head toward the direction of the dam, “He’s never come close though, and always seems to keep a hood up or a helmet on..I’ve never seen his face. Causing our girl some trouble is he?”

“He doesn’t mean to,” Joel said, “He’s new to everything and Di….she doesn’t know how to handle her feelings. He really reminds her of someone she’d rather forget, but at the same time she’s grown closer to him, and is having trouble letting go of that….resemblance.”

“Sounds messy,” Devrim picked up the cup and took a small sip to taste before nodding. “She needs a good rest, and time to herself away from everyone to let herself work through things. Is there a Hunter hideout where she might be able to take cover?”

“None that wouldn’t turn her over to Zavala to keep themselves from being called to the tower..” Joel had a hint of irritation in his voice, “We tried a few of the old spots, but some people have a sore spot for Di. Shaw hasn’t exactly warmed up to her and he’s made a name for himself in the cosmodrome. People think, that she thinks she’s too important, that she abandoned them in their greatest hour of need…And with the Hunters still without a leader...”

“Did they forget the part where the entire universe was at stake?” Devrim asked too loudly, drawing Diana’s tired attention finally from the window.

“Who knew the Cosmodrome was separate from our universe.” She had no mirth to her voice now, she seemed to shake slightly from side to side as she pushed away from the window and walked over to take the cup offered to her gingerly from Devrim. “Thanks…”

“I’m sorry that you’re dealing with so much,” Devrim put a gentle hand on Diana’s shoulder and squeezed it. A flicker in her eyes caught him off guard, was she going to cry? “I hope that the vanguard has at least given you some hefty time off to recoup after running you so ragged?”

“Hawthorne helped,” Joel said with a hint of pride, “When Diana was ready to just drop off the tower to get away from Zavala and Shaw, she spoke up and advocated for Diana to have a relief mission.”

“Tore into them did she?” Devrim chuckled warmly, “Ah, I can hear her now.”

“It was quite a sight,” Joel laughed, his shell squinting as he bobbed up, like a smile. “She wasn’t about to let Zavala just walk all over Diana.”

“M’ just too tired to fight anymore.” Diana admitted as she took a drink from the cup, taking a moment to shiver at the bitterness. “I wanna sleep for a week in a hole in the ground…” She paused…”Or...in a wall…” Her eyes widened slowly before she downed the rest of the cup, filled only half of the way before handing the cup back to Devrim. “If anyone asks,”

“I haven’t heard from you in months.” Devrim winked at her as he took her cup and replaced it on the table. “No idea where you could be. Haven't’ seen you in the EDZ in quite some time.” He turned and lifted his own teacup to her in salute, “I really should contact you via radio to come spend some time with this old man.” He could hear Diana and Joel speaking softly as he turned and sipped at his tea, trying not to listen to the quiet planning. He couldn’t help but hear.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” Joel was asking, concern filling his voice.

“Where else can we go right now? Unless you really wanna watch me dig a hole and bury ourselves.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this...but we could go to the Derlict?” Joel offered in a hushed tone, “Drifter would hide you for a while.”

“He’d also bug me to death for answers, or to get me into Gambit again…” Diana sighed heavily. Devrim kept himself turned around, studying the hand written notes from Marc laying on his desk, hidden out of direct sight behind the radio he used to listen to chatter, or talk to Suraya who was living in the Tower now. “No, I think it’ll be the one place no one, except one person would think to look…”

“Do you think he would?” Joel asked softly.

“No, his leash is too short right now. He might wonder to himself, maybe to Glint, but he won’t actually come looking. Which will give us all the time we need to rest.” Diana sounded sure of herself and her mind was made up. Wherever they were going, it was going to be a secret between them.

“It won’t be very comfortable,” Joel complained slightly.

“We can find a few ways to make it work.” Diana said a little more loudly, the time for private conversation over with. Devrim was refilling his cup, still pretending to be lost in his own little world when he felt two taps on his shoulder. He put down his cup and turned to receive the gentle hug Diana offered without thinking. “I’ll come by again soon Devrim, thank you for letting us rest and clear our head.”

“I don’t need to tell you that you are always welcome,” Devrim told her as he squeezed her, returning the hug. “But I will anyway, just so I’m sure you know. You can always come up here to hide out, and I won’t tell a soul if you don’t want me to.” He felt her start to pull away and he kept his hold until she leaned more heavily against him, allowing him to share her weight. “You be careful out there, hm?”

“Yes sir,” Diana’s chest vibrated with her voice, chuckling into his ear as she squeezed him back. “I’ll make sure to stop by for the dawning.” When Devrim pulled away she nodded, “I’ll remember the Shortbread cookies you love so much.”

“It pairs so well with my favorite festive tea,” Devrim sighed at the thought of such a comfort item. “It is getting around that time...isn’t it?”

“A few more weeks…” Diana nodded, “Hopefully I’ll get to feeling better before then. I’d like to go to the tower to see everyone…”

“Then you best get to it,” Devrim winked at her and grabbed a small bag from under his table, protected by a sheet that had hidden it from sight. “Here, take this, a self care package if you will.”

“Tea?” Diana laughed as she took the bag without looking at it.

“And a few biscuits and hot cocoa, some tripemines to set up a perimeter, clean water etcetera.” Devrim smiled as he poured a second cup for himself. “Little things that will help make the roughing it less...rough.”

“Thanks Devrim but shouldn’t you need this?” She asked, holding the bag up.

“Not for a while, I’m going on vacation too..of a sort. It’s Marc’s Rezzing day soon. We decided to go to Suraya in the city and spend time together. I’ll have all the comfort I need. And I can replenish my supplies.” Devrim watched as Diana nodded and looked toward the stairs. “Go on now, I won’t keep you any longer.” He turned his back and pretended to busy himself with the radio dial until a heavy baritone voice came over the waves.

“Thanks again…” Diana gave a small salute before disappearing over the ledge, not bothering with the stairs.

“It’s like they’re allergic to safety,” Devrim mused to himself, chuckling as he watched her go.

//

“Are you sure about this?” Joel asked as Diana picked her way over the rubble, careful to make sure that Devrim’s care package wouldn’t rip.

“Like I said, I’m out of ideas, unless you know of somewhere else we can go…’S not like we can go chill with Asher anymore…” She paused down the dimly lit corridor and sighed. “I miss him.”

“I know,” Joel touched his feckle to her cheek and accepted the loving caress she gave him that pinned him to her cheek gently. “I do too.”

“So this is the one place I can think of that...they won’t know to look and if they did think to look, I don’t think he’d tell.” Diana finished softly. She was outside the  little alcove now and started to go inside but hesitated.

“What's wrong?” Joel asked, blinking his yellow cat eye and watching how she hesitated. It wasn’t like her.

“I should ask permission…” She said firmly. “This is the one place that’s his and his alone...if I were just to barge in here and use it without asking? I’d be taking that away from him, I’d be just as bad as Spider. We’re not that close...in reality. He might think...I’m overstepping boundaries if I don’t ask…” The heavy silence in the air didn’t last long before she asked, “Can you patch me into a secure line to him?”

“Just a moment.” Joel busied himself with twitching, extending his shell and rotating back and forth until the sound of static washed away and a familiar voice asked.

“Who is this?”

“Glint, it’s us. It’s secure right?” Joel asked, replacing his shell to its rightful shape. Diana noticed one of his cat ears was coming untapped and tried to push it back down in place, only to knock it off and make her gasp in both shock and sadness.

“Of course!” Glint’s voice perked up, “It’s the Guardian and her Ghost!”

“You can call me Joel,” Ghost reminded him, “And Di.”

“New news on Xivu Arath or some wrathborn? A new cryptolith?” Crow’s voice came over the coms and Joel watched Diana pause in her fussing over his shell.

“No,” Diana admitted after a moment of silence. “I’ve...I’ve been given some...a reprieve…” She said slowly, remembering once what Glint had said over coms after a hunt. “But I…” She paused again and the lights inside her mouth dimmed with a sigh. “Could I...Would it bother you if I...used your...nest, for a while?”

“It’s most certainly not a nest.” Crow said a little too quickly. Diana could practically hear the flush to his blue-grey face. “But...why? I thought you would have a place in the tower in the last city?”

“I do, but not everyone understands the need for...alone time.” Diana admitted.

“About your report, could you do this run for me, we should go out tonight, could you sit in on this mission debriefing, we need someone on coms for this vanguard operation, could you help me adjust my sights,” Joel started listening off all the things that had been asked of them when they had returned to the tower the last time. “It’s like it never ends. We used to go hide out on Io when things got like this…”

“I see.” Crow interjected before silence could fall and swallow them up. “You...need a place to breathe for a while. Of course, feel free. I’m...honored that I could help you this way...Guar--”

“Di.” Diana reminded.

“Di…” Crow’s voice was soft, like he was afraid of breaking her name should he say it with too much force. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess, I haven’t been out there in a while and Glint’s a terrible maid.”

“It’s not my fault you keep everything you find that has a little shine to it.” Glint said playfully, hinting at his name.

“It’s not exactly comfortable either, but it works...in a pinch.” Crow continued, ignoring Glint’s jest. “Use it as long as you like.”

“Thanks,” Diana smiled and looked inside the alcove at the small collection of crow’s things. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Crow chuckled softly, “You could have used it and I never would have known. It’s not as if I’m in and out of there a lot these days.”

“Boundaries and Respect are important.” Diana told him firmly. “Guardians and good people a like do not trample over either…” She put a hand to her head and realized how much like Quin she sounded. She shook her metal head and continued. “Want me to get you some time off?” Diana asked as she stepped through the crack that served as the door. “You deserve it as much as I do.”

“Spider wouldn’t allow--”

“Spider won’t know the difference if I tell him I need you in the EDZ to track down Hive movement. Maybe they’re trying to set up a cryptolith here? Savathun did find that piece of the Traveler where we found the new Hawkmoon.”

“Not to mention we could give you a run through on being a Lightbearer. Guardian school if you will. More tips and tricks to make you more effective for Spider.” Joel added, his shell contracting in the way that made Diana say it looked like a smile.

“Time away from Spider,” Diana said in a singsong voice, “Nice hot fires under the stars, good drinks. Stories swapped.” She flopped down on the sleeping bag Crow had left on the concrete slab and regretted it, there was still a bit of debris under it and it hurt. “R and R is just as important to Guardians as it is to non-lightbearers.” She added with a grunt.

“That’s true...I just don’t think Spider would allow it.” Crow sounded defeated, tired and annoyed.

“Well, I am not going back to work for a bit….you think about it and when you want me to, I’ll talk to Spider.” Diana stood and rolled the sleeping bag up, watching how the dust and concrete of the collapsing ceiling was leaving a layer of dust on everything.

“Spider called him.” Glint said in a hushed tone, “I think some time off and not so alone would be good for him. He’s been obsessing over these Cryptoliths. He’s so sad to see the Eliskni that was good to him turn into...wrathborn…”

“He needs time away just as much as we do,” Joel sighed.

“It would be good for him, all he does is talk about work, and when he asks about Guardian things, he feels like such a stranger to it all. I think a fellow Guardian talking to him would make it feel more real, for now its just...stories of something he thinks he doesn’t deserve..” During the pause, Joel and Diana gave a look to one another. Sadness. Fatigue. Guilt. “I’ve been called by Spider, cutting the link. You two have a good rest.”

“Glint--” Joel started to speak but then hesitated. “The line’s dead.” He rotated to see Diana removing rubble from the concrete slab and cleaning it off with her hand. “This place really is a mess...huh?”

“He’s tried to make it his own…” Diana said softly. “It reminds me...of that cave in the Cosmodrome we had when we first started out...Remember?”

“Heh.” Joel floated closer and bobbed before rolling his shell over. “You kept Hive bones until you heard about Dredgen Yor, then you dumped them all over the cliffside and wanted nothing more to do with them.”

“Got rid of the dice I whittled too.” She nodded and replaced the sleeping bag, stretching it out to find it wouldn’t fit, the slab was too short. She glanced around the tiny alcove, at all of Crow’s belongings. A sleeping bag that had holes in it. A pristine Dawning bowl. His death shroud. A hive knight sword from when he save Osiris. A table and chair. A tool chest as tall as her and tools to fill it with. 8 things. He only owned 8 things. Yet the room told so much about him.

He was a repairer. Using things left over and forgotten to serve a new purpose. “It’s almost...poetic...or.” She laughed, “Ironic, whichever you wanna look at it...I guess…”

“What is?” Joel had floated off on his own, inspecting the crack in the wall that filtered in some sunlight from a room beyond the rubble.

“He takes things that are broken or forgotten. Things people don’t think twice about because to them it's used up and gives it new life...new purpose…” She picked up the bowl and placed it on the sleeping bag. “Like a guardian...we were just empty shells until you guys came along.” She smiled at Joel who twitched in silent thought. “You found me, an empty shell. Having used up all my life and been lost to time and the elements and you gave me a purpose. You brought new life into me and told me what I could do to help those around me.” She picked up his death shroud and frowned. “Uldren was a cold hearted bastard of a person.” Her grip tightened on the cloth before she sighed heavily.

“He paid his price. Blood for blood. Eye for an Eye. The debt for Cayde was settled. I know his tapes said he’d be…” She started folding the shroud gently. “Crow was a shell that was tossed away. People were trying to forget...or avoid remembering for the time. Including myself...And Glint gave him new life and purpose. He’s a guardian now. He’s not who he was before. And now he takes things Spider tries to throw away or has forgotten about and makes them into new things.” When the shroud was folded into the shape of a flag, she placed it into the bowl and busied herself cleaning off the slab where it had been placed haphazardly. “He’s just like a Ghost that way. A repairman. An artist..” She recalled the art form he had mentioned before when she saw his nest the first time. “He mentioned an artform with precious metals...do you know what it's called?”

“I hadn’t when he first mentioned it, but I talked to Zavala’s ghost and he knew what it was called, apparently it's called Kintsugi, or kintsukuroi, it’s a Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.  It treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.” He paused for a moment and flew a little lower, “Oh, I see what you mean.”

Diana straightened up the room in silence for a while. Dusting everything with her hands as best she could and being as gentle as possible. It didn’t take her long to clean up the room, tossing out the debris into the hall. She looked around and realized it wasn’t cleaning she wanted to do.

“I wanna do something nice for him.” She said out loud, throwing out a fist sized piece of concrete into the hall. “And I don’t mean dusting.” Joel was flying around the room and scanning the area, inspecting the walls and ceiling.

“He doesn’t have a lot does he?” he asked as he came down to her height. “We could get a few things for him.”

“Yeah..spruce the place up a bit...he deserves better than this but…” She glanced at the shroud sticking up from the bowl where she had placed it. “Baby steps.”

“What do you think he would like?” Joel asked.

“Anything is better than this…” she glanced at the mop bucket in the corner, and cringed. “We could get him a sturdy cot to sleep on. A better sleeping bag…” She looked back to his area and tilted her head, “Another table, a chair...we could clear these slabs out.” She kicked at the one he had been using for a bed. “Hang that sword up.” She pointed to the sword as it was propped up against the wall, waiting to topple over. “And a heater…”

“A heater?” Joel asked, spinning back to watch her as she nodded.

“It’ll be snowing soon. If he’s gonna get time off and come stay, then he’s gonna need heat...and some food that won’t spoil…” Her faceplates shifted to show irritation. “The boy doesn’t even have the basic necessities to live on his own. He won’t be under Spider’s four thumbs forever.”

“You think he’s going to let Crow go eventually?” Joel didn’t sound convinced, but when Diana settled her cyan eyes on him, he knew that look. He’d seen it before the battle against Crota...Oryx...Gaul and the darkness. It was what he called her ‘try me’ look.

“Oh he will. And we’re getting that bomb outta Glint too.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Glint doesn’t deserve that treatment, and neither does Crow. The boys are literally as pure as new fallen snow, and Crow’s as green as Venus.”

“I remember when Leland used to say the same about you,” Joel offered softly, flying close to her chest, his sign he wanted to be held in her hands. She obliged him, cradling him gently and stroking his feckle lovingly.

“I’m not gonna comment on that,” she chuckled and planted a kiss on her Ghost’s shell. Going to sit on the sleeping bag. “I guess this means we’re going back to the city after all.”

“What are we gonna tell people who ask what we’re doing?” Joel twitched his shell so he was looking up at Di from her hands she stared longingly at the Dawning bowl.

“That we’re helping out a kinderguardian. They’re new and scared to come to the city. Or that I’m literally burying myself in a hole and making a fuck off bunker so people will leave me alone for once.” She stopped and blinked, “By the light, I sound like Osris now.”

“I like the second one better,” Joel laughed, “It sounds more like you than Osiris.”

Both of them laughed, their voices bouncing off the three and a half walls until it sounded like it would drown all their sorrows. They hadn’t laughed like that in a while. It made Diana sad to realize this. She tried not to look at it, but it was like a living thing staring at her. The death shroud. One of the triangle corners was peeking up from the bowl and taunting her until she stared at it.

“I’m not...weird am I?” She asked Joel, still staring at the white cloth.

“Is that a question you want me to answer honestly, or be serious?” Joel asked with mirth still in his voice.

“No, I mean…” Diana’s tone made Joel twitch in her hands, bringing her attention to him. “I know I didn’t remember anything, not a thing when you brought me back. But you said I’d been dead a long time...I’ve never…” She trailed off and looked toward the floor. “I’ve never run into anyone who recognized me before. But Uldren...he…” She sighed. “He killed dad...I know I said Crow was different and he IS but…” she made a clicking noise. “Sometimes when it gets quiet, and I see him, I can still SEE Uldren there. Does that make me a bad person?” She looked to Joel sadly. “Am I a horrible person because I sometimes still see him inside someone who's new? If Crow didn’t have the same meatsuit...if he’d been changed into an Exo like me when he was first brought back...I woulda never known….I wouldn’t be...questioning myself like this.” She looked to the shroud again. “He’d just be a new guardian. A fellow exo. A nice guy...But I find myself wanting to reach out to him. Be...more than kind to him. To be someone for him and then that moment happens when I don’t see Crow, I see…and then I feel like I’m betraying Dad’s memory by being chummy with the meatsuit that killed my leader...”

“I could tell,” Joel admitted softly, speaking in barely a whisper, as if afraid the truth would cause the ground to swallow them up. “When you two are having a good talk and it gets quiet, I see the way you look at him. It’s kindness and then fear, mixed with guilt.” He twitched again and the eye blinked. The other ear was starting to come loose and Diana peeled it off with a gentle hand. “You’re trying so hard to not hold him accountable for a crime you know Crow didn’t commit. But it’s still the same face. It’s still the same hand.” he blinked again, “It’s a situation I don’t think any other guardian has ever had to face like this before.” Only a heartbeat passed before he added. “I don’t think it makes you a bad person, I think you’re struggling with a situation that no one else has ever had to be in before and you’re doing a lot better than others who have seen his face.” He flew up from her hands and hovered a little ways from her face.

“You loved Cayde like a father, and he was taken from you by someone you didn’t particularly care for when you knew him. Now that person is no more, but their body is still up walking around with someone new inside...sorta. It’s like that pottery thing, he has his scars. His past is part of him, but he has a new life and a new outlook.” he tilted his shell toward the ground. “Uldren hated Guardians, he tried to make our life hell when we had to deal with the awoken. But,” he titled his shell upward and squinched himself into a smile, “I’ve seen Crow absolutely light up when you walk in a room. He’s excited to see you, to work with you. If that’s not proof he’s totally different then I dunno what would be.”

When she didn’t respond he bonked her on the forehead with his feckle and made her blink at him in bewilderment. “Others have outright killed Crow when they saw his face. You didn’t.”

“I tried…” She put a hand on the spot where he hit her. “If Quin hadn’t stopped me...I would have put a bullet in him.”

“Are you glad she stopped you?” Joel asked firmly.

“Yes?” she sounded unsure, when Joel tightened his shell around him she felt like he was glaring at her so she repeated with conviction. “....Yes. I am.”

“Would you put a bullet in him now?” Joel’s voice was hard, he was trying to test her resolve. He already knew he answer, he just needed her to know it.

“No, absolutely not, I’d...” She paused and remembered her fight with Hunter-1, they still hadn’t spoken since they introduced Crow to him. When he tried to murder Crow, even after learning he was a guardian and Uldren no more. Quin had ushered Crow to safety while Diana wrestled with the fellow Exo. He hadn’t looked at her the same since. On Wrathborn hunts he wouldn’t watch her back anymore, and he would ignore her when she spoke to him. “I’d fight those who would try...”

“Then you’re already leaps and bounds ahead of others.” Joel told her with a flip. “And the fact you want to give him what he needs to survive on his own, until he can be accepted as Crow and not as Uldren, shows you have compassion for him.” He tilted his shell halfway, like he was being coy. “And do not think for one millisecond I haven’t seen you smile at him with that same look you used to give Drifter either missy.”

“I. Give. No. Looks.” Diana’s voice was low, gravely, she was willing to die on this hill.

“And I wasn’t born in the Light.” Joel gave a small hummpf sound before flying out of the crack, forcing Diana to follow along behind him if she wanted to argue.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄5

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: Stay positive and be healthy, y’all. Might have a surprise for ya later.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Loki’s grimace was terrifying. You lowered the sparkling panties back into the box and the diamonds tinkled just a little. He watched you fold the tissue paper back over them and lift the lid. He raised his long index finger as he stood.

“No,” He breathed. “That’s no way to accept a gift.”

You frowned as you hovered the lid over the box. “What--”

“Well,” He smirked. “It would only be proper to make sure they fit.”

“I have no intent of ever wearing those,” You shoved the lid on. “I’ll have them sent back.”

“You will not do that,” He tutted. “Now, let’s see--”

“No,” You said staunchly. “I’m tired of this. It’s ridiculous. Childish!”

His nostrils flared and he pursed his thin lips. He reached beneath his jacket and pulled his gun from his holster. He didn’t hesitate as he brought the muzzle to face you.

“I rather dislike repeating myself but more, I despise your disobedience. Now, your life is mine and at this point it would seem more profitable to end it and this bounty. So I won’t say it again.” He snarled. “I’ll even be so generous as to close my eyes. I like a surprise.”

You stared at him and the gun twitched. He smirked and closed his eyes, his arm still extended, ready to pull the trigger. You shook the lid off so the box fell loudly onto the desk. You tossed the lid aside and hiked up your skirt. You pulled your panties down your legs and bunched them up atop the desk.

You took the diamond pair and bent to hook your feet through them and shimmied them up your legs. You stood and straightened your skirt over them. You smiled and leaned on the desk.

“They fit,” You said tritely.

He opened his eyes and his face fell. He marched towards you and pressed the barrel to your chest. You swallowed but held his gaze. He let out a hot breath.

“You know what I meant.” He pushed the neckline of our shirt lower with the gun. “Final warning, darling.”

This time he kept his eyes open. You gritted your teeth and reached to the hem of your shirt. You ripped it over your head and threw it in his face. He barely flinched as he caught it and backed away just a step. You found the zipper on the back of your skirt and pushed it down. You rolled it along your legs and stood straight as it pooled at your ankles.

He raised a brow as he tongue slipped out and he focused on your bra. You looked down and reluctantly grasped the back of your bra. You unhooked it and paused just a moment as you raised your head. He lowered the gun slowly and you let the bra fall. It slipped from your arms as you dropped them and stood in nothing but your heels and the extravagant panties.

“Divine,” He wisped. “Darling, you do continue to delight.”

“You’re disgusting.” You sneered.

“If I were so disgusting, I would drag you down to that repulsive club and have you show all those men what’s mine,” He slithered. “And you understand that you are mine. You will never be his. Ever.”

His face turned dark as his breath rose in his chest.

“But for now, you will sit and finish your work. Just. Like. That.”

His eyes roved over your body and you shuddered. You sat and pulled the chair closer to the desk. You acted as if he wasn’t there, as if you weren’t as good as naked, as if you didn’t feel entirely sick. 

You lifted your pencil and ran it along the margin. You sensed him as he came closer and his hand appeared in the corner of your vision. His fingers closed around your former panties and dragged them away. You bit down but said nothing and made no move. He snickered as he strutted the perimeter of the room and hummed.

“Temperance is kindred to pleasure,” He said. “Little tastes make the dessert sweeter.”

👄

You left work roiling mad. You’d never been so livid in your life, not even when your father had duped you into running bets in middle school. 

Yet you didn’t dare to goad Loki further though. He was a man of limits and he was almost past his. Each man insisted on raising the stakes higher and higher though you could not see anyone paying but yourself.

You stomped out of work, the heels of your shoes nearly bending beneath you on the pavement. You checked the time on your slender silver watch. He hadn’t returned your panties and you refused to keep the others on and so you felt even more exposed as you made your way down the street.

As you turned the corner, you nearly toppled. Your path was blocked by an unexpected obstacle. Rather a man who seemed to be awaiting you. He smiled down at you as his golden hair shone in the later blooms of sunlight. You scowled and tried to sidestep him. He moved with you and blocked your path.

“Ah, running away?” Rogers taunted.

“No, you’re in my way.” You hissed.

“I’m here to do you a favour,” He grinned. “My boss awaits your thanks.”

“Then he will be waiting for a rather long time,” You tried to evade him again and he moved once more in front of you.

“You don’t want to leave him waiting,” He warned.

“Get out of my way.” You huffed.

He considered you and shook his head. He rolled his tongue along his bottom lip and shrugged. 

“Alright, girlie,” He held up his hands and stepped aside. “Have it your way.”

You scowled and continued on. You were exhausted. You stormed around the corner and onto the next. You walked to work most days, lost yourself in the crowd in your moments to yourself. At that point, you’d love to just disappear altogether

A sharp honk sounded and a car pulled up along the curb, slowing to follow you as the window descended. You glanced over and went on as if you hadn’t seen the man within. The motor continued to mutter as the car rolled slowly along.

“Sweetheart, don’t do this to me,” Bucky begged. “And after such a lovely present.”

“You can have it back,” You snarled.

“Only if you're in it,” He said. “Come on. Get in. I wanna talk.”

“Well, I don’t,” You snapped.

“If I gotta get outta this car…” He warned.

“You don’t gotta do anything,” You countered. “Nothing but go away.”

He sighed and the window rolled up. The car pulled in entirely and idled at the curb. You heard the door open and close as you passed it entirely and the leather clad footsteps which followed you. You swung your elbow back as you were grabbed and you struggled with the man who had stopped you only a few blocks earlier.

The blond henchman gave no heed to the other pedestrians as he wrestled you over to the car and they pretended not to see him. You kicked out as he wrangled you with one arm and grunted as he opened the door. You nearly knocked your head as he forced you down and shoved you inside. Your purse drooped on your arm as you landed on the leather.

You cursed and shot your foot back at him as you fell into the seat. He caught your ankle and his grip made your blood turned cold.

“Steve, don’t,” Bucky ordered from behind you, “I’d like her in one piece.”

Steve clung to you as his eyes shot past you. He nodded and pushed your foot away. You barely pulled your legs inside before he slammed the door. You righted yourself on the seat and grumbled at the man beside you.

“So… did you like them?” Bucky asked as Steve climbed in the front.

“Not really my style,” You said evenly as the car pulled away from the curb.

“Well, neither is this,” He tugged on your skirt. “I kinda liked the suits.”

“What do you want?”

“I know you’re not that clueless.” He chuckled.

“And I know you aren’t either. How many ways can I say no?” You uttered.

“You can say it as many times as you like, sweetheart. It only adds to the fun.” He played with the hem of your skirt as he slid closer. “I know what he’s doing. I know this game. I know he hasn’t had you. He just wants to poke the bear.”

“Both of you are just--” You stopped yourself and peered out the window. “I’ve had a long day. Can we please not?”

“I wonder what he would do, hmmm?” He gripped your knee. “If we just--- if he found out that I got you first.”

“Why did you settle with him if you’re so eager to start another war?” You tried to push his hand away but it didn’t budge.

“Business is business. It’s not about personal feelings,” He slipped his hand from beneath yours and tickled up your leg. He pressed against the bottom of your skirt and edged it up as he groped your thigh. You squeezed your legs together as you tried to stop him. “He can talk himself up but I know he can’t afford another. Not so soon.”

“Bucky…”

“Oooh, say it again,” He tried to force his hand higher.

“Get off of me,” You punched his shoulder and then his chest. “Get--” You reached around and blindly dug your hand into your purse. You flipped the blade out and brought it to his chin. “Stop!”

“Think about this, sweetheart.” He purred and cold metal touched your thigh. You looked down as he dragged the gun to your stomach. “You’re not that interesting.”

You glared at him and slowly lowered the knife. He took it from you and replaced his gun in his holster. He admired the blade as he leaned back on the seat then dragged it lightly over your thigh.

“Now, I know what you’re gonna say because you’ve said it before. And you can keep it up and hold out and be miserable or you can give in and get your kicks.” He winked as he pulled the blade up beneath your skirt and split the fabric from crotch to hem. 

“I’d be miserable either way.”

“Maybe,” He flipped the knife up and pointed it at your nose. “Maybe you would but if your boss even thought you were truly sneaking around behind his back well, I hate to imagine the consequences for you, sweetheart. What a waste,”

You blinked at him as if he was stupid.

“Let me lay it out. You continue this little coy act and I let on that you ain’t so loyal as you pretend to be. See if you’re so useful to him then.” Bucky smirked. “Or you give me what I want and he thinks he’s got what he wants. He gets his pride. His empty victory.”

“He’d never believe you.” You said.

“I can be very convincing,” He hummed. “Those panties are just the beginning.”

You swallowed your revulsion and his eyes descended to your sliced skirt. You followed them and pulled the fabric back together as it threatened to bear your nudity. You kept your legs together as you shifted in the seat. You chewed on your predicament and let out a weak breath. 

Seeds of doubt sprouted easily, especially in this life. Suspicion was as good as guilt.

“Fine,” You muttered. “You bastard.”

He snickered and the car drew to a stop. You looked out the window to your building and blanched. He hadn’t even asked for your address. Well, you supposed he could’ve just asked his minion in the front seat.

“Good girl,” He purred. “Tomorrow, you should come see the club at night, it’s something else.”

You nodded as the bitterness choked you.

“Can I go?” You asked.

“Can you go…” He cupped his ear dramatically. “My men call me sir or Mr. Barnes. It’s a show of respect.”

“Can I go… sir?” You forced out.

“Eh, so demanding. I know you have manners, sweetheart.” He licked his lip.

“Can I go please?” You said. “Sir?”

He grabbed your chin suddenly and pulled you close. Your eyes rounded and he pressed his lips to yours. He devoured you with a messy kiss and parted with a nibble of your lip.

“You can,” He said softly. “Don’t forget the panties.”

He released you and you grabbed your purse. You held your skirt together as you opened the door and climbed out carefully. You closed the door without looking back and stepped up onto the sidewalk. You walked hunched over to your building, afraid your skirt would split at any move.

When you stepped inside, you felt as if he could still see you. As if his lips were still on yours and his gun to your side. You felt completely trapped. Entirely hopeless.

[ceilingfan5]

W: wild west au :D

i can’t believe i had two asks for wild west!!

“Taako!!!” Magnus bursts into the saloon, his spurs jangling comically as he dodges wobbly patrons and drunken tables. “Taako, Taako!”

Taako slowly unsticks his forehead from the bar and blinks unevenly. 

“Magnus. Magnus, Magnus.” He clicks his tongue and swirls the dregs of his drink. He’s spent a lot of time in this saloon since Lup disappeared. He’s as much a regular fixture as the flickering lamps and uneven stools. “What, in tarnation, might I ask, is worth hollering my name at the top of your lungs in a public place of respite?” 

Magnus plods over and leans on the bar, lowering his voice to a stage whisper, which is about as soft as he can physically manage. 

“The Grim Reaper is in town and there’s a bounty on his head of 3,000 gold!” 

“Maybe I’m good on gold. You don’t know that. You think I look- you think I look like a man that needs gold?”

“And he stole your horse?”

Taako grabs Magnus by the bolo tie and growls. 

“You could have fuckin’ started with that. Which way did he go?” 

There’s still a completely white horse tied up at the stakes outside of the Davy Lamp, but it’s not Garyl, that much is obvious. This horse is calm, bored even, and it gives Taako a look with his dead black eyes that gives him goosebumps. He’s well-groomed and healthy. Nice fucking horse, but Taako isn’t down for a trade. Garyl’s gotten him through some bumps and downs he never would have recovered from otherwise. Garyl was a horse he could fucking talk to, not this souless demon. But he’s saddled up, and Taako wastes no time in making a decision. He climbs up on Wrong Horse and kicks off, riding like a stormcloud in the direction Magnus pointed. 

They make incredible time. Wrong Horse has no qualms about going faster, doesn’t need to be plied with oats or sweet-talked. Horrible. Taako misses Garyl already. They thunder out of town and past the railroad, up towards the mountains, and finally Taako sees the man dressed in all black, stopped by the side of the dirt road, yelling at his horse. Taako’s horse. 

Taako pulls up and stops Wrong Horse a little ways away, draws his pistol and approaches. His boots are worn, but that makes him sneakier, and the Reaper doesn’t notice Taako until he’s in shootin’ range. 

“Hands where I can see ‘em, horse thief.”

Surprisingly enough, the Reaper jumps, and he turns, eyes wide. So much for a wanted, deadly criminal. 

“Horse thief?”

“Hands, bitch.” 

The Reaper slowly raises his hands, still holding Garyl’s reins. The gears are turning in his deep brown eyes, mathematics written all over his handsome face. Kissable. Rugged. Gorgeous. Taako has to think about gold, think about jingling when he struts down the street. Think about Garyl, who has his ears back farther than Taako’s ever seen. He doesn’t trust this fool. 

“I-” The Reaper looks between Garyl and Wrong Horse, calculating. “I didn’t meant to steal your horse. I’m very sorry. Maybe we could just trade and be on our merry ways?” 

“Nah,” Taako says, pistol still level even though his hands have been shaky for a very long time. “You’re comin’ with me.”

“That damned bounty,” The Reaper mutters, kicking the dirt like a child. “How much is it now? 300? 500?”

“Try three thousand, horse thief. Maybe we could raise the price, add that to your crimes.” 

“It was a simple mistake! Death is a pale horse, your dear ride here-”

“Garyl.”

“Garyl is a white horse. The sun was in my eyes. Honest mistake. Look, I can make it up to you.” 

“If you’re trying to convince me you have 3,000 gold in those pants, you’re full of shit.”

“Not in my pants,” he looks at Taako questioningly. 

“Taako.” 

“Not in my pants, Taako,” he says politely. “I have gold stowed away in the mountains. If you can help me find it, I could cut you in. What do you think?”

“I think you’re a low down, dirty, piece of shit who doesn’t even love his horse,” Taako snaps, and he spits on the ground. “I think you’re gonna get me out of sight of even the ghosts and kill me.” 

“That thought did cross my mind,” he admits. “The name’s Kravitz, by the way, do you not introduce yourself? That’s very rude. Anyway. I could cut you in for FIVE thousand. You seem a,  uh, a man with a lust for that which glitters. Can you resist that price?” 

Taako cocks his head. His hands are starting to shake now. He’s tired. He hasn’t been out of town in a very, very long time. He’s been stuck in a miserable rut, stuck in that damned saloon, stuck in the darkness by himself. A lot of gold could buy him a search party. A lot of gold could buy him his sister back. A lot of gold could be worth the risk. 

And if Kravitz is a filthy turn-coat, then Taako can shoot the fucker and drag his head back to the sheriff for a discounted rate. 

Win-win. 

“Yeah, alright. But no funny business.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kravitz sighs. They switch horses and Taako pats Garyl’s flank, eyeing his new partner in crime. This could be a bad idea. Then again, what use is living if you’re going nowhere? There’s no hope without change, and this could be the change he needs. 

“Saddle up. Let’s ride.”

[certifiedskywalker]

Trust Me (Part Two) - Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

After escaping Moff Gideon, you and Din Djarin set out to find the home planet, the blood family, of the Child. In your escape, you revealed powers akin to the Child and your past as a padawan learner of the Jedi Order. You swore to yourself only to use your skills when absolutely necessary. Yet, it seems the time has come again where you must lay it all on the line to save the man you love (and the Child of course).

AN: Second part to my Jedi-Bounty Hunter!Reader x Din Djarin one shot. Happy Fanfiction Friday!

PART ONE

“Coruscant?”

You took a long, deep breath before nodding. “Yes.”

Din leaned back, his helmet knocking against the hull of the Razor Crest with a dull, metallic ‘clang’. You didn’t need the Force to sense his hesitance: it written clear in his body language. In his tightly clasped hands you could see his nervousness. In his focused gaze, which you couldn’t see, you could feel him gauging your expression. You were nervous too. Coruscant, your old life there, however brief, felt like a dream, a nightmare.

“Din, I think it’s our best chance.” You were desperate to break the silence. Biting back all you wanted to say, you looked over at the Child now asleep in his makeshift cradle. “His best chance.”

“I believe you,” Din replied, “I trust you. I don’t trust Coruscant. It’s an ex-Imperial Core World. The Clone Wars started there.”

“The Jedi Temple might hold the star maps we need,” you insisted. You hadn’t yet shared with Din you many encounters with Master Yoda or that you even knew other beings of the same species as the Child. You had already told him so much, perhaps too much. The less he knew the safer he would be.

“This Temple was most likely destroyed by the Empire, if what you say is true.”

You nodded, too deep in thought, in memory, to reply. The Temple on Coruscant has been sacked like every other Jedi Temple the Emperor could find. Even so, there was a chance that something remained and that, whatever the something was, it could be of help. All you had to do was get there, ideally in one piece, and find it.

“The place will be crowded, messy,” Din’s voice cut through your swirling worries. “It would be risky. Do you think it’s worth it?”

For a moment you swore you could feel the heated wind of Nevarro against your skin. Flames licked at your face and you wondered if Din felt the same thing. You wondered if he felt the tether, fire forged, between you. You had only felt a trust so strong once before; and you Master had died for it. You were willing to do the same.

“Yes.”

Din pushed himself off the hull, his cloak flapping slightly with the sudden movement. “Then we set a course to Coruscant.”

You watched as Din ascended the ladder up to the cockpit. The sound of his thudding boots reminded you of your own heart beat; like a piece of you had gone with him. In reality, all of you was left in the belly of the Razor Crest. You turned your eyes over to the Child who was still sound asleep, his little nose twitching every so often. Yes, stopping at Coruscant would be worth it if it meant that the Child might go home.

Wherever home was, you thought. You leaned back against the wall and closed your eyes. A sigh slipped past your lips as you prepared yourself to travel back to the only home you had ever known.

“You sure you want to carry him?” You eyed the bundle strapped to Din’s chest. A large, green ear suddenly popped out of the sling-sack. Seconds later, a giggle sounded from the carrier and two green hands reached up towards Din’s helmet.

“Why?” Din tucked the Child’s ear back into the carrier strung across his chest. “You want to carry him?”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight and the teasing tone in Din’s voice. It was so rare to hear him so...happy? Ever since you had known him, the Mandalorian had been stone-cold and serious. Only once you and Din got friendly did you see him for what he truly was: a good man. You had known that in your heart before you even knew his name.

“You do tend to fall often,” you said with a grin. Din stood there, the visor of the helmet trained on you and you could feel him smiling. “I’m just thinking about the baby.”

Din shook his head and you felt your heart soar. He carefully plucked the Child from the sling and lifted the carrier from off his shoulders.

“I was just joking-”

“But you’re not wrong.”

In that moment, you and Din saw the same thing: him lying on the ground of the burning cantina as you healed him. There was no denying he had a been badly beaten during that fight. You could never forget what it was like, the power pulsing in your finger tips and then seeing the color of Din’s eyes. Brown, dark in the fire light, but soft.

“Alright,” you said, taking the sling from his extended hand.

Once you had it resized and fashioned comfortably over your shoulders, Din stepped forward. The Child, upon seeing the sling, reached out towards you. His three-fingered hands, so eerily akin to Master Yoda’s, seemed to pull you close to him. Soon enough, you could feel Din’s body heat radiating from under his body suit and armor. 

“He wants you,” Din observed. You felt a lump from in your throat at his words. Was it hope that maybe he meant a different ‘he’? Maybe Din meant himself? You wished he did but there were somethings that not even the Force could make clear.

Simply, Din slipped the Child into the sling across your chest. You weren’t even watching the Child who cooed with delight as he snuggled close to your chest. You were far more intrigued by Din’s gloved hands and how close they were to your body. How tempting, how enticing it was; you almost found yourself leaning towards the Mandalorian as he manipulated the wriggling Child.

“Comfortable?” At his question, you realized he had finished situating the Child and you glanced at your chest. Snug as ever, the little green creature was almost perfectly hidden inside the sling. 

“Any more frogs and he’d be too heavy for this,” you said half-heartedly. Your mind was still lost in the idea of Din’s hands on you.

 Evidently, Din had his head somewhere else too. Before you could go over the plan, Din was scoping out his weapons stash. He pulled two twin blasters from the rack and tucked them into holsters that were slightly obscured by his cloak. He was preparing for the worse.

“You need one?”

You were suddenly reminded of the cooled metal hilt of your lightsaber. Since the destruction of the Order, you hadn’t dared to use it. Activating it would have thrown you right into an Imperial Prison. No, it would have been a death sentence. Even now, you were wary.

“Can I have the DL-44?”

Wordlessly, Din handed you the heavy blaster pistol and the accompanying holstering. Careful as not to knock the Child out of the sling, you strapped the holster to your waist and slipped the gun inside. The weight was familiar, almost soothing. It was a reminder that you were still alive where other Jedi, other padawans, weren’t as lucky.

“So the plan,” Din began. You nodded and shifted to face him. Looking into the visor of his helmet gave you some comfort as you recited the scheme. “Hitch a ride to the lower levels of the Temple.”

“Stopping a few sectors away,” Din added. He crossed his arms over his chest and part of you wished he was still carrying the Child.

“Yes. From there we climb. The Temple shouldn’t be guarded, not anymore. But just in case, we’re taking a side entrance.”

“You still know where it is?”

You smiled, “of course I do.”

“Then we cut through the Temple to the-”

“Archives, or what’s left of them. The Empire confiscated most of the forbidden texts.”

Din shifted on his feet as if he felt an uncomfortable draft. You knew why; according to the Forger, the weaponsmith Mandalorian on Nevarro, you were an enemy sorcerer. Your Master, Stass Allie, had been vague when she covered the Jedi-Mandalorian conflict. All you had known was that the Order wasn’t in their favor. The idea of ‘forbidden texts’ set Din on edge. When you first heard about them as a youngling, you were uneasy too.

Why would the Jedi keep something so taboo so close?

There wasn’t anytime to dwell on the past. There was too much wide open and undiscovered to not move towards the future. Finding your voice, you continued to recite the final stages of the plan.

“Hopefully, there will be something on Master Yoda, about his home that could lead us to the little one’s family.” You pulled the fabric of the sling just far enough back to sneak a glimpse at the Child. His large, dark eyes met your gaze and, despite the nerves in the air, the Child seemed subdued. As if he could sense some shifting in the Force; a turning of a tide.

“Thanks,” Din said, his voice so low it was difficult to hear him above the noise of Coruscant's lower levels. 

You saw the flash of shining credits fall from Din’s hand to the driver’s before the speeder fled the street corner with a roaring ‘whoosh’. In the tailwind, a chill overwhelmed your senses. The Dark aside was still tucked away in parts of the planet, unseen but lingering nonetheless.

“Hey.” You jumped as Din placed his hand on your shoulder. A cry, muffled by the sling, came from the Child. The noise was enough to ground you; to remind you of all that was at stake. Looking up, you met the visor of Din’s helmet and nodded.

“Hey.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

His hand was still on your shoulder and, for a moment, you let yourself lean against his touch. It would be so easy to just go back to the Razor Crest and run into the depths of the galaxy. You could have each other, together. You could leave all of your past behind.

“I-I…”

A loud siren cut you off, pulled you back into the present. Flashing lights in your eyes turned violent like blaster bolts. The clunking of passersby’s foot falls and groaning of poorly constructed speeders, in your ears, became a familiar march. Your heart began to pound as the long lost echo of Clone trooper boots pulled you back into battle. Fearful, you turned your gaze out towards the bustling air ways, trying to see where the Imperials were hiding.

“Y/N? Y/N?” 

There was a quick squeeze on your shoulder that yanked you back to the present. A small coo sounded out from the sling across your chest and, when you met the Child’s big eyes, you found yourself embarrassed. Despite all of Master Allie’s training, you were not prepared for the scars that the war left behind.

“Sorry, sorry,” you reached a hand down and let your finger brush against the hilt of your lightsaber. It was an old habit, one you thought you lost long ago, but it still made you feel safe. “Let’s get moving. It’s not safe out here.”

You started to carve a path through the bustling underground. Silently, you wormed your way down alleyways while Din followed close behind. For a few precious seconds, it was as if you never left Coruscant; that the Jedi Order was still standing and you were a padawan again. You and fellow younglings had used these same paths after sneaking out for a midnight adventure. Everything was better then, despite the war; you were happy.

When you saw the polished stone, now age stained and graffitied, of the Jedi Temple, that lingering iota of joy disappeared. 

You stopped in your tracks and Din stood still at your side. “This is it.” “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, walking over to the lower wall of the Temple. 

Bright colors from the paint stood out against the white foundation beneath. You saw scrawls of ‘Ruin the Empire’ and ‘New Hope’ sprayed in janky lettering; farther down, you saw a small picture of a Loth cat. The hues of purple used looked fresh, probably only a few rotations old. People were still visiting the Temple after all this time. Carefully, you traced the shape of the portrait’s big ears trying to get a sense of who left this behind.

Just before you could close your eyes, a green hand poked out and touched the face of the Loth cat. The Child leaned out of the sling and chirped at the sight of the graffiti. His small palm pressed against the wall and you saw his eyes close. The Child’s body began to tremble within the sling.

“What’s happening?” Din was suddenly at your side. Worry laced his tone but your eyes never left the Child. You were in awe. So much power condensed in his small being.

“The Force,” you murmured in a rush. “He can feel everything that happened to the Temple. Every life that passed through it’s doors, the Jedi, the-”

Sharp and piercing, a cry ripped through the air around you. The Child’s face screwed up in pain as he screamed out. Your heart began to pound in your chest and you pulled the Child’s hand from the Temple wall. In a split second, you could feel it too, the pain and the fear. Order 66 had stolen everything the Jedi ever stood for in one fell strike.

“That was too loud,” Din said, his helmet turning as he surveyed the alley. “We need to get inside and out of sight.”

“Follow me then,” you said. Quickly, once the Child was once more secure in the sling, you led Din down the length of the alley. Muscle memory as your guide, you twisted about the winding way to the Temple’s hidden entrance. Your feet knew exactly where to step; your eyes, where to look. Everything had changed but, at its heart, your home was the same.

Only, not every inch had remained unchanged.

“Blast it! The door’s blocked!” 

You stopped and glared at the crumbling stone. During Imperial rule, you had heard of the atrocities, the debasement the Emperor had ordered against the Temple. Even after destroying the Jedi, he had to tarnish their memory too. When you looked up, you saw that the once great, twin spires had fallen. What remained was now a barrier before you.

“Do you have any charges?” You asked, hoping that Din, despite showing you his face, kept up with the other Mandalorian customs. Namely, the love of all things bombs and weapons.

“Too loud,” Din shook his head, “it would draw attention. Is there any other way in?” 

You met the dark visor of his helmet and you could feel his heightened nerves. “I don’t think there is an-”

“Who’s there?” A crackling, tired voice shouted out in the darkness.

You and Din spun around, though Din moved to stand in front of you. His arm reached out and gently nudged you so you were completely hidden behind his back. Your mind was much too muddled with emotion to reach out with the Force, to read the source of frightening voice. Instincts would have to do for now.

“We’re lost,” you sputtered.

“We’ll be out of here, we don’t want-”

“You want inside the Temple. Hasn’t been open in...years...since the decommission.”

Din didn’t take his focus off the limping shadow as he asked, “the decommission?”

“The Clones,” the voice croaked, “left to rot after the owners of this Temple were killed. The traitors they were.” You cringed at the word ‘traitor’; it stung like a thousand lashes from a vibroblade. Some still believed the Jedi were to blame for the War, for everything.

“Do you know a way inside?” You turned your eyes to Din at his question. He was just as desperate as you were when it came to getting the Child somewhere safe; but trusting this...person…

You didn’t need the Force to know it wasn’t right.

“Do I? Do I?” The shadow stalked closer and closer until it, he, stood under a flickering lamp post. Under the dim and flashing light, it was hard to make out any definitive features. With all of the harsh lines and spots of age in his face, the man looked as if his face were made of hundreds of others. “Of course I do!”

He smiled as he spoke, though it was a near-toothless smile. What teeth were left were yellow and crumbling. Dark brown eyes, almost the same color as Din only more pale, shown out from under his ragged hood. Whoever he was, he was impossibly old, ancient.

“Come, follow me, solider.”

The man stumbled past you and Din, mumbling to himself as he went. You eyed him warily before looking to Din. 

“‘Solider’?” A chill rolled over your shoulders. It was an echo from a past that had reared its head once before. Only, you couldn’t place how it was familiar. 

“I’m watching him,” Din said lowly, as if he was reading your thoughts. “I won’t let him try anything.” 

Din paused for a moment, just looking down at you. Before you could question him, his hands reached out and pulled your long coat a bit more over the sling. At the pressure, the Child cooed softly before settling back to sleep. You smiled to yourself before remembering where you were. 

“I know you won’t.” 

Somewhat satisfied, Din turned and followed the old man further down the alley. You watched him go before following after him. Barely, just ahead of Din, you could see the man hobbling through the grime that had gathered around the Temple’s bottom. Despite his trembling steps, the old man knew way around. Another chill came over you and you shuddered.

“Neither will I,” you added as you sped up your pace to fall in beside Din. 

You and Din followed the hunched form of the old man until another door came into sight. It wasn’t from the days of the Old Republic or the Jedi Order. The dark metal of the door was clearly Imperial, although the key pad was damaged. Wire hung from the panel, clearly sabotaged by some looter or vagrant. 

“Here it is,” the old man said, extending a frail hand towards the door. Din crouched beside the door’s control panel and pressed a few of the remaining dials. 

“It’s fried,” Din said as he continued to work.

“Let me see, brother.” On thin legs, the man leaned towards the control panel and works with Din. He pushed his hood back to reveal a head of grey hair. There were bald patches here and there, from what you could see; you were surprised he had any hair at all. 

You stood idle as the old man and Din worked at the panel. Spark flew from the wires every now and then. As you waited, another stroke of coldness fell over your shoulders. You were pushing your luck, staying on Coruscant to begin with. There was no time to waste.

Carefully, so Din and the older man couldn’t see, you raised your hand only slightly. You closed your eyes, splayed your fingers and waved your hand; motions you had followed like a ritual so many years ago. As your open palm swayed to the side, the door slide open with a rough, grating sound. You opened your eyes and let your hand fall to your side quickly.

“Oh, something clicked,” the old man cheered. He waddled past Din and through the door, leaving you alone with your partner for a moment. Din looked at you and you could feel his raised brow from underneath his helmet. 

“We needed to get inside,” you said in a poor attempt at being nonchalant. Din saw through you and simply walked into the Temple after the old man. You followed suit and shut the door behind you. When you turned around, you were thrust back into the past.

The walls were pristine. If you hadn’t known about the Empire’s cruelty, you would have thought they went through the effort to preserve the Temple. 

“I can take it from here,” you said, nudging your way to the front of the pack. 

“You two mapped the place out? Impressive,” the old man chuckled. 

You glanced over your shoulder and met his eyes. In the light, it was hard to fathom how the man was still alive. There were scars on his face and his cheeks were hollow, so hollow that his sun-worn skin hung like a Hutt’s jowls. He looked like a walking skeleton wearing a leather suit. You put on a half-smile to hide the cold grip of fear on your heart and nodded. 

“You could say that.” 

Effortlessly, you navigated through the remains of the Jedi Temple. Parts of the structure were refurbished to suit the Emperor’s taste. The hallway to the Archives was in ruins. Boulders had been placed in the corridor to make it all the more difficult to get through. Without stopping, you began to climb. The Child, now awake in the sling, seemed to enjoy the movement but stayed quiet. You imagined it was because he could sense what had happened in the Temple all those years ago.

“Wait up,” Din shouted. 

You glanced over your shoulder to see him helping the old man through the rocks. With your climb paused, you took the opportunity to catch your breath. On a deep inhale, you felt something claw at your throat. It was nothing painful but more like there was a leash around your neck tugging you in hopes to get you moving again towards the Archives door that was now in your sight. 

“I’m going ahead,” you called out over your shoulder. 

Without waiting for a reply, you began to carve a path down to the door. You could barely hear Din’s comment as you moved as you were much too invested in getting to the stores of Jedi knowledge within. 

When you reached the stone door, still as ornate as ever, you stopped. Tears welled up in your eyes and a shaking breath fell from your lips. With a trembling hand, you reached up and pressed your palm against the door. It was cold beneath your finger tips, untouched for years.

“I’m home,” you whispered. A whimper escaped from the Child and pulled your attention back to the present. “And you’re close to it, little one. At least, I hope.”

“There’s no control panel.” Din’s voice made you jump. Turning around, you gazed at your Mandalorian partner as he stared up at the huge doors. “How do you get in?”

“Only the Jedi could get inside,” the old man said from behind you, “and the Sith.”

Your blood ran cold at his words and you moved to face him. “How do you know that?”

“I saw it with my own eyes.”

Suddenly everything started to make sense. 

“Solider?”

The man turned his gaze from the door to you. His unruly grey brows furrowed as if there was something pressing on his mind. Those dark eyes, so distant but familiar like a memory, and the accelerated aging; the decommission; how could you have missed it?

“You were a-”

“A Clone,” you answered before Din could finish. Immediately, your hand brushed your long coat aside and your fingers wrapped around the hilt of your lightsaber. In one smooth action, the saber activated and you took a defensive stance. The colored light bathed your face and the cramped confines of the hallway. The old man’s eyes widened with recognition….and fear.

“A Jedi!” The same instinct that allowed you to grab your lightsaber drove the man’s hand to his side. His tattered cloaks, matted with dirt, offered some give and before you could blink, there was a blaster in his grip. “Good soldiers follow orders.”

“Whoa, hey,” Din moved to stand between you and the man, his hands raised. “What’s going on here?”

“The Clones killed us, the Jedi, every last one.” Fury rushed through you like never before; Master Allie would have been disappointed in you. “After they worked for the Empire and hunted survivors! Like animals!”

“Step aside, solider!” The man barked at Din. His frail hands were shaking as he tried to hold the blaster steady. “The Jedi must die.”

“No, no! Put it down!”

“He won’t listen, Din,” you snapped, your vision blurring with tears. “He’s made this way. Clones were met to kill.”

Before Din could counter, the sound of a blaster fire ripped through the air. You gasped, the last sound you heard before a deafening silence. Time seemed to slow. Smoke filled wafted before your eyes. Yet, you felt no pain. The Child didn’t cry out but Din, crumpled to his knees.

You screamed but you couldn’t hear yourself. All you heard was the wind against the plasma of your saber as you moved to strike. You didn’t hear the cry of the old Clone or the ‘thunk’ of his body when his body hit the floor. All you felt was pain and anger. Everything the Jedi warned you against was lodged in your chest as you knelt beside Din.

“Y/N…”

“I’m here,” you whimpered. Your tears fell freely now. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Din coughed behind his helmet, “you were trying to tell me.”

 You wiped at your face and looked at his wound. The blaster bolt had struck him in his abdomen, right between the two plates of beskar there.

“We need to get back to the ship,” you said, lifting Din to his feet. “C’mon.”

“The Archives, the Child. It’s his best chance-”

“His best chance is with you, Din, alive. We’re not arguing about this.” You ushered Din up and helped him keep his balance. Fear was still pumping through your veins and you were only just catching your breath. “Only a Jedi can open it anyway.”

You pulled one of Din’s arms over your shoulders and began to walk with him. He was limping and you silently hoped he wouldn’t pass out before you made it back to the ship.

“Aren’t you a Jedi?”

You did not have an answer, an answer that you felt a true, for him. Instead, you went silent at Din’s question and did not speak for the entirety of the walk to the Razor Crest.

“Lay back,” you murmured, helping Din into the cot. 

The Mandalorian grunted as he reclined against the uncomfortable matress. As you eased him down, the Child let out a whimper. His tiny green hands were reaching out and you sighed heavily as he tugged at your shirt.

“He wants to help you.” Gently, you pulled the Child out of the sling and set him on the cot. Din held up a gloved hand to stop the little creature but you grabbed it. You intertwined your fingers with his and let the Child look at Din’s wound.

“Don’t he’ll-”

“I’ll help him help you. Don’t worry.” 

Your eyes still stung as you moved your free hand over to the crimson splotch on Din’s undersuit. The Child was already reaching out towards the wound, his large eyes closing as he channeled the Force. As you mirrored the young one’s pose, you prayed that the Force would still be open to you despite what you had done. You pushed aside your doubt and let the Force pull you back into its’ fold, its’ forgiveness.

A minute later, Din’s wound was healed and the Child was passed out. You settled the green creature into its’ makeshift cradle, safely tucking it under the covers. Coruscant hardly ever got cold. The action was to ease the ache in your chest and that alone. When you turned around, Din was sitting up on the cot, his hands pushing his helmet off his head.

Cropped, dark waves spilled out from under the beskar in a sweaty mess. Din’s tanned cheeks were flushed with exertion but, when he met your gaze, the tiredness melted into concern. He didn’t have to beckon you over. You could see the invitation in his eyes.

As you moved over to the cot, it felt as if your limbs were made of carbonite. They dragged, heavy, almost behind you until you sat down at Din’s side. Without waiting another second, you leaned into him. Din’s arm wrapped snugly over your shoulder and he held you close. For a fleeting moment, you let yourself be at peace.

“I’m sorry,” Din said softly. His voice, even laced with guilt and pain, was a comfort. A reminder that he was still alive and that you too were alive.

“Why are you sorry? I was the one…” You trailed off and lifted your head from Din’s shoulder. Some part of you wouldn't allow you to meet his eyes.

“You kept saying you were alright, that you could handle this, being back here.” Din raised his hands in a gesture to the bustling Coruscant outside. “You weren’t...I could...I felt that you weren’t but I let you do it anyway.” Tears welled up in your eyes once more. “You trusted me, Din, and I let you down.”

“No,” Din pressed his head against yours, “Y/N.”

“You’re right. I thought I could handle it but...it all came rushing back. The Temple...and then the Clone, I-I…” Your whole body began to shake and Din pulled you close.

“You didn’t know, Y/N.” Din was trying to be gentle, careful with your breaking heart but his kindness only reopened an old wound. “You didn’t know, ner kar'taylir darasuum.”

“We didn’t, Din! We didn’t know!” You pulled away from his embrace and met his eyes. Dark and deep, all you saw was a man that wanted to make your hurt stop. “My master,” you sniffled, trying to pull yourself together, “she used to say ‘you can never trust someone without looking into their eyes’ that the eyes never lie and we-we looked into the Clones’ eyes and saw friends. Then they betrayed us...killed us!”

The sobs took over then, but Din didn’t mind. He pulled you close to his side until there was no space between your body and his. He pressed his lips to your forehead, small, ‘barely even a kiss’ kisses that, like the Force, brought their own sort of healing. 

At some point, you both fell onto the cot, curled up with one another. At some point, you stopped crying and you let yourself melt into his touch. Din busied his hands with your fingers, played with them gently, and then your hair. At some point, he took off his gloves and his finger tips rubbed softly as your scalp. He stopped for a moment and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes.

“What?”

Din watched you quietly for another moment. “The Force, can it...is it fate? Does it push people together?”

“Like you and me?” You asked, your voice was a low rasp from crying. Din nodded against the small pillow he was using. You had rested your head on his chest.

“Like you and me.” With his words, it felt like all the weight that the Clone Wars, the Jedi, and the Empire placed on your shoulders lifted. “Can it?”

“I think it can,” you murmured and Din gave you a tender half-smile. 

You curled closer to Din and let the quiet rest around you. Din did not ask why you did not answer his question about you being a Jedi. You did not tell him that you weren’t sure what you were anymore. All that you did know was that you and the Mandalorian were meant to stick together and that had to be enough. You could let your past die and look towards a brighter future as long as Din Djarin was in it.