#hey kid you want a blaster and some cool armor? cool here you go

[samisnotlegend]

Okay hear me out: Mandalorian Katsuki and Jedi Izuku. They accidentally end up sharing custody over little force sensitive youngling Eri. That's it that's the fic.

[anchanted-one]

Legend of Vajra Chapter 26. Downtime

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/110214738

Bay 12-Aurek

“Would you fucking look at that!” Kira breathed. “You’ve made it, boss! You’re a great name in the order.”

Vajra just nodded, all ability to speak just swept away. Whether it was by design or by chance, Coruscant’s sunlight came through at just the right angle to bathe the starship before him in a halo of golden light. The head of the white-and-red ship had a hammerhead shape, giving it the look of a Thranta-class corvette flipped onto one side. On each side of the hammer were dual-blaster turrets. The twin ion-engines looked like they could propel the ship at speeds comparable to starfighters. Vajra wondered about the ship’s maneuverability. Were these ships designed for a real dogfight? Could a skilled crew use in a pitched battle?

Not that he’d be finding out anytime soon. Hopefully, never. He had full confidence in his ability to fight on the ground. But in space? Especially if he was a mere, helpless passenger? The idea itself made him nervous.

“A real, Defender-class Corvette,” he said at last. “The ‘VIP’ Jedi ship. Let’s go! I want to look over every inch of this beauty!”

“Right-ho, boss!” Kira ran almost ten steps before shouting at him, “LAST ONE IN’S GOTTA DO ALL THE CHORES—whaaa?”

Vajra ran as fast as he could. Even without the Force augmenting it, his body was strong and fast.

He caught up in seconds, and reached the door before her. “Next time you challenge me to a physical contest, do so when you’ve already crossed the finish line!”

“No-ho, ho!” she wailed.

“I expect you to keep my bunk cleaner than Master Satele’s vocabulary.”

“Yes, Master,” she said gloomily.

“Hey, I’m just kidding! I’d never force my adorable little Padawan to do my chores for me!” he gave her a sideways hug.

“I lost, fair and square.”

“Kira, please. I need to do my share. And I want to do them with you; gives us more time to talk!”

“We’re gonna have plenty of time,” she said amusedly.

“Only till we get you back to Master Kiwiiks. I’m just here to make sure you don’t conquer the world while she’s not looking.”

Kira snorted and returned his sideways hug.

T7 eventually caught up, whistling enthusiastically about the armor and cooling system. “Really? Damn, I hope I get to inspect it properly after we check in!”

Vajra climbed the ramp to see a gold-plated protocol droid bursting to meet him.

“Good Morning, Masters! It’s a pleasure to meet you at last! I am C2-N2, and I have been appointed as the steward of this vessel.”

“Nice to meet you, C2,” Vajra bowed. “This is Kira Carsen.”

Kira waved. “I’m secretly evil!”

“And this is T7-01.”

<Greeting!> T7 chirped.

“And I am Vajra Devarath.”

“A pleasure to meet you, everyone.” C2 paused a second and looked at Kira. “Secretly evil?”

<Padawan: Kira Carsen = has a sense of humor,> T7 explained. <Classification: a little wicked.>

“Ah, I see! That’s alright then. But I humbly request you to let me know ahead of time, if you have any pranks planned. Especially if it’s the messy sort.”

“Hey, don’t worry, my Master and I have a ‘no-making-trouble-for-droids’ policy!” Kira patted the droid.

“I’d like to clarify your functions aboard our ship,” Vajra requested.

“Certainly, Master! It is my task to keep this vessel stocked. If you ever need food, clothing, parts, luxuries, or replacements in need, you can put them on the list. I will restock right before takeoff. I am also programmed to be a chef. I can make cook a wide variety of dishes for the both of you.”

“YESSS!” Kira screamed, pumping her fists into the air. “I want your most sinfully cheesy lasagne today. And some cake!”

“Of course, Master! In addition, I am well-versed in over six million forms of communication! Should your implant not have a language, or a particularly isolated dialect, you can call on me to translate for you. Even if I don’t know a language, I am programmed to learn enough for a proper dialogue, in under six hours.”

“Perfect! I hope that means you can teach me some languages!” Vajra cried. “I, er. Don’t like implants.”

“How very unusual! Your profile does not say you have an aversion to technology. Quite the opposite, in fact!”

“It’s true, I am good with technology… it’s just implants and stims which I don’t like. Using them feels like cheating.”

“I see. Very well, I will attempt to teach you multiple languages at the same time. But I do recommend you keep your comm handy; organic minds cannot learn nearly as many languages, unaided.”

“Sadly, yes.”

“And, finally, I am programmed to do such things as routine maintenance and chores. At least when you are too preoccupied for it; I’m told you Jedi prefer to clean up after yourselves.”

“Most do,” Kira nodded. “Us included.”

“Would you like a tour of your new ship, Master?”

“Of course, C2.”

Vajra looked over the ship from bow to stern. Right out of the factory, its every surface gleamed in the lights. The light bluish-grey paint on the walls were yet spotless. The entire ship was brightly lit, with strip lights on the steps. He tried to give Kira the private room, but she firmly refused him. He was happy to see that the cargo hold was big enough for Lightsaber training. And someone had known to provide him with a box of training supplies.

The hold was big enough to carry supplies for a modestly-sized village. In case he was ever assigned on relief missions, he was told.

There was a meeting room with an intercom and a table big enough for fifteen. It had an attached bar and sound system, as well as a holotable.

There was a long-range holo terminal in the spacious lounge, to which the galley and crew quarters were attached. The crew had a dedicated locker room to store their effects. Kira immediately picked out a room with a shower and fresher for herself, and made requests to make it feel homey.

These included a personal holo table, a bouncier mattress, air fresheners, a mini refrigerator, and a lock for privacy.

“I wonder if I can get my rabbits here,” Vajra wondered, but shook his head. “No. A starship is no place for my little darlings.”

“Did you say your ‘little darlings’?” Kira snickered.

Vajra didn’t hear her, as he began turning around, thinking about the different areas in the ship, and the machines they housed. Everything here was a lot more sophisticated than he was used to, but he was confident that he could do things like routine maintenance by himself. Perhaps he could learn more about maintaining ships. “T7, C2, can you teach me more about ship systems too? Primarily, how to maintain them.”

“Well… of course, Sir.”

<T7 =/= recommend. Jedi: Vajra will not have time. Recommendation: Time for learning = after Republic = safe.>

“You’re right, T7. I guess I need to speed up the tour, too…”

“All that’s left is the cockpit, sir. Your assigned pilot droids will be here shortly, after which we can begin preparing for takeoff; but since it’s empty, we have a chance to see everything up close.”

C2 took them to the front, and showed them all the different controls and consoles in the ship. “I do hope you won’t be asking for flying lessons too!”

“Eventually, Vajra said. “If only because I might not always have someone else to fly me.”

“Of course, Sir. With the tour concluded, I will begin prepping the meal Master Kira requested. Please make yourselves at home!”

<T7 = go to Astromech station.>

“Hey, Master,” Kira whispered after both droids were gone. “I need a favor. Please.”

“Of course, Kira.”

“Well, three favors,” she amended herself. “First off, you know how much I like erotic fiction and art, right? Well… I’ve had my eye on a few pieces and books for a long time. Trouble is, Master Kiwiiks is kinda… prudish. One time she got real mad at me when she caught me touching myself. That’s why I haven’t bought this kinda stuff already. I want to now, and keep them in my room. And when I return to Master Kiwiiks, can you hold onto them for me until I’m a Knight too?”

“Of course. I’m your lackey, after all.”

“Thanks. Secondly, and a little related. I don’t much like the fashion I have to live with. I don’t wear these parsec-long skirts because I like them. I want to show off some skin, and wear some better-tailored clothes. To be… admired by men and women. I know it’s a double-edged sword, but that’s what I feel most comfortable in. I need to know if you’re okay with me wearing, like, a tank top or something. With a bit of my chest and stomach exposed. And some black and red mixed into my color scheme. A bit more makeup too.”

“I see. Go for it! Feel as sexy as you want to. And your last favor?”

“I’ve been holding myself back, but… I want to get sexually active again. I know we’re underage for brothels and bars, but there’s still plenty of places for me to hook up with a partner looking for a fun night. I want to be allowed to party. And maybe, to bring someone to my room.”

“I’m sorry, Kira, but I can’t allow just anyone to board the ship,” Vajra said apologetically. “Look at what happened with Tarnis.”

“Good point.”

“But I won’t get in the way of your fun, when we get time for it. Just… don’t turn off your comms. Or your tracker, in case a Sith pops out of the ground and you need backup.”

Kira smiled in relief. “You’re the best!” she said gratefully.

The doors opened a few moments later, and a soldier walked in with a pair of spindly-looking droids.

He saluted. “Morning, Sirs! These are your new pilot droids. Brand new PL-7A models. They’re the best in the galaxy. They can get you out of a tough spot, no problem. But don’t expect them to work as well as combat pilots!”

“Is there a difference?” Vajra asked.

“Of course, Sir! Combat pilots have to think about mission targets other than merely personal safety. In addition, flying in a hot zone requires coordination and cooperation. Something these droids can’t do as well. Finally, staying in a battle for more than ten minutes overheats their systems from all the calculations they have to do.”

“I see… yes, it’s definitely better if we learn to fly by ourselves soon.”

“Don’t sweat it! Most Jedi use pilot droids, as it frees up their time. If you’ll sign here… and, that’s it! I see the droids have gotten ready, so you can prepare for takeoff.”

Once he left, Kira whispered to him. “Sorry for breaking character for a moment, kid. But the soldier, T7 and C2 all made a fascinating point. Your time and energy are limited. Not to mention, valuable. Don’t try to do too much.”

“I—of course. Sorry. I’m just too excited.”

“No sweat. I’ve seen how much you love to learn new things.” She clapped his shoulder. “Character break over!” Withdrawing her hand, she bowed. “Shall we prepare for takeoff, Master?”

“Let’s!”

*

The queue was even longer than Var Suthra had told him. It had been hours since he got on board, and it would be hours more before they lifted off. In that time, both Jedi had turned in, taken a long nap, and woken up again. Kira was in the shower right now, while Vajra practiced his gymnastics in the spacious cargo hold.

He spent half an hour warming up before creating a miniature course for himself using cargo crates. For the next hour, he practiced flips, rolls, handstands, splits, cartwheels, handsprings, walkovers, and somersaults.

He started moving the crates back into their positions when he was done, wishing he could have practiced his parkour as well. He heard polite applause as he did so.

“Really nice form!” she complimented him. “You can do this competitively, if you want to! You’d be a superstar!”

“I would, wouldn’t I?” he smiled.

“I came to let you know; the food will be ready in thirty minutes. We’re having lasagna, baby!” she cheered. “Haven’t eaten one in forever!”

“Another restriction by Master Kiwiiks?”

“I love her. Heck, there are times I want to get in bed with her. But I don’t have to be an ascetic just coz she’s one too.”

“There, there!” he patted her head. Awkwardly, as he tried to keep his sweaty body away from her. “It’s just us for a few weeks, so you can take a load off. And I won’t comment if I hear you crying out Master Kiwiiks’ name.”

She chuckled. “I said ‘there are times,’ stupid! It’s not like I’m in love with her!” she jumped. “Err—that is to say, Master.”

Vajra raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to demand the Masters raise you, so that you go back to calling me ‘Vajra’. Even ‘stupid’ sounds better.”

She laughed. “I’m really sorry. But it has to be done. Others need to be reminded that you’re a Knight despite your age. And I don’t want to slip up.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But I don’t have to like it.”

*

They feasted on C2’s lasagne after Vajra washed up.

The first bite was pure heaven, and Vajra made a sound, which he had never heard himself make before. “Is this how tasty food can be?!” he whispered.

Kira gave him a big grin. “When you told me my spice mix was the most delicious thing you’d ever eaten, I knew you’d not had real food before. Now, dig in!”

Vajra had to fight not to just press his face into the plate. As it was, he ate with a lot more gusto than he normally did.

“Uh-oh, looks like I’m breaking my promise to Master Satele,” Kira said with her mouth full. “Fuck, this droid can cook! Anyway, I promised her I wouldn’t corrupt you, but looks like I’ve given you a taste for fine food!”

He nodded fiercely. “All… this… cheese!”

“Cheese is heaven! Cheese is truth!” Kira swallowed another mouthful, and a dreamy expression came over her face as she savoured it. Vajra forced himself to eat more slowly too… to taste it better.

In an effort to ignore the tantalizing smell, he decided to chat. “Hey, Kira? Break character this one time.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“I just realized that I don’t know all that much about you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t? Well. It’s not like my past self was anything like the Kira you know. I don’t talk about it… coz it’s not pretty.”

“You don’t have to tell me about your past. I mean the Kira I know, now. One of my best friends. But you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to—”

“Well, so long as we stick to my Jedi life, it’s fine. Ask me any seven questions you want.”

“Oh, goody!” Vajra smiled, and cracked all of his knuckles. Kira lowered her spoon to watch that, and laughed unexpectedly hard.

“Never seen or heard four hands’ worth of knuckles being cracked before!”

“Which of your skills is your favorite?”

“I like hotwiring speeder bikes. And riding them. It’s surprising that Master Kiwiiks allows such hobbies, but draws the line at showing a bit of skin…”

“Master Kiwiiks let you steal bikes?”

“Oh, no! I had to return them in the morning!”

“Nice! I used to go speeding on Uphrades.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“One of my friends had a bad accident. Hit a cliff wall at such speed… it was horrible. I’ve since lost my taste for racing, myself.”

“Ah. Got you. Sorry about your friend.”

“Thanks. Next question: what’s your favorite pastime?”

“I like window shopping for trinkets. I even buy some, sometimes! Here, check this out!” she pulled out a small, circular object on a chain. It was like an overlarge locket. She opened its front face to reveal a device like an old clock. “It’s a model pocket chrono! Very old-fashioned! Like, millennia ago. Went out of popularity after technology upgraded from analogue displays. This one’s just a replica, one made by a street artist.”

“Wow!” Vajra looked at it.

“I have a few more interesting things that I pick up when I can. Most of it goes into my storage locker on Tython.”

“You thinking of bring out some to spruce up your room?”

“That’s the plan!”

“Next question: have you had any lovers since joining the Jedi?”

She sighed. “No. And not for a lack of trying. I’ve fancied a few people, and been fancied by a lot more… but never found the right person for me.”

“I hope you’ll find the one.”

“Thanks. In the meantime, I’m gonna rely on hook ups and stuff. And some nice entertainment.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll share all of my stuff with you when you’re eighteen.”

“Next question: what’s your favorite food?”

“Loaded sundaes in the Coruscant dairy.”

“Next time we’re there, I’ll buy you some. For being a good Padawan.”

“Encouragement? I likes!”

“Ambitions in life.”

“Eh… I want to get into politics. Really get into politics. Run for Senate, run for Chancellor, maybe. We Jedi have a unique perspective, after all, given our insight into the Force. We could do some real good up there! Instead of just sitting in the sidelines and groaning about the corruption.”

She made an interesting point. “You have my vote!”

“Thanks!”

“What kind of books do you like to read?”

“I only read erotica right now.”

“Oh. Okay. Last question. What’s your favorite place in the galaxy?”

She closed her eyes for a second. “Strangely enough… my hospital bed on Tython. You and Jasme came in to baby me every day. I knew we were friends, but that period made it feel real. Like you cared for me, liked hanging out with me. Enough to work it into your busy schedules. I know I was bored silly at the time, but… in hindsight, it made me love you two like a family. I felt peaceful. Happy. And the window had a great view; there was a tree outside with a nest of bluebirds. And the lake beyond it gleamed in the evening sun.”

Vajra leaned right and hugged her. “I see you as family too.”

She giggled. “Good. Hey!” She jumped out of her seat and darted into her room. She emerged a few seconds later with a gift in her hand. “I got you a birthday present, but circumstances kept chasing it out of my head.” She pressed a small parcel into his hand. “So… happy birthday!”

“Awww, thanks! You really shouldn’t have!”

“Eh, you deserved it.”

He pulled out the carved onyx statuette inside and smiled. “I needed a centerpiece for my table.”

“That thing is too small to be a centerpiece. Oh, my plate is empty. I’m going for seconds.”

She turned a few steps later. “Here’s a bonus for you. A freebie.” She looked at him seriously. Even intensely. “There’s a reason why I haven’t been considered for the Trials yet. I have one, big problem. I hate Sith. I really, really hate them. It is my deepest desire to get my hands on fucking scum like Malgus and Angral, and rip them apart, limb from limb!” Her voice got heated as she spoke, and her face morphed into a mask of rage. She shook with an incandescent rage, and looked like she was ready to launch into a longer rant. Vajra wanted to move, but didn’t. He let her finish.

“Why do they even exist? How can they live with themselves? Why haven’t they phased out all the bad parts, like bloodthirst and murderhappy? If they’re all about passion and freedom, why is it they all share just the two or three passions, and crush anything else? How dare they launch this senseless war! They tried—Angral tried—to burn down Coruscant, with all its trillions! How could they do that? It’s because they don’t have any value for lives of others! But I bet you anything… if I ever beat the fear of hell into their faces, they’ll remember it, sharpish! Like how Angral felt pain watching his son die, but then decided that his death needs to be consecrated by the blood of trillions!”

She was unrecognizable now. Her voice was apoplectic and high-pitched, not to mention loud. Her mouth was twisted in a mask of pure hate. She shook with a long-bottled rage from head to toe. But it seemed like she was done.

Vajra strode on over to her and hugged her, but she pulled out and turned away.

After a few minutes, she got a grip on herself and shook her head. “And now you’ve seen my ugly face. My ugly side.” She turned to look at him, and angry tears rolled down her eye. “Are you afraid?”

“No.”

“How can you say that? I’m this close to Falling to the Dark Side!” She held her fingers an inch apart. “Whenever I say ‘I’m secretly evil,’ this is what I mean! I am one encounter with a Sith away from becoming an evil banshee.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “When you showed me your secret, I saw the Darkness in you, Kira. And you want to know something remarkable? I saw it try to engulf your Light. But it couldn’t. Whatever hatred you have isn’t enough to crush the good in you.”

She snorted. “Is this what your Shattersense says to you?”

“My mundane senses tell me you’re on the verge of tears. The Standard Force Sight tells me you’re in a lot of pain, enough to overwhelm most people. But my Shattersense… for once, it is clear as crystal. Your heart… your soul… has no Shatterpoints. Not strong ones, at least. Your resolve is harder than durasteel.”

Her eyes went wide. “What? No way! How can someone be as hateful as me, but not be teetering on the edge?”

“I don’t know. But if you want to know what I think… it’s because you’re not really teetering on the edge. You’ve made your choice, long ago, and you’re not harbouring thoughts of changing that. Whatever horrors your past holds, it pulls at you. And you feel the tug. But the path you follow takes you firmly in the opposite direction.” He opened his eyes again. “As Rudra would have said… you’re in no danger of forgetting your soul.”

“You don’t understand, Vajra,” she said pleadingly. “The things I’ve done… the things that were done to me… the things I can’t bring myself to discuss, even with you… I feel the pain! I feel the horror! And despite all that… despite all that…”

“Despite all that, you’re nowhere near danger of Falling. You are secretly a saint.” That made her laugh shakily.

This time, she hugged him, and he held her close.

“There is Light in you,” he said. “Just as there is Dark. And you have chosen Light. I believe you will never turn away from it. You will never act out of hate, no matter how much the Darkness screams at you to. And if you do, you will still be Kira. I accept everything about you. Even your ‘ugliness’, as you call it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But… but it’s so un-Jedi like,” she whispered.

“You don’t need to be a Jedi for me to be so fond of you. They—we—are not the only ‘good’ people in the galaxy. Even many petty criminals have good hearts.”

She pulled away and wiped away the tears. “It… feels good, to be accepted. Thank you.” She made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. “You know what? You sounded like the perfect master just now. Compassionate, caring, wise… whoever it is that gets assigned as your real Padawan? They’re going to have the greatest Master in the Galaxy.”

“Thank you, Kira.”

“I have a few dark secrets. Uglier than ugly. And I want to share them with you someday.”

Vajra felt awed. “That… I appreciate your trust in me. I am honored.”

“You’d better be. It is the biggest honor I can bestow upon anyone. Proof of my absolute trust.”

*

[mandospace]

My Moon (Boba Fett x Virgin!Reader Smut)

Request: Hey!! I really enjoy reading your fics <3 I don't know if you still take requests but if so, maybe something with current older Boba? Virgin, touch starved reader who is so kind but never gets kindness in return? Crushin' on Boba but you don't think he'd ever want you. Thank you for reading. <3

Requested By: @ortizshinkaroff​

Word Count: 5,041

Warnings: SMUT! If you are under 18, DO NOT INTERACT! Swearing, dry humping, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), PinV sex, innocence kink, virgin reader

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this... like, a lot. If Boba could take my virginity like this I would DIE! Anyways, my requests are open so send in any Din or Boba requests you’d like me to write! I hope you all enjoy!

MASTERLIST

“Right behind you, mesh’la,” Boba passed behind you, his large hand splayed against the small of your back as he squeezed past. His touch was fleeting, only a momentary brush of his fingers over the dip of your back, but its effect was lasting. Heat coursed through your body like a tidal wave. It was burning on your cheeks and you ducked your head away from his gaze. He didn’t even notice your reaction to his touch, he just continued on his way up to the cockpit of Slave One, like it was no big deal to touch you. Yet here you were, nearly hyperventilating as you tried to calm your racing heart.

He shouldn’t have this much of an effect on you.

Kriff, he could just look at you and you’d melt into a puddle. You weren’t sure if it was the green and red armor, his walk, his broadness, his voice, his touch-

Oh, who were you kidding? It was everything about him. He was perfect, like the Maker hand-crafted him just for you. Gave him all of the qualities that you look for in a partner- strong, brave, incredibly handsome. He was both heaven and hell for you. Heaven to look at, hell to be near. 

You were perpetually stuck in hell. Boba was nothing but kind to you, always treated you well. Protected you on hunts and provided you with everything you could ever want. Every glance he gave you, every story of his past he bestowed upon you, every lingering touch made you want the older bounty hunter. It was almost painful being around him. He was like a roaring fire that kept you warm but if you got too close, he would surely burn you. 

That small little touch had set your soul aflame. You tried to calm down your racing heart and stop the images that flashed in your mind. You wondered how it would feel to be with him. The image of him coming back from a hunt, dirty and exhausted, pressing your body against the metal hull of his ship made your pussy throb with need. You had never been touched by anyone before, but you wanted him to touch you. To take you apart at your seams and put you back together just so that he could do it all over again. Your eyes fluttered closed at the thought of his large hands mapping out your body, leaving sparks in their wake. A breathy moan slipped past your lips and you rested your head against the cool metal of his ship. You needed to get a hold of yourself.

“Are you okay, mesh’la?” his voice snapped you out of your thoughts of him pressing into you. Heat flushed over your skin and your eyes opened in surprise.

“Y-yeah, why?” you cleared your throat, hating how desperate you sounded.

“I heard you moaning. I thought you were hurt,” he strode up to you and cupped your face in his hand. The worn leather felt delicious against your skin and his warmth seeped into your cheek. You flushed again.

“I just stubbed my toe,” you lied through your teeth. His forefinger and thumb gripped your chin and Boba tilted your face up towards his. He had never touched you for this long before, this intimately, and his dark eyes peered into your own. If he didn’t stop this, you were going to do something embarrassing. Like kiss him. He wouldn’t want that. “I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “Be careful, princess.” Boba tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before walking back to the cockpit. His touch lingered and it felt like there were live wires littering your skin. You could still feel the pressure of his fingers gripping your chin.

Maker, you had to get a hold of yourself. You couldn’t think about your employer like this. Boba wouldn’t want someone like you, he would want someone stronger and more beautiful. A woman who knew what she was doing both in and out of bed, not some floundering girl that became flustered after one touch. He deserved better than you. Your brain told you all of these things, anxiety pilling on top of each other. The weight sat on your chest and threatened to push you under.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you got back to work. The day quickly passed on the ship due to its regulated timer. Even though the two of you were hurtling through hyperspace, the ship’s internal clock dimmed the lights in accordance with a planetary cycle. You had worked on many different projects during the day, fixing weapons and repairing the various mechanics found in the ship. You tried to distract yourself from the memory of Boba’s touch on your skin. He was so close to you earlier today, his scent so much more powerful due to his proximity. He smelled of blaster residue and rain. He smelled like home.

Shaking your head to dispel the thoughts of Boba, you made your way towards the cockpit to wish him a goodnight. He was in his pilot’s seat, fingers programming coordinates into the ship’s navigation system. The white streaks of stars and planets passing by the ship shined on his painted beskar armor. His helmet was placed on the passenger seat, black visor reflecting the light. He didn’t notice when you came in, or at least he didn’t give any indication that he did.

“I’m heading to bed,” your voice was small, worried that you were bothering him. “Just wanted to say goodnight.”

“C’mere, mesh’la,” Boba turned his seat to face you and held out his hand. His eyes searched your face, looking for any hesitation. Sucking in a breath, you made your way to him. He grabbed your hand when you were close enough and tugged you towards him. You stumbled over your feet until you came to a stop between his spread legs.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he squeezed your hand tighter and looked up into your eyes. You felt your heart stop when his free hand reached up to caress your face, gloved thumb gliding over your cheekbone. “You’ve been a bit... off lately.”

Heat coursed through your veins in embarrassment. You weren’t as slick as you thought you were in hiding your feelings for the older bounty hunter. You tried to say something, anything, but you just stood there- gaping like a fish out of water.

“You can tell me, mesh’la,” Boba tugged on your arm again. This time you couldn’t go any further forward and you fell into his lap. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. The other brought your legs up and over so that you were sitting sideways across his lap. His thumb started tracing patterns into the skin above your knee. “Please. You’re scaring me.”

He was so close to you in this position. His dark eyes met yours and your heart sputtered inside your chest. It would be so easy to just reach out and learn what his scarred cheek would feel like against your palm. So easy to pull him towards you and kiss him.

“Mesh’la.” his tone was pleading and the hand tracing patterns on your skin moved up your leg to grip your hip tightly. You couldn’t help but suck in a shaky breath at his touch. Your eyes dropped down to his chapped lips and you wondered what they would feel like against yours.

“I-“ your voice came out choked, the words stuck in your throat. Being this close to him was intoxicating. His very presence was like a drug to you. How were you going to explain to him that you wished he would take everything from you, take everything you had to offer? To take you on every surface of his prized ship until you were screaming his name?

“Girly, you’re driving me crazy with your silence,” Boba growled low in his chest. The hand on your hip moved up to grip your chin, making you look at him. “Tell me, mesh’la.”

The pressure of his thumb and forefinger gripping your chin and his proximity was too much. His scent was overwhelming. Everything about Boba was too much. Before you could stop yourself, your hand came up and tugged his face towards yours. Your lips crashed against his and fireworks that could rival the destruction of the Death Star erupted behind your eyes.

Boba groaned against your lips, his hand holding your jaw moved up and into your hair, tangling his fingers in your locks. His tongue swiped at the seam of your lips, begging for access which you happily granted him. Your tongue pushed against his and you couldn’t help how you pulled him even closer with both hands. The feeling of him biting your bottom lip made you whimper.

“Boba,” you whined against his lips when the need for air became too great. Need for him pooled in your underwear embarrassingly fast. He had barely touched you and you were already soaking through your panties.

“Mesh’la,” Boba moaned against your skin, his lips trailing across your face and down your neck. He stopped over your pulse point, sucking a dark mark into the skin that was sure to last weeks. His lips made their way back up to yours and pulled you into a bruising kiss. He wasted no time before he licked into your mouth. You had no idea that he even remotely reciprocated your feelings. When you had leaned in to kiss him, you were almost positive that he would push you off his lap in disgust. You never would have predicted that he would want you too.

“Need you,” Boba groaned against your lips, nipping your bottom lip again. The hand in your hair moved down and gripped your hip to reposition you in his lap. He grabbed at your thigh and tugged so that you were now straddling him, your legs on either side of his and pressing against the arms of his chair. Boba rolled his hips up into you and you felt the prominent bulge that was straining against the fabric of his flight suit.

Gasping, you pulled away from Boba in shock. Once again heat flushed through your veins, pooling low in your stomach and resting on your cheeks. His hands gripped your hips and ground your clothed center onto him, rolling his hips up to yours in time. The feeling of him pressing against where you needed him most was too much. You had never done this kind of thing before and you had no idea what you were doing. You didn’t want to disappoint him. “Wait.”

Boba’s lips paused against the skin of your neck before pulling back to look at you. One of his hands released their grip on your hip to cup your cheek. “What’s wrong, ner me'suum'ika?”

You were momentarily thrown off by this new name he called you. You knew it was Mando’a, just like the one he usually called you, but you never knew what he was saying. Blinking away your distraction, you met his dark eyes. “I’ve, um, never done... this.”

Boba looked up at you in confusion. “Done what?”

You were positive that you were burning hotter than any sun at that moment. Here you were, straddling the man of your dreams, his hard length throbbing against you, and you had to admit to him that you were a virgin. That you haven’t done anything before and that you couldn’t please him in the way you wanted to, the way he deserved. “I’m a virgin.”

He blinked twice at you, absorbing your words before a chuckle sounded from his chest. Dread dropped in your stomach like a rock until he opened his mouth. “That doesn’t bother me, ner me'suum'ika. If you want to stop we can stop.”

His soft words warmed you from the inside out. Boba gave you such a soft look when he told you those comforting words. He gently pulled your face to his and placed a soft kiss against your lips. While you loved how soft and gentle he was being with you right now, it wasn’t what you needed. You needed to feel Boba inside of you.

You experimentally rolled your hips over his clothed length, basking in Boba’s moan. His hand returned to your hip and he pulled you closer against him, rubbing his hard cock against you. “Mesh’la, we don’t have to-”

“I want to,” you cut him off with another roll of your hips. The feeling of his hard cock pressed against your core was incredible. With every roll of your hips, the fabric of your panties grinded against your clit in the most delicious way possible. The feeling of Boba pressing into you and his lips on yours was driving you crazy. You needed more of him. “Just-” the words caught in your throat when he pressed his cock against you, rubbing against your clit. “-have to show me how.”

Boba’s eyes darkened with lust at your words. A growl ripped through his chest and his grip on you tightened. “Fuck, baby, I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”

He crashed his lips against yours and he rolled his hips into you. Your lips parted in a gasp at the feeling of his throbbing length and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth once more. Your hands traced down his chest, trailing over the cool green beskar. Stopping the motions of your hips, your hand palmed his cock through the material of his pants. He felt so big in your small hand and you haven’t even seen him yet. You went to unbutton his pants and release his throbbing length but he stopped you by grabbing your wrist.

“Not yet, ner me'suum'ika,” Boba tsked, pulling your hand away from his groin. 

“But I need you,” you whimpered. 

“Not yet, baby,” he grinned and pulled your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. “I’ve got to get you ready for me first.”

Boba stood up from his chair and grabbed your waist. You squealed at his quick motions and the sensation of falling but he easily pulled you against him and wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you through the hull of his ship and into his chambers before setting you down on his bed. Boba stood between your spread legs and took in the sight of you- chest heaving, hair wild, eyes dark, and lips swollen from his kisses. Maker, he wanted to take you right then and there but he had to be gentle and take his time with you.

Leaning over you, Boba pressed his lips to yours before trailing down your neck. Sighing his name, you relished in the feeling of Boba’s lips against your skin and his hands roaming your body. His large hands pushed the hem of your shirt up, exposing the soft skin of your stomach. He kept tugging up until your shirt was discarded somewhere in his room. Boba cupped your covered breasts and moaned at the feeling of your pillowy flesh. He dipped his head down and pressed kisses over your breasts, licking and sucking marks into your skin. 

“Fuck, you look so pretty,” Boba kissed up your throat. He reached behind you to undo your bra, tossing it to the floor so it could join your shirt. His thumbs brushed over your nipples and a soft moan slipped past your lips. Boba had barely touched you but the pleasure was already too much. 

“Boba,” you whined and tugged his face up to yours so you could capture his lips in a kiss. You trailed your hands down his armored chest, stopping right above his trousers. Gripping his hard cock, you moaned into the kiss. “Please.”

“Eager, are we?” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, ner me'suum'ika, I’ll take care of you.” His lips began to trail down your body, hands cupping and squeezing whatever soft flesh they could grab. Boba licked at one of your pert nipples and smiled when your breath caught in your throat. He made his way down your body and unbuttoned your pants, tugging them down your legs along with your underwear. The garments fell to the floor and Boba laid down between your spread legs, drinking in the sight of your sopping pussy. Your eyes screwed shut when he trailed a gloved finger through your dripping folds, collecting your arousal on the worn leather. Boba’s eyes were dark and the grin on his face was devious when he sucked on his finger, licking away your juices. His resounding moan made your hips buck in need. “Taste so good, mesh’la. Can I taste you again?”

His eyes met yours from between your legs, silently asking for your permission. All you could do was nod your head eagerly, the excitement and pleasure already building up. The answering smile on his face was beautiful, a bright white against his tan skin. Before you could commit the sight to memory, Boba dropped his head and licked a broad stripe between your folds. His tongue was searing against your core- unlike anything you’ve ever felt. The air left your lungs in a gasp at how good it felt to have his tongue on you. Boba licked at your cunt, gathering up and tasting your arousal before he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking hard. You moaned loudly- a little bit embarrassed at the sound he drew from you- but you couldn’t care less. Boba Fett was between your legs, lapping at your pussy like a man trapped in a desert and you were the only source of water for miles.

“Oh!” expletives constantly fell from your lips as he continued his delicious torture on your cunt. You could feel him smirking against your folds, proud that he was making you feel this good with just his mouth alone. The pleasure built up inside of you, threatening to spill over. Boba’s tongue dipped down to your entrance, drinking you in. He brought his gloved hand up to your folds, circling your clit before dipping down to where his tongue licked. Pressing in, Boba worked his finger inside of your tight cunt. It was only one finger but the feeling of it curling against your walls made you throw your head back against his pillows and arch your back in pleasure. Boba just smirked and wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, pushing another finger into your fluttering hole.

“Got to open you up so you can take me, ner me'suum'ika,” Boba hummed against your folds, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. He started to push a third finger into you, the pain of him opening you up stinging just a bit. “Maker, you’re so tight around my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”

His words were like an electric shock to your system. “Please,” you begged, grinding your pussy against his face and fingers. You could feel the coil inside of you tighten as he curled his middle finger against the bundle of nerves. “I want you.”

“Not yet,” Boba chuckled lightly, pumping into your pussy at a faster pace. “I want you to come for me first. Do you think you could do that? Come all over my fingers and mouth?”

Your jaw dropped at his filthy words, mouth forming an ‘o.’ You had never experienced this much pleasure before- your hands had never made you feel this good. You wondered if sex always felt like this or if it was just because of the bounty hunter between your legs. His fingers brushed against that spot inside of you and his tongue flicked your clit and before you knew it you were cumming on his fingers and mouth just like he wanted you to. Your back arched and your hands gripped the sheets under you tightly, a cry of pleasure echoed off the metal walls. It felt like you were floating above your body, watching you cum as Boba licked at your pussy, prolonging your pleasure. Soon enough you were crashing back to reality and the feeling of him continuously lapping at your cunt became too much. 

“Boba,” you choked out, trying to push his face away from your pussy. Before the overstimulation became too much, he pulled his fingers out of you. His eyes seemed darker than they were before as he stared up at you from between your legs. The sight of your cum smeared over his lips and chin made your heart falter in your heaving chest. 

“Did so good for me, mesh’la,” Boba cooed, pressing a kiss to your clit before he climbed his way back up your body. He pressed his lips against yours and you could taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss was passionate and it took what little breath you had away. You had never felt this much pleasure before and you desperately wanted to return the favor. You wanted to know what he tasted like. 

“Not now, little one,” Boba stopped your hand that was palming his hard length through his pants. You whined against his lips but he just chuckled and gave you a quick kiss. “Tonight’s about you. I want to make you feel good.”

“Sucking your cock would make me feel good,” you mumbled against his lips. Boba’s eyes widened at your words, shocked that you could be so dirty. Heat flashed over your cheeks. 

“You’ll get your chance,” Boba smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Trust me, I want to watch you try to take me in your mouth but that’s for another time. Right now, I need to be inside of you.”

You couldn’t argue with him when he used such sound logic. Him voicing that he wanted to be inside of you made your pussy throb with need. Nodding your head, you pulled him into another kiss before he stepped back from you and began to shed his armor. 

He was so broad with his green and red armor, but somehow he looked even bigger when he stripped his clothes off his body. Silver scars littered his skin, each one had a story and you desperately wanted to learn them while you traced your lips over each and every one. Boba smirked at the hungry look in your eyes as he took off his clothes. He knew he wasn’t the best looking man in the galaxy but the way you looked at him made him feel like he was. His cock pulsed in his pants with the need to be inside of you. He couldn’t wait any longer after months of dreaming about it. Boba tugged down his pants, freeing his aching cock.

Boba’s cock sprung free and the sight of him, all of him, made you gulp. He was so big, you weren’t sure how he would fit inside of you. His cock was both long and thick, and while you didn’t have anything to compare it to, you were positive that he was well above average. “I don’t think it will fit.”

Boba’s laugh was rich as it bounced off the metal walls of his chambers. “Don’t worry, ner me'suum'ika. It’ll fit, we just have to take it slow.”

You nodded at his words and scooted up his bed, making room for the bounty hunter. Boba leaned over you, arms on either side of your head. His large frame trapped you beneath him. Boba nudged his nose against yours before he captured your lips in a kiss. “Are you sure about this, mesh’la?”

“Of course,” your hand cradled the back of his head and you pressed your forehead against his. “There’s no one else I’d rather do this with.”

Boba was usually a very composed man- never one to show his emotions. But you pressing your forehead against his, unknowingly giving him a keldabe kiss, and saying those words made him flush visibly. The blush that dusted his tan, scarred cheeks was beautiful. Before he could do something stupid, like confess his feelings for you, Boba pressed his lips tenderly against yours. 

Taking hold of his cock, he pumped his long shaft a few times before he dragged the tip through your wet folds that were dripping with your cum. A shiver ran down his spine at the feeling of his cock rubbing against your wet pussy. Boba notched the tip at your entrance, slowly rolling his hips forward and pushing into your tight cunt.

It was slightly painful, Boba’s cock pushing into you. He took it slow, only giving you an inch of his length at a time, letting you rest inbetween and grow accustomed to him. Soon enough, pain melted into pleasure and Boba bottomed out, the wiry hair at the base of his cock brushing against your clit. Your chest was heaving and you could already feel the pleasure building up inside of you again. Boba pressed another kiss to your lips, groaning at the feeling of your walls tightly clamping down on him. You were so tight around him and you felt absolutely perfect. It was like you were made for him. 

“Can I move, ner me'suum'ika?” Boba panted, trying to restrain himself from pounding into you. Burying your face into his neck, you nodded and pressed a small kiss to his pulse point. Drawing his hips back, Boba grit his teeth at the feeling of your velvet walls dragging over his cock. He paused with just the tip of his cock in you, giving you a moment to adjust before he ground back into you. The sounds that you made were heavenly- breathless moans and whimpers mumbled against his skin. Boba slowly rolled his hips into yours, setting a languid pace. 

Your nails raked down his strong back when the head of his cock brushed against that bundle of nerves. A gasp left your parted lips and you moaned his name, unintentionally clenching around his hard length. Boba’s hips stuttered against yours and he pulled your face back up to his. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last,” he sheepishly admitted, nudging his nose against yours. A sly smile made its way onto your lips and the sight of you beneath him made Boba drop his forehead to yours. You felt too good.

“Me neither,” you captured his lips in yours and Boba picked up the pace now that you were used to him. The feeling of him grinding his hips into yours, cock pulsing hot inside of you had you seeing stars. He once again found that spot inside of you and you gasped, “there!”

Boba grabbed your leg and brought it up and over his hip, pushing deeper into you at this new angle. His fingers dug into your thigh and he could feel your release approaching with every brush of his cock against that bundle of nerves. Your breathing was picking up and the moans slipped past your lips faster. Boba brought his thumb down to your cunt, rough pad circling your clit. Your back arched and your chest pressed against his. The feeling of him dragging against your walls and his thumb working circles into your clit was becoming too much.

“Boba, I-” your words were cut off by a sob, tears began to form at the corners of your eyes. You could feel your orgasm approaching faster than before.

“I know, I can feel it,” Boba groaned into your mouth, picking up the pace of both his thrusts and thumb. Your walls were clenching around him and he could feel his own release building inside of him. “Come for me, ner me'suum'ika,” his hips snapped against yours and he licked into your mouth. “Cum all over my cock.”

It was too much- his cock, his thumb, his words- and you came crashing down like a meteor. His name fell from your lips repeatedly in sobs and cries of pleasure. Your nails were digging into the skin of his back and you were positive that you were leaving angry red marks on his tan skin. 

The walls of your cunt clamped down around his cock and he could feel the juices of your release coating him. His hips pistoned against yours as he chased his own high. “Where?” Boba moaned against your lips, feeling his balls start to pull up tight with his impending release. 

“In me,” you mumbled into his mouth. You were still reeling from your release, drunk on Boba. You needed to know what it felt like for him to cum inside of you. “Come for me, Boba.”

Your sultry words pushed him over the edge and he grunted and groaned as he spurted his cum inside of you. The warmth of his seed painting your walls was something you’d never forget- you’d cherish this moment forever. 

Boba’s hips stilled and he could feel the need for sleep overcoming him. You were so warm, so soft- Boba wanted this for the rest of his days. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, gingerly placing a kiss at the edge of his mouth. Boba cupped your face and pulled you into a proper kiss, tongue swiping over your bottom lip. 

“For what?” he questioned, pulling out of you with a groan. Your combined releases spilled onto his sheets, soaking them, but he could care less. 

“For this,” you pressed your face into his chest as he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around your smaller frame. 

“It was an honor, ner me'suum'ika,” Boba placed a tender kiss on your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. You smelled like home.

“What does that mean?” you yawned, nuzzling further into him. “Ner me-me’suu-”

“It means ‘my moon,’“ Boba smiled into your hair. “Is it... is it okay if I call you that?”

“More than okay,” you were glad that he couldn’t see your face because of how flushed it was. You pressed a kiss to his chest. “What can I call you?”

“Whatever you’d like, ner me'suum'ika,” his eyes started to drift close. “I’m yours.”  

______

Mando’a Translations:

Mesh’la = beautiful

Ner me'suum'ika = my moon

[221bshrlocked]

A Sky Full of Stars

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Fem!Reader

Words: 11340 (I know I say this all the time but this really was supposed to be a short one-shot but it got away from me because I just loved this idea so so much. Sorry not sorry.)

Warning: Nothing but fluff. Some kissing that turns into a heated make-out session that turns into a cuddling session.

Inspired by this tiktok by the lovely ameliagonzales who was gracious enough to allow me to use her idea and write this.

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote something that's fluffy slightly angsty and dialogue-centered. I'm not going to lie, this took longer than usual because of the lovely anon that decided to tell me my characterization of Din is hella off and I realized I don't care if it is because it's my writing and I get to do whatever I want with it. Let me know how I'm doing in the comments and reblogs are always always appreciated. You can add yourself to the taglist here. This is not beta'd btw.

“No silly this isn’t green, it’s blue.” The little girl put her toy away and brought out a new one, giggling at your faux pout as she shoves the new object in your hand and asks you what color you thought it was. You turn it around in your hands, trying your hardest to hide the hurt growing in your chest at not knowing what color it is. You think it’s closer to the first toy she gave you but you’re not sure. You’re never sure. You look at the girl and smile at her before setting the toy aside and wiggling your hands at her. She immediately stands up and screams as you run after her, laughing along with her giggles as you chase her around and watch as more kids join in and run away from you.

You’re not sure how long you’re chasing the little ones and you hear some of them gasp and ‘oooh’ when your young friend runs into a solid figure. You stand up and watch as the girl tears up as she apologizes to the man she just ran into. You’re immediately hugging her and assuring her that everything is okay, turning to the side and narrowing your eyes at the man that scared her half to death.

“Shame on you Mando,” you pretend to smack his shoulder three times and watch as the child in your arms sniffles between laughs when the Mandalorian tries to hide away from you.

“I’m sorry little flower, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You watch as the man reaches for a small bottle in his pocket and slowly hands it to the girl. “Here you go, a token of my apology.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, he’s a nice man...even though he doesn’t look it.” You wink at Boba Fett and giggle along with her when he sighs heavily and pushes the flask into her hand. She takes it and shakes it around, her eyes lighting up when the bottle shimmers at her ministrations and illuminates her hands.

“It’s so pretty! How did you know orange is my favorite color?” The girl slides down your arms and quickly hugs the hunter in front of you before running away and showing her friends. You look at her with longing in your eyes, wishing with all your heart that you saw the gift the same way she saw it.

“Still no color princess?” Fett questions and you shrug your shoulders as you make your way towards Slave I and sit on the ramp.

“Yup, same old same old. Who knows if I’ll ever see color.” There is a hint of hurt in your tone but Fett says nothing as he approaches you and stands to the side. He pats your shoulder once as he takes his helmet off and softly wipes at the visor to clean it.

“Don’t give up, kid. You’re still young...you’ve got all the time in the galaxy and you travel everywhere. You’ll meet them when you least expect it.”

“In this line of work? Yeah, I don’t think so Fett. But at least one of us didn’t lose the positive attitude. If I’m being honest, I was hoping to see color before the next supply run. The chances that I’ll live to go to Pasaana during another Festival of the Ancestors are practically non-existent. I heard they wear so many variations of the same color...maker, it would have been nice to experience that.” You pick up a rock and throw it away as you nervously ring your fingers and brush the conversation aside, not wanting to start the journey with a sour mood.

“Well, lucky for us, we have extra help on this run so it should be quicker. Maybe you’ll see color before you go?” Fett looks up and you follow his line of sight as another ship slowly lands just behind Slave I. You stand up and walk behind your old friend, looking back at the crates to ensure they’re still there before you approach the landing ship.

“Oh no, what poor soul did you manage to rope in this time?” You eye the ship and swear there is something familiar about it but you pay it no mind as Fett puts his helmet back on.

“Hey, I don’t always bend people to my will you know. He volunteered actually...he knows his way around the Narvath Sector and he might even tag along with us to the Forbidden Valley. So, be nice and don’t flirt with him.” Fett warns and you throw your hands up in defeat, failing to hide your smile as you respond with feigned offense.

“I’m not going to flirt with him.” You raise an eyebrow when Fett snorts at your high-pitched voice as he makes his way to the landing ship, and mutters something beneath his breath. The ship powers down after a couple of moments and you take a deep breath when the doors to the docking ramp slide and a figure appears at the corner.

“There he is...took you longer to land this time.” Fett yells to the other Mandalorian, not noticing how you take a few steps back as the man walks down towards the two of you.

“Oh well things just got a little more interesting now.” You break the silence and cringe when the Mandalorian struts past your friend and takes out his blaster. You hold your hands up when he points the weapon at your head and you watch as Fett strides to the two of you and stands in between your body and his brother’s weapon.

“You?” The Mandalorian growls and he tries to step aside and Fett holds his chest and pushes him back.

“Me!” You smile nervously and gulp when Fett turns around and looks at you. You swear you can almost see the look he’s giving you but you say nothing and hope that he can handle this situation for you.

“Oh.” You would have laughed at Fett’s response if there wasn’t a bounty hunter standing not five feet away from you and killing you a thousand different ways.

“You two know each other?” Fett breaks the silence and continues to stand between the two of you, knowing his friend’s short temper and your dumb comments might escalate this situation.

“I wouldn’t say we know each other. I’d say we met very briefly on-” You try to explain what happened the last time you saw the Mandalorian but he cuts you off. He pushes his blaster into its holster and you sigh heavily but keep your hands raised, afraid he'll change his mind any second and try to shoot you again.

“You almost blew up my ship!” The Mandalorian yells and you jump at his exclamation. His irritation seeps into your skin and you narrow your eyes at him as you walk around Fett and begin to nudge at the beskar armor with one finger. Your anger at his unfairness outgrows your fear of what he can do to you and you continue to push on his chest plate as you talk back at him and ignore Fett’s whispers to let it go.

“I did no such thing. I merely tried to fix your shitty cooling radiator panels but you scared the fuck out of me when you came up behind me and suggested I switch the parts, hence why I dropped the cauterizer and burned through the wires. So technically, you almost blew up your ship.” You’re breathing heavily and you’re sure your nose is flaring from how annoyed you are by the man in front of you. A few seconds pass between the two of you and it’s not until the Mandalorian tilts his head that you realize what you’ve just said and done. You take your hands away and swallow the growing lump in your throat as you step back and apologize a few times before you walk to the crates.

The Mandalorian stands there in silence, never once looking away from you retreating form, even when Boba Fett comes and stands him.

He’s missed this, and more than he preferred to admit.

“Little princess is fiery today.” Fett comments and notices when his friend turns and stares at him through the visor. The Mandalorian says nothing as he walks away from Fett and follows you. You’re in the middle of counting the supplies in the crates when you hear the crunching of footsteps approaching you. Thinking it’s Fett that’s come to help you move the supplies, you roll up your sleeves and ask him to take the opposite side.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at your brother. I was just annoyed because I was only trying to help and he scared me.” When you look up and see that it was the Mandalorian and not your friend, you drop the crate and stare at him. He says nothing as he picks up his end of the large box and waits for you to mirror his actions before he begins to walk back to his ship. Neither of you say anything as you go back and forth until all the crates are on his ship. You walk out and stand next to Fett, waiting for his instructions to see whether you were going to go with him or with the new member of the crew.

“So what’s the plan?” You avoid the Mandalorian standing next to you and turn your body towards Fett, hoping that he’d say that you were tagging along with him.

“You’re going to go with him.” You cease to breathe at his command and clench your fists when you recognize his tone. He’s not leaving room for negotiation.

“W-why?” The Mandalorian walks back to his ship at your question and you pout when you realize that he may have misunderstood your inquiry. Not that it mattered whether or not he misunderstood...

“Fennec...we’ll meet you at Iktotchon.” You look to the ground and shuffle your feet against the sand, turning back to him and nodding quietly as you follow behind the Mandalorian.

“And princess!” Fett calls for you and you glance at him when you reach the top of the ramp.

“Hmm?”

“Try not to get into too much trouble.” You look at him with annoyance and shake your head when you realize he’s just teasing you. Standing at the large doors of the ship, you glimpse one last time at Mos Eisley before you make your way into the heart of the ship. A few moments later, the ship powers up and you watch as the barrier raises and locks just as light filters through the area. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do or where you’re allowed to go so you remain standing where you are. Not a minute later, you jump when a voice breaks the silence and booms through the ship.

“Come up to the cockpit.”

You take a deep, calming breath as you set your things to the side and ascend the ladder to the cockpit. You come face to face with a door and you’re about to knock when it slides open and reveals the Mandalorian sitting in the pilot chair.

“Sit down and buckle up.” He says as he flicks on buttons across the board. He turns his head towards you to make sure that you’re buckled in before he raises the throttle levers and begins to take off. You hold back from saying something snarky as the turbulence gets worse, only shutting your eyes when it gets to be too much. You’re not sure how long you’re sitting there with your hands clasping the leather of the chair but it’s only when you hear the seat in front of you turning that you realize you were already in space.

You frown when you open your eyes and see the Mandalorian already looking at you, the tilt of his helmet letting you know that he was silently mocking you.

“What?” You break the silence and watch as he rights himself before he turns around and pushes the auto-pilot button.

“You’re a supply dealer who hates flying.” It’s more of a question than a comment and you can’t help but narrow your eyes when he stands up and continues to stare at you.

“So?”

“Not a good quality of life.” If you’re surprised by his response, you try not to show it as you stand up and face him defensively like before.

“Says the man who wears beskar armor every minute of the day.” It’s a low blow and you know you have no right involving his religion. But you’re fed up with his passive aggressiveness and you want to make sure he knows that he can’t talk down to you.

The Mandalorian turns away and looks at the passing stars of the galaxy, softly whispering for you to follow him as he exits the cockpit. You want to apologize for what you said but you hold back instead, following him down the ladder and standing to the side when you see him moving things around.

“This is my cot, and that right there is yours.” He points to two doors across from each other at the end of the hallway and waits for your confirmation before he walks past them and shows you the refresher.

“Help yourself to any of the rations. We’ll arrive at Iktotchon in four sleeping cycles so there should be enough food for the two of us until we get there.” You’re not sure what makes you reach for his wrist when he turns around to walk away. He stands still and looks down at the hand grasping his beskar before he looks at you.

“S-sorry...I- umm, are you coming to Pasaana?” You ring your fingers nervously as you look at yourself in his visor, taking two steps back when he straightens up and looks down at your hands.

“You’re going to the Festival of the Ancestors.”

“Yes. Well, it’s me, Mando, and Fennec. So I was just wondering, you know, if there was...if you had anything lined up after this supply run. Because if not, you can tag along...it only happens every-”

“42 years. I know.” He cuts you off and you’re not sure if his body-language seems more open or not but within a few seconds of chatting with him, he’s suddenly relaxing and leaning back against the metal wall. He’s silent for longer than you prefer so you force a smile and rub the back of your neck awkwardly as you prepare to tell him to forget that you asked since he probably has more important matters to handle.

“Ok.” It’s a simple response yet you feel your skin heat up as he nods at you and walks to his quarters. He hesitates at the door for a moment before he pushes the button and steps into the privacy of his room.

You let out a deep breath and stand in your spot for a few minutes before you slip back to the docking space to bring your belongings to the room. The ship is surprisingly more quiet than others you’ve been on and you remember what he told you about it the last time you saw him. A faint memory of how he defended the size of his ship makes you giggle. Then again, you’ve heard from Peli about the piece of junk he had before this and knew that it was barely considered as machinery.

“Maker, how am I going to make it four days on this ship with him?” You shake your head as you prepare to go to bed. The twin suns were just setting on Tatooine when you were leaving and you knew it was better to get as much sleep in as possible considering how quickly things sometimes escalated on these kinds of runs.

Surprisingly, things weren’t too bad when you left your sleeping cot the following day. The Mandalorian was already awake and cleaning his weapons. You bid him a quick good morning as you moved past him and looked for some snacks. He didn’t seem like he wanted to converse with you so you opted to stay in your room for the remainder of your waking hours. A voice in your head told you to keep the door open in case he did want to chat eventually but as you thought, he never once disturbed you.

The second day on the ship was perhaps slightly more eventful. Although he continued to pass his time in silence, he did manage to ask you to help him fix something in the cockpit. You were shocked he requested your services with ease and said nothing as he stood aside and watched you tinker away with the radar display screen. He thanked you twice when you finished and told you that he’d let you know if he needed your help with anything else.

The third day, however, made you wish you could open the docking doors and throw yourself out in space. You hadn’t seen him all morning long and you thought it was probably because he wanted some privacy in the cockpit. By the middle of the day, you jumped out of your cot and grabbed some spare clothes as you headed to the refresher, wanting to shower once before you landed on the sand-filled planet the following. As you walked to the door and pushed the button, you were met with a heavy fog escaping the room. When the fog cleared, you dropped your clothes and slammed your hands on your eyes, immediately backing away from the room as the Mandalorian scrambled to wrap something around his waist. You weren’t sure how many times you apologized in the span of one minute but when you heard the familiar sound of a blaster turning on, you stood in silence and waited for him to say something.

“Pfassk, do you have no kriffing regard for privacy?” He growled through the vocoder and you shook your head to try and explain to him that you saw nothing but his back.

“I- maker, I’m so sorry. I swear on my life I didn’t see anything except your back. I didn’t know you were in there...I really didn’t or else I wouldn't have gone in.” You sigh in relief when you hear him murmur to himself as he sets down the blaster and shuffles around in search of his clothes.

“What do you mean you didn’t know I was in there? The red light was on, which usually means someone is in the fucking refresher using it.” Hearing him swear shouldn’t make you shiver and yet you do. When you notice that he’s gone still, you assume it’s safe to look at him again. Taking a deep breath, you turn around and lower your hands as you muster up the courage to try and explain to him why you couldn’t see the red light.

And boy was that a mistake. You regret removing your hands from your eyes as soon as you take a good look at him. Turns out, the beskar armor only made him look more intimidating. The man was large, made to be a hunter. He was broad-shouldered, muscular in all the right places and soft in others. You unintentionally frown when you see his bronze skin littered with scars of all shapes and sizes. Maker, the life he led was worse than you thought.

“I- uhh, I don’t...I couldn’t see it.” You hated how much your voice broke when you tried to explain yourself. As much as you wanted to blame it on being afraid of him, you knew it was less about the danger he exuded and more about the fact that you could see more of his skin than you thought you ever would.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t know it was red.” You knew none of what you were saying was making sense but this wasn’t exactly a situation that you thought you’d find yourself having to deal with, and with the Mandalorian of all people.

“Are you fucking with me?” He was less hostile than earlier but his words were still spoken aggressively. You couldn’t blame him really, especially when you knew how strict his religion was.

“N-no. I- my species doesn’t see color until- well, it doesn’t matter. My species doesn’t see color. We just see grays. I’m sorry...I should have asked before if there was anything I needed to learn about the ship that required me seeing colors. It escaped me. I’ll try to pay more attention...I promise you I saw nothing.” You take one last glance at the heaving, glistening body in front of you before you turn around and walk in your room. You shut the door behind you this time, knowing that he probably wanted some of his privacy back and that he would need to limit himself should you keep it open.

It’s not until a few hours later that you sit up when you hear a soft knock on your door. You stand up and push open the barrier, finding the Mandalorian standing in front of you with his helmet looking straight at your reluctant expression. You wait for him to say something and when he doesn’t, you raise your eyebrows and silently ask him if he needs anything.

“I didn’t know about your...I didn’t know. And I didn’t mean to scare you with the blaster either, it’s a reflex to- umm.” You nod at him and look down to see what he’s holding in his hands. “You left your clothes lying on the floor.” He pushes the fabric towards you and averts his eyes when he sees your undergarments peaking through the shirt. You thank him as you set them down on your bag and look into his visor again.

“Ad'ika?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.” The whispered exclamation does little to calm your nerves and you’re not sure what to say to him so you nod and awkwardly smile into the shiny beskar helmet. The Mandalorian murmurs a quick ‘good night’ before he makes his way to the cockpit, leaving you as confused as ever.

You don’t get an ounce of sleep that night, the image of him in nothing but a helmet and some flimsy pants making you wish he had shot you with his blaster instead. You refuse to admit the rising emotions you’re beginning to feel towards him, mostly because it didn’t matter whether or not he reciprocated them.

You still couldn’t see color.

He wasn’t your soulmate.

You’re afraid to leave the room the next morning, not sure which version of the Mandalorian you were going to have to deal with. It turns out, there was nothing to worry about because not surprisingly, you got the quiet, slightly shy man chatting with you. He pretends nothing happened the previous day and you go along with it. You’re just about to enter the atmosphere of Iktotchon when you receive a hologram from Fett telling the two of you of the sandstorm passing through the meeting point.

As you buckle into the seat behind the Mandalorian, he takes a moment to turn around and call for you.

“There’s going to be turbulence.”

“I- I know.” You barely hold back from furrowing your eyebrows at his comment but then he turns around to face you completely and you narrow your eyes at him with suspicion.

“I’ve landed on worse planets.” It takes you a few extra seconds to realize what he’s attempting to do and you can’t help but laugh and break the moment. You quiet down when he turns around and begins to descend to the planet.

“Are you worried about little old me Mandalorian?” You try to distract yourself from the sudden, harsh shaking of the ship but the teasing does little to calm your nerves when you realize that the sandstorm was as bad as Fett made it sound. You shut your eyes and try to picture the calm nights you’re so used to on Tatooine.

“You know, you can just call me Mando.” His voice breaks you out of your haze and you growl in response when you hear a few sounds go off above you.

“No, I- I can’t call you that. I reserved it for the other guy already!”

“You mean the Mandalorian who already told you his name?” He claps back and chuckles when you sigh in irritation at his question.

“Fine okay you’re right. How about this? Can you land this fucking ship without killing the two of us Mando?” You’re screaming at the top of your lungs and grasp the belt around your torso harder when you don’t hear back from him.

“Mando?”

“You mean the ship I already landed ad’ika?” Your eyes shoot wide open and you look around frantically, only to see that most of the turbulence you experienced was due to the sand and gravel hitting the metal of the ship.

“Oh...that was- not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Anything beats Maldo Kreis.” Mando says as he stands there across from you and the slight tilt of his helmet at your confused expression makes you realize he may not have meant to say that out loud.

“We need to go. The storm will only get worse if we wait until night.” You nod in agreement and follow him out of the cockpit to the docking station. Mando instantly regrets lowering the docking ramp when he sees gravel quickly entering the ship. You run to your room to grab the helmet you brought with you and lock it in as you return to help him with the crates.

It’s a difficult few hours on the planet, and you grow more irritated when the Ikotchi threatens you with less supply exchanges. When his demeanor suddenly changes and he asks you to take the crates and leave, you thank him and quickly take the crates up the ramp with Fennec before he changes his mind. You never once notice both Mandalorians as they subtly push their blasters back into their holsters.

You’re leaving Iktotchon later than you prefer, mostly because both bounty hunters find themselves in a heated argument that Fennec has to end not-so-gently. You don’t bother asking Mando what the issue was when you see him strutting into the cockpit, quickly strapping yourself in when he glances at you to make sure you’re safe.

It’s a rough take off for both his ship and Slave I, but you say nothing of it, knowing that he might not appreciate any light teasing at the moment. Once you’re out of the planet’s atmosphere, Mando puts in the coordinates for Pasaana and sends a hologram to Fett, letting him know that you would be reaching the planet in less than a day.

You want to ask him if you could help in any way but you decide against it and leave him to his thoughts. You want nothing more than to take a long, hot shower to rid yourself of all the sand that managed to seep into your clothes. But then you notice the state of the docking area and before you can talk yourself out of it, you look around for anything that resembles a sweeper and clean as much of the floor as you can. You’re thankful that Mando doesn’t leave the cockpit and when you’re done, you go back into your room to grab a change of clothes so you could use the refresher.

You think you hear Mando passing by your room but you say nothing and make your way to the refresher, halting in your steps when you look at the light and find it turned off.

Great.

“Mando? Are you in there?” You’re not sure if he can hear you or not so you try to ask him again a little louder.

“Mando!? Are you i-”

“No.” You jump as soon as you hear him respond from behind you. Turning around, you clutch at your chest when you see him standing in front of his door without the beskar armor.

“I- uhh, t-there’s no light. And I wasn’t sure what that meant really.” You’re ringing your fingers again, and hope that he doesn’t notice just how nervous you are in his presence.

“Well I- I rewired the electrical circuits of the refresher so you know when it’s occupied and when it isn’t. If the light is on, it means I’m in there, and if it isn’t, then it’s free for use. No more colores.”

You look at him as if he took off his helmet, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he went out of his way to accommodate you when you’re only on his ship for another few days.

“Thank you,” is all you manage to say before you push the door and scramble in. Mando looks at the door for another few minutes before he remembers that he hasn’t eaten in a while. He cooks up a meal for two quickly and eats his share before you finish your shower. When he hears you walking out, he sits in his usual corner and brings out his weapons to polish them.

You smell food as soon as you walk out of the refresher and you throw your clothes on your cot before you make your way to the large space across the hallway. You’re about to ask Mando about the food situation when you see a plate opposite of him on the table.

“It’s yours.” Mando breaks the silence as he wipes in between the crevasses of his blaster, nodding towards the space in front of him to let you know that you could join him,

“Thank you Mando.”

Neither of you say anything as you inhale your dinner and it’s not until you’ve washed your plates and set them aside that Mando decides to break the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

“S-sure.” You think he’s going to ask you what it’s like to not see colors and to only see gradations of gray but his question catches you off guard.

“When can your species see color?” If you were uncomfortable by his question, you did a good job hiding it from him. Mando watches as you push off the wall and return to sit in front of him, lazily pushing around the towel he was holding as you answer him.

“This might sound stupid and I’m usually told that it’s not real but I’ve seen those of my kind experience the second they could see color so I know it’s not just a fable we’re told when we’re young. Basically, we see color when we meet our soulmates.” Mando’s heart breaks when you throw him a forced smile, one he’s seen a million times looking back at him in the mirror.

“Your soulmate?”

“Yup, the person I’m destined to be with. My other half. The one that will belong to me and I to him.” Mando nods along with you as he stands up and hangs up his weapons one by one.

“I know what you’re thinking. What’s someone like me going to do at the Festival of the Ancestors? Honestly, I think it’ll be fun to attend it whether or not I can see the colors. It’s a rich culture so I’m sure I’ll enjoy it either way.”

“I can always walk around with you and describe to you the colors, t-the patterns even. If...if you want.” His suggestion throws you off guard and as earlier, you gape at him as you try to figure out what he was playing at. You think he’s pulling your leg and will laugh at you at any moment, but when he doesn’t, you realize that he’s being dead serious.

“That would be nice Mando. I might not see the colors but I could always imagine what they look like next to each other.”

And just like that, the conversation is over as quickly as it begins.

“Good night mesh’la.” Mando murmurs as he makes his way to his quarters, leaving you more hopeful than you’ve felt in a long while.

It’s a weird thing to admit but for the first time in years, you don’t go to sleep wishing you could wake up and see colors. No. You doze off wondering what it would feel like to hold his hand and maybe, just maybe, kiss it. You think of how soft his untouched skin must feel like and how calloused his scarred muscles would look.

When you dream that night, you see faint images of his lips caressing yours and his firm arms bringing you into his embrace.

And you wake up with a lazy smile etched on your face because those dreams, those sweet, lovely memories your brain conjured up during the night, felt as good as seeing color.

You can’t look at him for the duration of the morning, constantly pretending that you’re doing something or other so he doesn’t think you’re avoiding him because the last thing you wanted was to make him think you didn’t want to talk to him. But you just can’t find it in yourself to look into his visor. Every time you so much as glance at the beskar helmet, you remember what your subconscious conjured up and you stutter out a response to whatever he says.

Not surprisingly, Mando notices the shift in your behavior and he waits until you finish fixing the crates’ locks, which were clearly not broken, before he approaches you.

“Mesh’la.”

“Yes Mando?” You’re still not looking at him and Mando starts to genuinely believe that he’s done something wrong. When you try to walk past him to place the tool back in your room, Mando reaches out and takes hold of your wrist before you’re out of reach. You look at his gloved hand wrapped around your skin before you meet his eyes past his visor and Mando holds his breath because for a moment, he thinks you can see straight through him.

“You’re angry with me.”

You never realize until this moment that Mando tends to ask most of his questions in the form of a statement and it’s strange. It’s strange because it never occurred to you that he’s the type to perhaps jump to conclusions when he can’t read the situation. Setting the tool box down, you stand up and fix your shirt as you muster up the courage to respond to him.

“I’m not. I’m not angry with you. I’m- it’s...difficult to explain.” His hold loosens but he’s standing in your space and you think it’s because he’s not totally convinced by your answer and won’t let it go until you give him a proper explanation for the sudden change in your treatment.

“It’s difficult to explain why you’re not angry with me.”

There it goes again, that weird phrasing of his inner thoughts. You huff in irritation and Mando misunderstands your annoyed expression so he steps away and turns to look everywhere else but you.

“No, Mando...maker- yes it’s difficult to explain because you’re- no, not you. It’s not your fault it’s mine. I’m just not used to- gods why is this so hard?” You’re visibly stressed and it must be a sight because Mando comes back to stand in front of you and he rests one hand on your shoulder, waiting until you turn to look at him before he tries to break the anxiety-inducing silence.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I- I shouldn’t have offered to walk through the festival with you. I should have thought of how uncomfortable you’d feel before I selfishly asked t-” You perk up at his choice in words and you’re about to ask him what he meant by what he said but he doesn’t give you a chance. “Please believe me when I tell you I only wanted to...I thought it might help.”

“You see, this is exactly why I’m avoiding you.” You’re not sure who’s more surprised by your little outburst but when his hold tightens around your shoulder, you think maybe it’s him.

“So you are avoiding me.”

“Yes okay? I am, I’m avoiding you because the last few days felt like a whiplash of emotions and I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. One minute you’re angry and quiet and it’s as if I’m not in the same space as you, and the next thing I know, you’re rewiring your damn ship so I know how to use it and then offering to pretty much waste your time during one of the most beautiful festivals in the galaxy just to make sure I’m enjoying myself. And...and it’s difficult because I feel myself falling but I don’t want to because I’m afraid...I’m afraid you won’t be there to catch me...because you don’t have to. Because why would you when-”

You’re not sure how you got to this moment but all you know is that you're’ suddenly surrounded by Mando and the cold beskar armor and his natural musk and this unique woodsy scent and it’s-

It’s breathtaking.

“Cyar’ika, I didn’t know...I didn’t know I was causing you this much distress. It’s difficult for me to- to speak my he- to speak at times. I wasn’t thinking of how I’m coming off and I was so busy trying to figure out my- my own feelings...that I didn’t stop and think of what you must be going through.” His voice is low and you think perhaps that it’s breaking with every word he whispers through the vocoder, so you do the only thing you think of at the moment. Reluctantly, you wrap as much of your arms around him as physically possible, hoping he’d understand that you were listening to him and no longer trying to ignore him.

“Mando-”

“I- I volunteered for this supply run.” You’re not sure how this relates to this current affair but you sink further into his embrace, hoping that he wouldn’t shy away from explaining why he’s bringing this up now.

“I know. Fett told me.”

“Did he tell you why?” Mando replies instantly and you furrow your eyebrows even though you know he can’t see you.

“N-no.”

“I- I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Ever since the last time I saw you, I’ve been at war with myself, with what I was allowing to happen. I knew you weren’t to blame with the cauterizer but I couldn’t accept my heart letting you...maker, I can see why you said this is difficult.” He chuckles nervously and you hold your breath in anticipation because he isn’t, he can’t be admitting what you think he is.

“W-what’re you saying Mando?”

“I’m saying I need you cyar’ika. I’m saying, I’ve been dreaming of you for the past 53 sleeping cycles. I’m saying, I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you after Pasaana.” You don’t realize how long you’ve been holding your breath until you exhale against him and Mando pulls away, keeping his helmet aimed to the floor as he continues. “And if- if you can give me a chance, I’d like to- I’d like to...well, I’m not exactly sure what you enjoy doing but I’d like to do it with you. You don't have to give me an answer now. I know I’m being selfish and I know that I- I don’t belong with you because you haven't seen color yet. But please, please consider this. Consider me.” His voice is much more reserved, lower even, than before and you realize it’s because he was probably considering not telling you up until now.

Your heart breaks at his last words because this was never something you thought you’d have to deal with. But looking back at the last few days, no matter how confusing or strange they were, you can’t help but admit how alive you’ve felt.

You know he doesn’t expect you to answer him right away and you know you should take some time to think over what he’s asking of you.

So when you lay both of your hands on his chest and ask him to look at you, Mando thinks you’re going to reject him and you feel his muscles tense when you step closer to him.

“I do...I- I am considering this Mando, I have been for the past few nights if I’m being honest...it’s actually part of the reason why I couldn’t look at you today. I woke up with this unusual thought, well, unusual to me. It’s been so long since I stopped thinking about seeing color and directed all of my attention to something, or rather, someone else.” You smile up into the visor and slowly reach to rest your hand on the space between his helmet and his cowl. The mere touch of your skin shakes him to his core and Mando has to clench his fists so he doesn’t lose control over himself.

“Today was the first time I woke up not caring if I hadn’t seen color because- because being with you, and- and talking with you and staying on this ship with you felt like I’ve already seen color. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I do...if I do, but I know that I’d like to give this, us, a shot.”

“You...you do mesh’la?” He almost sounds like a young child asking his parents for permission to have something and when you nod at him, Mando can’t hold back anymore. He wraps his arms around you once more, and carries you off the ground, smiling to himself when he hears you giggling at his dramatic display of affection.

He pulls away and you think he’s about to say something but a message comes through to the ship and Mando apologizes quickly before he ascends to the cockpit. You stay planted in your spot for what feels like hours before you hear Mando telling you that you’re nearing Pasaana. When you get to the cockpit and take your usual seat, Mando rises from his chair and approaches you, kneeling down at your feet to buckle your belt easier and ensure that you’re safe. It’s a small gesture but you know he’s conveying a thousand emotions in that little tap to make sure that you’re buckled in properly and when you smile at him, he reaches over and pushes a stray hair behind your ears before he returns to his pilot chair.

You don’t feel the turbulence once, mostly because you’re too busy replaying the brief moment over and over again in your mind until you’re sure you’ve committed it to memory.

Mando has to tap on your shoulder twice once he lands, and you nod in affirmation when he asks if you were feeling alright. The two of you make your way out of the ship just as Slave I lands. When you glance at Mando to ask him about the argument between him and Fett, you find him already staring at you. You smile at him and watch as he looks away apologetically. Maybe he really was as nervous as you.

“You’re coming along then?” Fett says to Mando as you make your way towards the desert and you pretend to focus on the dozens of kites flying in the air, unsure whether you were meant to be a part of this conversation or not.

Mando replies in Mando’a and you look to Fennec to ask her something about the kites to try and ignore the two men who may or may not have been talking about you. You’re about to ask Fennec about the colors of the flying toys when Mando steps in between the two of you and takes hold of your upper arm, pushing you ahead of the others so he could get a private moment with you.

“Is- are you okay?”

“Fine. He’s being difficult.” His curt answer lets you know that he wasn’t going to reveal what that whole ordeal was about so you nod and try to fall in step with him. You’re about to ask him about the colors of the kites when Mando leans over and whispers in your ears.

“Those two over there are red, like the color of the twin suns on Tatooine when they’re just setting. And, that one over there, the large one flying higher than the rest, it’s a dark blue...like the night sky.” You try to not let the proximity of his body affect you but the more he tells you of the colors, the closer you want him to get to you.

“That smaller one is light green, like many of the plants on Felucia.”

“I’ve never been to Felucia.” You admit to him as you keep your gaze on the kites, trying to differentiate between the colors but barely noticing a difference between the grays.

“I can take you there.” He offers with ease and you look into the visor and smile at him. “I’d like that.”

You can vaguely feel their eyes on you but you don’t bother to pay attention to them, wanting to spend as much time with Mando as you could. Once you reach the edge of the festival, you thank the Aki-Aki that approach you and wrap a necklace of flowers around you. You laugh when they reluctantly look at Mando and he sighs heavily at your death stare before he leans down and allows one of them to place a necklace around his cowl as well.

“Hey Mando?”

“Hmm.”

“Do the necklaces look the same?” Mando turns around and sees Fett and Fennec look away from the two of you. He waits until they walk the opposite direction before he looks at you and takes hold of your necklace.

“Yours have lighter colors...yellow, orange, white, pink and a few light greens here and there. Mine is darker. This is purple, and these are blue...and all of these are dark red and brown.” He points to each of the flowers and tells you its color, never once noticing the way you’re looking at him and hanging onto every single word he says.

When you hear the sound of distant music playing, you take Mando’s hand and make your way through the crowd, telling him that you want to see what they’re doing on the other side of the festival. Mando says nothing as you pull him through, only responding when you directly ask him about the color of the caravan fabrics and laughing when you joke about how he technically blends into the surroundings. And when you come across a large crate that you can vaguely see some designs on, Mando offers to make room for it on his ship so you can get it. It’s a long argument between the two of you but he wins in the end, telling you that he genuinely wanted to gift you something that you can remember him with and might enjoy some day. You almost cry at the unspoken implications of his words but when he shrugs his shoulders and hands over the credits, you quietly thank him and let the seller know that you’ll be taking it before you leave.

Over the next few hours, Mando never leaves your side once, even when you tell him that he should enjoy his time as well. You notice how he changes the subject every time you ask him to explore by himself and giggle when he responds with an opinion on some of the color combinations. It’s quite comical to be in the presence of such an intimidating individual who’s complaining about how ‘that blue doesn’t go too well with this red.’

As you’re making your way through the different caravans, you notice a table displaying a dozen large cloaks. Turning to Mando, you see that he’s busy asking one of the sellers if they have similar shirts but in darker colors. You walk to the table on the other side and look through the capes to try and differentiate between them. When you realize that it’s of no use, you hold one up and call for him to ask if he should buy a new one.

“Hey Mando, maybe you should get this instead of-”

The question dies in your throat when Mando glances away from the vendor and holds your gaze. Your brain refuses to catch up with what your eyes are seeing for what feels like an eternity and your hand flies to your chest and clench it tightly as your heart skips a beat at the sight in front of you. It takes a few seconds for you to inhale deeply when you realize that you aren’t breathing and you feel your heart skip a beat when you watch Mando strut towards you. He drops what he’s holding in his hands and takes a few strides in your way, not caring to hold back as he wraps one arm around your waist while the other rests on your neck and tilts your head so he could take a better look at you. You still can’t wrap your mind around what just happened and you’re not sure what he’s saying until he lightly shakes you in his arms and raises his voice to grab your attention.

Maker, his voice was unlike anything you’ve ever heard. It was hoarse yet calming, the kind of calming that one could only dream of feeling.

“Mesh’la, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His voice shakes you to your core and your eyes shift down to his lips, tilting your head to the side when you follow the scruff peppering his handsome features and memorize the different colors of his hair. Gods, you couldn’t put a name to any of them but you knew you liked the combination of the light and dark outlining his sharp jaw.

“I- I don’t...maker. You’re...you’re-” You’re unable to form a coherent thought and as you reach out to touch his cheeks, Mando clenches his jaw but doesn’t dare to move a muscle. He realizes that this is the first time you see him without his helmet and he finds himself praying that you find him, at the very least, okay to look at. His hold on you eases when he feels the palm of your hand caress the side of his face before you push his hair aside. Mando nuzzles into your touch and he shuts his eyes to commit this moment to memory. The last time someone was this gentle with him broke his heart, but he found himself longing for a similar feeling with you. Only if it was you.

“N-no...please. Look at me.” Your whispered request drowns out the music of the festival and Mando’s eyes flutter open immediately. He looks down at you and can’t help but shift his focus to your parted lips as you try to speak again.

“Mando? What...what color are your eyes?” You hold your breath as Mando’s gaze softens when he meets your eyes again. He doesn’t know why you’re asking but he answers you anyway.

“Brown.” His voice breaks but then you’re smiling up at him as you reach for his cheek with your other hand and rest it on his heated skin. He’s not sure what brought about any of this but he can’t care less, not when you were here, in his arms, touching him so gently and looking at him like he was the only one that mattered across the galaxy.

“Hmm...they’re a beautiful color.” The admission sends a shiver down his spine and he doesn’t register the meaning behind your words until he sees your expression change to one of panicked shock.

Oh.

“You can see color?” Mando doesn’t intend to sound so accusative but his tone must have been harsh because you nod and snatch your hands away from him as if he’s burned you. You don’t dare look anywhere else as the reality of the situation settles in your mind.

It’s him. It’s been him all along.

“I- I can see color.”

Mando watches as you blink in confusion before you look to the side. You do a double-take when you see the vibrant colors of the festival and Mando steps away as you walk around him and approach a caravan hanging clothing of all color gradations. You ignore everything else as you softly trace the different colors and patterns on the garments before you walk over to the next little cart and stare at the vibrant jewelry. There’s so much to take in and you forget for a moment where you are. When you look away and turn your eyes to the sky, you can’t help but smile at seeing the kites gliding through the air. You don’t know which one you want to focus on because they’re all so pretty so you stand in there for a few moments to take it all in.

It’s not until you feel a presence next to you that you remember how you came to see this new world. When you begin to ring your fingers anxiously, Mando takes a step towards you and takes your hands in his palms.

“Cyar’ika, do you need anything?” He doesn’t know what to say and your lungs refuse to expand when you finally look at him again.

You spent years conjuring up different scenarios in your head to try and anticipate what to expect when you finally meet your soulmate. But standing here, in front of Mando, in the middle of the Festival of the Ancestors, you realize that this compares to nothing.

“I- I don’t…”

“If you want me to go-”

“No! N-no, please. Stay here with me. Stay here with...me.” Y

ou tighten your hold around his hands to prevent him from leaving. Mando nods and turns back to the caravan he was standing by to grab his helmet. You say nothing as he carries it and looks at you, but your eyes must give you away because Mando throws you a quick smile as he keeps it on his side and leads you through the festival.

Neither of you discuss the new development but you don’t ignore it either. You continue to steal glances from each other every now and then, especially when Mando leans over and tells you about each of the colors. Except this time, he doesn’t tell you so you could imagine what they look like. He tells you so you could memorize what each pigment is and begin to recognize them on your own. It’s almost as if nothing changed with how often Mando describes to you the gradations and patterns, but you know that this was far from the truth. And with the way Mando breathes softly against your forehead when he leans down to talk to you, you sense that he knows this as well.

He’s much more forward with his touches now, perhaps even a little shameless too. Hours ago, he would apologize if he pushed you by accident or shifted closer to you. But now, he was walking with you with one hand on your lower back and he would stand longer behind you as you asked about a new color shade.

As the sun slowly sets across the sky, you turn to Mando and wait for him to finish his drink before you ask him about the others.

“Do you mind if we don’t tell the others just yet?” You watch as Mando’s expression falls and you shake your head immediately so he doesn’t misunderstand the reason behind your request.

“Not because I don’t want them to know about us, I- maker, it’s just that I’ve experienced so many changes in the span of a few days and I want to make sense of things without...without someone asking me too many questions about what I’m feeling. I want to let this sink in? And- and I’d like it if it’s just you and me. Please.” Mando is quiet for a while and you think that maybe it was the wrong thing to say to him.

“Us?”

You can’t hold back your laughter at the soft question and you almost fall over from how hard you’re giggling at him.

“That’s what you took away from everything I just said?” You sigh in relief when he mirrors you and chuckles in return.

“I’m sorry cyar’ika, I- of course. Whatever you need from me.” He’s a man of few words but he somehow knows what to say to calm your nerves.

“Thank you Mando.” You say as you turn your attention back to the setting sun to watch the colors change across the sky.

“Din Djarin.” He whispers to you after a long while, and you meet his eyes briefly, your furrowed eyebrows silently asking him what he was referring to.

“My name is Din Djarin.” His gaze is piercing and you find it much more intense now that you know for a fact that they’re your favorite color. “So you can start calling the other guy Mando again.” Your heart skips a beat when you see dimples appear on his cheeks as he grins at his own joke, and nudges your shoulder so you could relax into him again. You say nothing and lean against his shoulder, resting your head on his beskar armor and enjoying the cold sensation against your heated skin.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there in your bubble and watch the festival as it continues on for, but you’re interrupted when Fett approaches you and clears his throat to catch your attention.

“We’re leaving.” The Mandalorian says as he watches you closely. You think you’re being subtle studying his armor but Fett notices how you continue to look between him and Din’s and he tilts his head to the side as he turns to his friend and barely holds back from smirking at him.

Din nods and lets them know that you would be returning with him back to Mos Eisley. Fennec is about to ask why the two of you are acting differently when Fett shakes his head as he looks at you.

“Until next time princess,” Din’s posture straightens when he hears the nickname and narrows his eyes at the man trying to get a rise out of him.

“Usenye.” You snap out of your haze when you hear Din growl at his brother and wave goodbye to him and Fennec as they walk away from you.

“Is everything okay between the two of you?”

“Yes sweet girl, don’t worry about it.” You flush at the pet name and Din notices how you shiver at his touch when he raises your chin to take a better look at you. He slowly leans towards you, never once breaking eye contact as he grows closer to your lips. “Is- is this okay?” He asks and refuses to move a muscle until you respond to him. You’re already breathless and he has barely touched you but you muster up the courage to answer him.

“Y-yes.”

He smirks when your hoarse voice fans over his cheeks and as much as you wish for him to take whatever he wants, you’re thankful that he’s being patient with you and ensuring that you’re comfortable.

“Sweet girl,” Din whispers as he finally captures your lips in a chaste kiss. It’s at this precise moment that the festivities begin to pick up but you don’t notice the fireworks filling the skies or the music growing louder. You shut your eyes and hold onto Din’s wrists as he moves against you and deepens the kiss. When you gasp at his ministrations, Din’s hold on your neck tightens and he pushes you back until you lay on the blanket he set down for you. You moan as he slips his tongue past your lips and swirls his tongue across yours. Fisting your hands into his cowl, you try to pull him closer but cry out in pain when the beskar armor digs into your hips.

“I’m- I’m sorry mesh’la. I didn’t mean to-”

“No no it’s...it’s just your armor. I promise, I- I liked this.” You gulp nervously when you see an amused expression take over his handsome features.

“Is that so?” You don’t have time to react to his question, squealing in surprise when he suddenly stands up and pulls you along with him.

“What- where are we going?” You ask him as he pulls you through the multitude of visitors and Aki-Aki. He stops abruptly and speaks to one of the natives before he pushes you into the caravan standing behind him.

“Din, we can’t just-”

“I asked for his permission. Don’t you know, all of these are for visitors who want to stay the night.” You’re about to ask him why you’re staying the night out here instead of his ship but you can’t seem to form the question because you see Din taking his armor off.

It’s mesmerizing watching him take each beskar piece apart but when he’s down to just his clothes, it occurs to you that this night might be going somewhere else. Your nervousness must show on your face because Din walks towards you slowly and takes your hands in his. He kisses your wrists before leans over and rests his forehead against yours.

“Don’t worry cyar’ika, I’m not… I won’t- we’re not here to do anything other than talk. I didn’t feel comfortable taking my beskar off out there so-”

“I trust you Din.” You interrupt his word-vomit and lead him to one of the corners of the tent so you could lay down next to each other. When you rest your head on the pillow and finally look up, you’re met with a small opening in the ceiling of the caravan that gives you a perfect view of the blue night sky lighting up with fireworks.

When Din finally seats himself next to you, you whine in irritation and pull him down until he’s on his back next to you. Din never once lets go of your hand and he occasionally raises the palm of your hand to his lips to kiss across the skin.

“Can I ask you something?” You don’t look away from the fireworks when you speak, not wanting to miss seeing any of the vibrant shades of reds and yellows as they broke through the clouds.

“Anything sweet girl.”

“Why did you take off your helmet? I thought your Creed prevented you from showing your face.” You hope the question isn’t too insensitive or private, and when Din takes longer than you like to respond, you finally turn to him to apologize. But Din cuts you off before you can even say anything, keeping his focus on your wrist to distract him long enough so he could respond.

“I had a son once, well, he wasn’t mine physically but, he was mine. He was a foundling by Creed and I was tasked with bringing him back to his kind. It’s a long story that I could tell you another time but...when I had to give him up, I couldn’t bear the thought of him never seeing me without the helmet. I needed him to see me, to know what I willingly gave up and what I had to do to ensure his safety. I’d taken off my helmet once before and even thought it was my choice, I didn’t want to. But in that moment, before I watched him go, I decided that he was more important than my Creed. He was...he was everything to me. And it took a long time to realize that personal connections and relationships weren’t a weakness, they were a strength. My strength.” You’re not sure when you turned to your side and nuzzled into his embrace. But you couldn’t focus on anything else but him and the way his eyes twinkled in sadness when he mentioned his kid. It was a shocking admission and you never once thought of him in such a role but looking back at the last few days, you didn’t find it impossible. He was kind, quiet, sweet, adn patient.

“I keep my helmet on almost all the time but I only take it off around people I trust. I’m telling you this because- because I trust you. I trust you cyar’ika. I took it off earlier today because I wanted you to see me...and also because I was trying to pick out a gift for you. I figured if I didn’t preface it with anything that it would be less dramatic but- little did I know.” The indirect mention of the not-so-little change you experienced earlier today makes you smile.

“If I knew you needed to look into my eyes for you to see color, I would have taken off the helmet the first time I saw you.” He trails his nose across your cheek before he kisses your eyes and your forehead, smiling down at you when he sees how relaxed you feel in his arms.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Your response surprises him and he pulls away and looks at you quizzically.

“I- I saw you before my eyes saw you, Din. My heart chose you before my soul did. I...I think I knew when I saw you again…I think a part of me knew that you were it for me and that it didn’t matter if I didn’t see color with you because- because you were...you’re perfect.” You feel a weight lift off of your chest when you finally confess to him what you’ve been feeling for the past few days and you shift impossibly closer to him to let him know that you were telling the truth.

“I’m not perfect mesh’la.” His laugh is self-deprecating and he only stops when he feels your hand slip around his back and hold onto his shirt like your life depended on it.

“You are to me.” It’s perhaps too forward for him and Din doesn’t know how to react or respond to your confession so he nods at you and nuzzles into your neck to avoid any more of your intense emotions.

“You haven’t told me yet what your favorite color is.” He tries to change the topic, not expecting your response to shoot through his chest and into his heart like a blaster.

“Brown obviously.” You answer instantly and without hesitation.

“Why ‘obviously’?”

“Well, it’s-it’s your eye-color Din. What other color could be my favorite?”

His heart ceases to beat at your adamant reply and he pulls away again to look into your eyes to see if you were teasing him. Instead, he finds something swimming in your eyes that would have terrified his soul had he met you years ago.

“Ner kar’ta,” Din moans into your ear as he rests up on his elbow before molding his lips with yours again. You don't know what any of the Mando’a means but you have a pretty good idea of what he’s trying to convey in that moment and you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer to you. When he lays back down and pulls you into his side, you can’t help but take one last look at the night sky, finding the stars shimmering behind the multitude of fireworks. You watch the different colors blend with each other, and you almost cry when you see the yellows and greens and blues mixing so beautifully together to create new gradients across the galaxy.

But none of them compared to the color of Din’s eyes. And you go to sleep dreaming of the moment those kind, dark, brown orbs captured your soul and whispered affections into your heart.

Translations

Mesh’la - beautiful Cyar’ika - beloved/darling Ad’ika - little one Usenye - go away Ner kar’ta - my heart

Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @vibin-hippie @marsplsstop @mouthymandalorian @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul

Din Djarin: @a--1--1--3 @tanzthompson

[waiting-for-motivation]

her scar

summary: As an equal member (Y/n) fights side by side with Clone Force 99, even though she is force sensitive. The clones have adopted her as their ad‘ika. But a dark shadow comes upon the galaxy as well as the squad.

request: Because Crosshair nearly snipped down my adopted by a clonetrooper child ( yes the child decided to become a clonetrooper ans the GAR let her ) and this child happens to be force sensitive. That’s what I’m looking for a fix where crosshair nearly order 66 a kid that looks up to him like the uncle he is. Give me sad. Give me angst ~ @dara-kell

pairings: Crosshair x Child!Reader, Echo, Tech, Hunter, Wrecker

warnings: angsty angst, ORDER 66, blood, injury, a child soldier!?

words: 1253

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

Execute Order 66.

A thick cloud of terrible thoughts fogs Crosshairs mind. The helmet he is wearing feels heavier than ever and almost suffocates him. His otherwise steady hands start to shake.

There is no other way. Good soldiers follow orders. He has to fulfil the order.

The other members of the Bad Batch, his brothers, continue to walk as if they haven‘t heard the order. Their ad‘ika (Y/n) is with them, holding onto Echos human hand. She is the first to notice Crosshairs absence. Her innocent eyes set on his shaking form and the sniper can feel them pierce through his armor. All of a sudden he rips the helmet from his head and takes a deep breath of fresh air.

"Cross?", her soft voice reaches his ears. She takes a step forward, but Echo holds her back. It’s not that he doesn‘t trust his brother with his life, but he can see Crosshairs finger wander to the trigger of his rife. Slowly the sniper raises his weapon.

Good soldiers follow orders.

The brown eyes of Crosshair scan (Y/n)s small form. Although she is wearing the same armor as the other members of Clone Force 99, there is no helmet protecting her head. But something inside Crosshair, the real Cross and (Y/n)s protector, stops him from shooting right in her face. This would destroy her innocence and cuteness. So he aims at the weakest spot of her armor - her collarbone.

Once again his name leaves her lips and then the sniper pulls the trigger. For a second he closes his eyes, avoiding seeing her lifeless body fall to the ground. But then he opens them and all his hesitation as well as pity is gone.

On time Echo managed to pull their ad‘ika aside and the blaster only grazed her cheek. Blood runs from the injury and tears follow, not because of her pain but the betrayal.

While Echo and Tech stay with (Y/n), Hunter and Wrecker run towards their brother. The Sergeant raises both his hands to show Cross he means no harm. But Wrecker stares at the sniper with so much anger in his eyes, at least he just tried to kill their little girl. They vowed to protect her at all cost, above all because she is force sensitive.

“Cross? What were you thinking?“, Hunter asks and stops a few feet in front of his brother. Their eyes meet but Crosshairs gaze is hollow and almost glazed. He has no answer for his Sergeant.

“Take her back to the ship!“, Hunter commands as he watches the sniper take a look at (Y/n). Both hands clutch the rife tighter. And there is no emotion in his expression.

“We have to comply. We have to kill her!“ That are the last words (Y/n) hears from her once loyal uncle before she gets dragged to the Havoc Marauder by Tech and Echo. Once in a while on their way she stops to look back, to look for Crosshair. But her never followed them.

Finally, they reach their ship. While Tech prepares everything for their departure, Echo carries their ad‘ika to her cot. There he drapes a blanket over her shaking form and starts collecting everything he needs to treat her wound. On his search he encounters Wreckers tooka doll and soon places it in (Y/n)s arms.

Like a true warrior (Y/n) lets Echo take care of her injury. From time to time she flinches but that‘s all she does. She is silent, too silent. Her mind is working hard on Crosshairs treason. No matter with what argument (Y/n) comes up, none of them make any sense. Why would her beloved uncle try to kill her? Doesn‘t he love her anymore? What happened to the sniper who was always at her side, who was always cuddling her to sleep?

Before Echo can encourage the little girl, Hunter and Wreckers heavy steps echo through the ship. Against Echos protest, (Y/n) jumps from her bed and towards the hatch of the ship, Lula in her left hand.

Hunters eyes widen the moment he senses the little girl coming towards them. He and Wrecker are carrying the unconscious Crosshair between them, each of his arms wrapped around their shoulders. (Y/n) stares at them shocked but also frightened.

“Hey, little one“, Hunter greets their adopted child and kneels down, letting Wrecker take their brother in a separate room. Despite Hunter being directly in front of (Y/n), her eyes follow Cross until he is out of sight. “Don‘t worry. He will soon be the old grumpy Crosshair again.“

“Why did he shoot me?“, (Y/n) asks with a shaky voice and takes the hand Hunter is extending. He feels warm and comforting. His free hand touches the skin under her injury. There is still a bit of blood on her face.

“To be honest, ad‘ika, we all got the command to execute the order 66. Whereas none of us understood what to do, Cross somehow knew. He said something about a betrayal of the Jedi and because you are...“, Hunter tries to explain but the tears in (Y/n)s eyes make it almost impossible for him to think straight. So he stops mid sentence and pulls the girl in a comforting hug. She sobs in his neck.

Some time passes where (Y/n) stays in the Sergeants arms and cries. He passes her to Wrecker who lays down with her while the ship jumps into hyperspace. Even though (Y/n) falls asleep in the arms of her huge uncle and with Lula pressed against her chest, she wakes up soon. A sound from another room wakes her.

Carefully (Y/n) leaves the shared bedroom of the Bad Batch and starts looking for the source of the sound. Soon she finds their closet where they usually keep their weapons. But the thing is: all the weapons are laying scattered around in the corridor. Then there is a muffled scream coming from inside so (Y/n) opens the door and faces the image of a chained Crosshair.

“What are you doing here?“, Cross asks derogatorily and with a rougher voice than normally. One of his hands is cuffed to a pipe. His wrist is already blue and purple because he is pulling desperately at the handcuff. But this sight doesn‘t stop (Y/n) from entering and walking closer to her uncle.

“Why did you do this?“, (Y/n) asks and points to the grazing shot which is patched up by small plasters. As Crosshair looks at what he did to his little girl, a wave of emotions overruns him. He has to close his eyes.

“Good soldier follow orders“, Cross whispers again and again and presses his free hand to the right side of his head. It hurts. His head hurts. But then all of a sudden all the pain seems gone because (Y/n) wraps her arms around her uncle. He could kill her easily now. But he doesn‘t want to.

“Go away, ad‘ika! I could kill you!“, the sniper screams anxiously and tries to push (Y/n) away, but she is holding too tightly onto him. He is surprised by how much the little one still trusts him. At least he tried to kill her only hours ago.

“I‘m so sorry“, Cross whimpers into (Y/n)s hair and wraps his free arm around the girl. She should not forgive him this easily, nor trust him ever again. But she does. Because he is family.

“It‘s okay, uncle Cross. Now I‘m as cool as Wolffe or Cody with my new scar!“

taglist: @lightning-wolffe @gwenebear @skippyhopperwisdom @jojos-trooper

[dinpascal]

All a Game — Din Djarin

warnings: (18+) language/dirty talk, rough sex (piv), oral (m+f), hair pulling, orgasm denial, (kind of) hate sex (piv)  summary: As a fellow Mandalorian, you find yourself traveling with the bounty hunter and his kid despite the mutual dislike you seem to have for one another. Everything goes well (more or less), until he nearly gets both of you killed. He gets tired of your mouth. 

He was infuriating. 

Originally you had given him the benefit of the doubt, when it came to the (stupid) helmet debacle. If you had lived a certain way for the high majority of your life, your beliefs and sense of self completely and thoroughly twisted a particular way, it was difficult to simply step away from that when presented with something different — something that completely contrasted with what you staked your life on. 

In other, simpler words, the silver Mandalorian’s response to your face was as expected. 

However, as his arrogant and you’re-beneath-me attitude continued, the less patience you could continue to muster. He and his beliefs were superior to you just because he kept an oversized tin can over his head at at times? Don’t think so. 

You were just as much a Mandalorian as him. 

Nevertheless, here you were. Abandoning Bo Katan and the others for him and the little green bean foundling under his care and protection. While you argued it was for his sake, as no Mandalorian should ever stand alone, you knew it was primarily because of Bo Katan herself. While experienced and cunning, you grew tired of their quest you never saw happening — the retaking of Mandalore. It was a child’s dream. One you were no longer interested in entertaining.

Traveling with the nearly-mute Mandalorian held quite the learning curve. Neither of you were too thrilled with the other (considering the stark difference in beliefs), but there was enough respect for one another to quietly exist around one another. He would occupy himself in the cockpit doing whatever he did up there, while you fed the Child and listened to his cooing and babbling, occasionally offering your own opinions on subjects. You doubted his adopted father encouraged conversation much at all, given he wasn’t much of a conversationalist himself.

While the pair slept in their tiny, shared compartment, you were a few feet away in your own that he had (surprisingly) made out of another compartment that had originally been acting as some sort of storage. The little green bean would occasionally sneak out of his hammock and make his way to yours, often snuggling between your arms and snuggling his little body to your chest. 

The three of you fell into a strangely comfortable arrangement, until he agreed to a certain bounty that, apparently, required the both of you. While you were not too keen to the guns-for-hire career he had undertaken, you understood the need to survive and instead stayed behind to watch the little one while he was out. 

“I don’t understand who you could possibly be hunting that you can’t take on your own.” You had begun slipping your armor on, which had previously taken estate in your personal storage; there was no need to wear it when the majority of your time was spent in or near the Razor Crest. You could hear him rustling with something behind you, though you focused on the faded-scarlet color painted on your armor. 

“They want them alive.” He stated simply, as if those four words completely and thoroughly explained the situation. You turned towards him then, eyes already rolling and an annoyed look sent in his general direction. There were only a few things you missed when it came to traveling with Bo Katan and the others — one of, if not the most major, being conversation. 

“What about the little one?”

He glanced in the Child’s direction, currently drawing in his notebook he had been given when your companion had come across it in the shops of Tattooine. “He’ll be fine. No one will be able to come on board.”

You sighed. Of the few things you truly disliked about the Mandalorian, one of them was that he treated the little one as older than he truly was. It didn’t matter that he was soon hitting his 51st birthday. He was mentally as old as a two-year old child. He didn’t truly understand the difference between safety and danger. He was still trying to grasp the whole concept of using the vacc tube.

You must have pulled a face then, as you caught a muffled sigh and one of your blasters being pushed into yours hands. “The sooner we get them, the sooner we can return.” You imagined he held your gaze as you looked at him, his words offering a semblance of comfort and security. “Let’s go.”

With a nod, you tucked your blasters into their respective holsters and kneeled in front of the little one. He immediately softly cooed in greeting, head raising and ears flicking in your direction. He held a red crayon in one hand, seemingly drawing a big, red dust cloud. “Hey, green bean. You stay on the ship, okay? No opening the doors and exploring without us.” He released a sound you knew to be one of disappointment (the same one he made when you said dinner was over), ears and head dropping as if being scolded. 

You smiled and touched his hand, heart fluttering as his three fingers curled around one of your own. “Draw your daddy a pretty picture, okay? We have to fill the entire cockpit.” He squealed at the idea, head dropping and resuming his drawing without another sound.

The sound of the airlock hissing open is what eventually tore you away.

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“Will you shut up?”

Your chest heaved as you forced oxygen into your lungs, currently behind the cover of a large tree and the Mandalorian a few feet away, seemingly doing the same as his chest rapidly rose and fell. You sent him a glare that spilled nothing but poison, wishing more than anything that he could see your face through your visor. “You’re the one who didn’t know the stupid bounty had a crew! It’s one against twenty!” You hissed, doing the utmost to ignore the burning in your shoulder. One had managed to a blaster shot in the tiny space between your armor and knew blood was no doubt staining the inside of it. At the back of your mind, you begrudgingly noted you’d have to paint the pretty armor again, once safe and sound in the ship. It was a painstakingly slow process. 

The Mandalorian apparently didn’t feel that comment deserved a response, as he merely glanced from cover to the enemy before them. Their footsteps were nearing closer, close enough to hear the shouts they shared between one another.

“You’re insufferable!” You stood and dug into your pouch, eventually coming across the tiny discs you had developed yourself and tossing them about the bushes. If anything were on your side in your current predicament, it was the flush greenery the planet held. It didn’t matter your armor’s coloring was a stark contrast, it was cover nonetheless.

Your companion was forced to follow your lead, the sound of his blaster sounding off and quickly followed by screams of pain. As an ugly blue-colored Quarren neared you, you kicked out a foot to knock his knee out from under him. 

It was official. You hated the Mandalorian. 

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“You could have gotten us killed.” He dragged the body of the bounty behind him, knocked out cold and his arms cuffed. The two of you had hardly spoken on the way back to the ship, though there was no shortage of dirty looks (from you) aimed at the back of his helmet. 

Per usual, there was no response from him as the ramp for the ship descended. 

“All for what? A few hundred credits?” Discarding your helmet and tossing it aside, you watched as he froze the bounty in carbonite. It was official — talking to a wall was more entertaining than talking to him. “There are hundreds of different ways to survive! But no, you have to do this bullshit?”

Abruptly and suddenly, as quick as a flash of lightning, he was standing just a breath from you. “If this lifestyle isn’t good enough for you princess,” he spat, “Then, by all means, get the fuck off my ship.”

You stared into his visor for a moment, resisting the urge to take a step back and away from the aura of anger and distaste he was exerting. While you certainly weren’t his biggest fan in the galaxy, you weren’t ignorant. You were more than aware of how capable this man was. Nonetheless, you knew you’d be able to hold your own against him. 

“And leave the kid with you?” You laughed, briefly enjoying the amount of sarcasm it dripped. “He’d be dead in a parsec.”

“I seem to remember how completely fine he was without you.” If you were being completely honest, that one hurt. You’d grown so attached to the little swamp rat and the idea of him being fine without you around made your stomach turn. 

“You’re an asshole.” There was a brief sound of static before he laughed. As if you had told a fucking joke. He leaned even closer then, arm raising to lean his weight against the wall behind you. Briefly, the smell of leather and something untamed filled your every sense. It was intoxicating, you wanted to drown in it until it was seared in your very brain. 

“Yeah?” He questioned, helmet dipped so low you could feel the coolness on your forehead. “Say it again.” He dared, a leather-covered hand inching up until his thumb touched your throat. It was nothing but a touch, but a thousand goosebumps blossomed at the contact alone. 

“You’re an...” The breath whooshed from your lungs as the touch left your throat and down to your hip, spun one-eighty and chest suddenly pressed against the wall of the Razor Crest. A bite of metal stung at your back, his beskar pressing into the divot between your own. He remained painfully silent, though deft fingertips began to explore the crevice between your back armor and the waistband of your pants. “Asshole.”

Before the word was out of your throat and past your lips, the buckle that kept your back and abdomen armor was released and the red armor was left clattering to the floor. Large hands were shoving at your trousers until they were loose at your ankles, unsure of just what was happening until a hand roughly grasped your ass, so tightly you were positive fingerprint marks were left behind. 

His touch returned to your neck, pulling you against his chest and causing the back of your head to painfully clash against his helmet. “You and that fucking mouth.” He murmured darkly, his own hips pressing against your bare skin. His length strained against his own slacks, offering a sick kind of relief that was anything but. It was a promise, but one you weren’t truly sure he would give — you knew he was enjoying the torment he was putting you through. “I’m going to shove my cock into that pretty mouth and make you shut up for once.”

You made a small noise at the back of your throat, purposely shoving your hips further against him. “Then do it.”

Before you could blink, you were spun once more and a leg skillfully kicked your own out from under you until you were on your knees. His visor was tilted low enough to know he was watching you, his head tilting just enough to say, “well?”. 

Without another thought, you were unclasping his slacks and releasing his cock. It sprung free wholeheartedly, his tip swollen a deep red and so pretty and so much. 

As if able to hear your thoughts, you caught the faint sound of amusement from him before his fingers curled into your hair and wrenched your head upwards so you were forced to meet his unseen gaze. “I think this is the longest you’ve ever been silent since we met, an’edee.” He took a short moment to trace his thumb over the nape of your head, securely and effectively collecting your hair into his fist. “Now, suck.”

You didn’t argue, lips falling open just in time for the slight jar he gave to your head towards his dick. He pushed no further than past his tip, giving you ample time to explore and appreciate. You did just that with silent glee, tongue swiping slow and languid laps, beginning at his shift and slowly upwards. He remained silent as you continued your slow exploration, the only indication that was he remotely affected being the slight twitch of his fingers in your hair. 

You lifted a hand to stroke his length with a lazy admiration, pushing your spit where your mouth had yet to touch... Yet. He was torturously thick and as your fingers traced the pulsing vein on the underside of him, he twitched and it seemed to surge forward on its own volition. As if it was attempting to push even more blood into his dick just to reach your mouth faster.

Nevertheless, he remained eerily but characteristically silent. 

You took him in your mouth once more, daring to take that much more and gently caressing what remained. It was hardly more than a caress, but enough to keep him interested and wanting. You set a slow, but steady pace, ferociously ignoring the fiery blaze that licked at your own heat. 

He stood there, still clad in his untouchable armor and blasters still in their holsters — untouchable. It didn’t matter his cock was in your mouth. He was still as much as in control as ever. 

It became a game. You wanted him to react. You wanted him to fall apart. 

Your gaze flickered back up to him as your pace quickened, more than aware that his own had never wavered from the sight of his cock steadily pumping into your hot mouth. You didn’t need to see through his darkened visor to know.

Just as you moved to caress one of his balls, still partially shielded by his slacks, he caught your wrist in a near-painful hold. A displeased growl echoed through his helmet, ripping you away from him and to your feet. You couldn’t help the wicked grin that settled on your lips, swiping your own spit from your bottom lip with a thumb. 

“You want to tease?” He questioned, one hand roughly guiding you to the table he tended to use as a make-shift worktable, bending you over it with ease while his other hand swiped for something against the wall. It wasn’t until the lights flickered shut and the sound of heavy metal clashing against metal stung at your ears, that you knew what was happening. 

He gave no warning as his tongue flirted between your folds, causing your body to naturally tighten at the abrupt intrusion. It was too good, too much, when there was little warning beforehand.

He lapped eagerly, rotating from languid, deep strokes of his tongue and abrupt, sharp sucking at your sensitive, singing clit. What his intentions were were incredibly clear. This wasn’t soft love between two people who loved one another. He was going to fuck you and tease your every limit, and make you love every fucking second of it. 

Each time your body would instinctively jump away, either from a harsh nip at your sensitive thighs or it simply being too much at once, an unforgiving hand would tighten its hold on your leg and drag you back to his mouth. 

In a matter of minutes, with his facial hair sharply biting at your skin and his unrelenting tongue, you were keening. However, he refused you any kind of release. The moment your thighs tightened or breath quickened, he would make a soft sound of amusement and deter his movements until your body sagged in anything but relief. 

At the third or fourth rotation of the infuriating game, you finally caved. “If you don’t let me fucking cum, I’m going to—,” He cut you off before you could finish, lifting himself up until his lips were touching the shell of your ear. 

“I thought you’d learned.” He used one hand to lick his fingers, rewetting his tip while the other caught you around your throat. Mid-breath, he impaled you with one thrust, seemingly unable to help his own gruff groan. “To keep that pretty mouth shut.” He breathed, using his grip at your throat to drag you back down with each thrust. 

A soft sound spilled from you each time his hips met your pelvic bone, promising you’d feel him for days, each time you moved. His pace was unrelenting, hardly ever giving you the time to even realize he was gone before he was thrusting back in. 

His teeth nipped at your ear as he fucked you near senselessly, quickly and nearly effortlessly drawing the orgasm you’d been begging for once more. “You like this, don’t you? Being fucked like this.” A string of profanities fell from you then, so fucking close and wanting to cum so badly. If he were to give it to you, you would have given him anything. 

“Want to cum, pretty thing?” He questioned, the lewd sounds of your fucking only worsening as he continued. “Beg for it.”

You did so without question. “Please, please, please—” A sharp sound from your throat cut you off, just as his free hand circled your clit once and you swore you saw the heavens above. Your orgasm was ripped out of you, squeezing yourself so tight around him, his grasp on your throat loosened and his forehead fell against your shoulder. 

He came with a low grunt, pulling out from your warmth and spilling on your back. He stood unmoving for the faintest of moments, as if aware you still hadn’t returned to the present just yet. 

You released a shaky breath and touched your forehead to the cool metal underneath you. “Well, fuck Mando. You’ve been holding out on me.”

He instantly sighed and you imagined the curt shake of his head. “That fucking mouth.” 

[gospelofme]

Clone Dads and the Weird/Creepy Things Their Kids Say.

Clone x female reader

It was late at night and Kix was driving back to his in-laws. You and kids were asleep, having tuckered themselves out at the lake. The road was quiet, his in-laws lived out in the middle of nowhere. Forest and farm fields on either side.

They passed an old, abandoned house and he glanced at the mirror and could see his youngest daughter, Louise (named after his mother-in-law), waving out the window.

“What are you waving at baby?”

“The clown that was in there.”

“......oh.” Kix made a mental note to never go down this road again.

————

Sipping his second cup of caf, Wolffe walked by the kitchen table, his 6 year old daughter Mira was hard at work on a drawing. He watched her coloring and looked at the drawing.

“Who’s that?” He asked.

“That’s me in my bed!” She replied, looking for another color.

“And who’s that?” He asked, pointing at a man she had drawn. Thinking maybe she’d say him.

“That’s the man that watches me while I sleep.” She said this in the most casual, unconcerned way ever.

“........who?” Wolffe frowned, trying to keep his voice unconcerned.

“He watches me from the closet. Sometimes he gets really close to my face, but I just tell him to go away and he disappears.”

“Uh huh.”

Wolffe scanned all the security footage of the house, focusing intently on the cameras in his girls rooms. He had Mira’s room, Jailyn’s room, and Fern’s room displayed on the screen. No one else came in, besides just him or his wife checking on them. And nothing was ever near the closet. None of the security alarms had been tripped either or he’d have known it immediately.

You walked through the door with groceries, spotting your husband with an Arsenal laid out on the table.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Wolffe said causally, cleaning his blaster rifle, night vision scope attachment on the table. He spent the night sitting on the foot of Mira’s bed, armored and helmeted, with a blaster rifle on his lap just in case.

————

Fives looked up from his datapad, glancing at his son as he played on the family room floor.

“Here, some for you and some for me.” His son said, divvying up blocks.

“Who are you playing with buddy?”

“My friend Tevyn.” Darr replied.

“Oh, cool.” Fives didn’t understand imaginary friends, but you had said they were normal.

Later that day, he was walking with Darr on the way home from getting ice cream.

“Bye Tevyn!” Darr said, waving to the air.

“Where is he going bud?” Fives asked.

“Home.” Darr replied, pointing to the cemetery.

Later that night, you and Fives sat in bed scrolling through your datapads.

“He probably was pointing next to the cemetery.” You said, trying to sound reasonable. You kept scrolling through the register of those buried in that particular cemetery.

“To what?!” Fives asked incredulously.

“Sssshhhh!” You shushed him.

“The other half of the cemetery?!” Fives whispered with the same incredulous tone.

————

Kix was enjoying a quiet evening with Wolffe, drinking beer and watching a bolo ball match. He looked over at his wife, you were gabbing away with Wolffe’s wife about some crazy police case.

Five of the kids were sitting around the kitchen table playing a game (Jenga). Kix’s newest daughter, Louise, was busy suckling at her mother’s breast.

“I’m glad the kids are getting along.” Kix said during a commercial break.

“Yeah, I was worried my girls would convince Kaia to gang up on Jesse.” Wolffe nodded.

“Oh there’s still time for that.” Kix shrugged.

“Why are celebrities so famous?” Kaia asked at the table. Fern suddenly slammed her hands on the table,

“BECAUSE THE ILLUMINATI!! THAT’S WHY!!” She declared. Kaia considered this and nodded.

“Yes, that makes sense.” She agreed.

Wolffe and Kix looked at each other, then at their wives who shrugged.

“We have no idea where she picked that up. I suspect it was Hardcase, but he has so far denied it.” Wolffe said, popping a snack in his mouth.

————

“So I heard your friend was in the hospital. Is he okay?” Jesse asked his son over dinner.

“Yeah, he had to have surgery.” The boy replied, poking at his carrots.

“Oh, why?” You asked, pausing from making a funny face to get your other son to eat his food.

“I think it’s because he swallowed chewing gum and it got stuck in his heart or something.” Your son replied.

“Um, honey I don’t think-“ you were about to reply when the baby suddenly spit his food out all over your face and lekku. Your husband and son bursted into laughter.

“What the?!” You muttered, looking at Jesse. The baby laughed while watching his father laugh.

“Sorry babe, I was trying to make faces at him to get him to open his mouth for you and...I guess he found it too funny.”

————

Rex walked by his sons room where they had been playing with dolls he had brought them from a deployment. They seemed to be discussing something but they were talking too quietly. He didn’t want to spy, so he shrugged and let them go about their playtime.

He walked passed again just in time to hear his 5 year old declare,

“The holonet is a liar!! Babies don’t come from there!! It’s when mommy and daddy are really happy! Not a bunch of worms eating a bouncy ball!!”

“What?” His 7 year old replied, sounding baffled.

Rex hurried back into the living room where you were relaxing with a glass of wine.

“Hey hon, um....I think Gregor saw more than we had thought...”

“Motherffu-“

“Mommy! Can you tell me where I came from!!” Gregor yelled as he marched into the room.

————

Cody didn’t have children yet. But he and his wife were discussing the possibility. They often babysat the kids of the other soldiers for practice. He would’ve thought they’d be apprehensive, but they all quickly took him up on the offer.

That made him a little uncomfortable, but he was up to the challenge. One evening he had offered to watch Wolffe’s girls while he and his wife went out on a date. It was rare that Wolffe asked him to watch his kids, but Cody had passed the rigorous questionnaire and interview. He felt like he had leveled up then.

“We’ll be back at 11pm, make sure they’re in bed by 8pm please.” You said as Wolffe ushered you out the door, giving your rear a playful slap.

“Thanks again Cody.” Wolffe said, smiling. But his eyes held that deep threat that said, I’ll skin you alive and wear you as a robe if anything happens to my babies. Cody believed it too.

His wife arrived a little while later to help after she got off work.

“Wow!! Your eyes are so pretty!!” Mira said, grabbing your face.

“Oh! Haha, thank you.” You replied, not used to having a small child staring so intently into your eyes.

“I want to wear them on my charm bracelet.” She whispered. You tried to make the smile on your face not look freaked out.

“Oh, heh heh...well, um...thanks?” You replied.

“You’re welcome!” Mira said happily, bounding away to go play with her sisters.

You and Cody shared a look.

“Maybe it’s because Wolffe has a cybernetic eye?” You offered. Cody didn’t reply.

Later, after the girls were fed, you watched Cody play a video game with them. The dancing program tracked their movements, requiring that they perform dance moves well enough to earn points. You giggled as they all tried to mess each other up. Cody was better with kids than he thought, you realized.

Eventually the girls were tucked into bed and asleep, you and your husband relaxed on the sofa and waited for Wolffe and his wife to come home.

“I want kids more now!” You said, giving Cody a kiss.

“Oh? Want to practice making them later?” Cody asked. You giggled.

“Only if you shake your butt like you did earlier!”

————

Rex walked into the house, removing his helmet with a sigh. He could hear the kids playing and giggling down the hall in the family room. He placed the helmet on a table by the entrance to the family room.

“Daddy’s home!!” You announced, standing up and falling dramatically into your husbands arms.

“Oh honey, it’s been so tiring all day. I’ve been promoted to Queen so I’ve had to Knight all the toys.” You said regally. Rex laughing.

“And behead some!!” Orvin said, you nodded.

“Oh, well can I kiss the Queen?”

“Ooooohhh, you may!” You replied, accepting a kiss from your armored Knight.

“Ewww, mom move so I can hug dad!” Orvin said, squeezing between you two. Rex picked up his oldest son easily, but still acted like it was a challenge.

“Oh!! Gregor, come tell Daddy what you have on your face!” You called, suppressing a giggle. Rex gave you a confused look as his youngest son came running up. He had his fingers held under his chin, dangling and wiggling them. Rex picked up Gregor as well, one kid on each hip.

“What’s that supposed to be?” He asked with an amused smile.

“A beard of testicles!!!!”

“A beard...of....of what?”

“Testicles daddy!!!” Gregor wiggled his fingers more noticeably. He heard you snort with laughter. It clicked.

“Tentacles kiddo! Tentacles!!” Rex clarified.

“Yeah!!! Testicles!!!” Gregor repeated.

“Well, we’ll work on that pronunciation.”

Tag list

@simping-for-fives @jgvfhl @carlycrays @nelba

@leias-left-hair-bun @baby-queen-zen @halzore

@porgnugget @escapedthesarlacc

[hearts-hunger]

aay’han mar’eyce (bittersweet discovery): chapter four || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

chapter one || chapter two || chapter three

Series Summary: In search of the Jedi you’ve been tasked to find, you and Din wrestle with the bittersweet discovery of your little one’s past and destined future. || Part Three of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: Grogu shows Ahsoka his powers, and Din makes a decision that rocks your little family.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff | Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, pregnant reader, brief morning sickness

A/N: Hello!!! Bet y’all wondered if I’d ever come back to this series! Of course, I could never abandon Mr. and Mrs. Djarin - I merely needed to let my muse gather her thoughts. I’m very excited to be writing for this series again, and I hope it’s worth the wait!

Kriff, you’d forgotten how uncomfortable it was to sleep on the ground.

Your little one seemed no worse for wear; after a last snuggle in the cradle of your arms, he toddled off of your lap and happily chased a lizard across the ground. 

You and Din indulged in a few minutes of commiseration as you set to making a simple breakfast of portion bread, sharing a few bites with your little one whenever he could be coaxed away from chasing the critters he found. Din sat next to you, lifting the bottom of his helmet to eat; it was too risky to take it off when he wasn’t absolutely assured it was only you and your baby watching. 

“You don’t ever sleep with your helmet on anymore,” you observed. You knew he must have many times while on a hunt, but most nights found him asleep in your bunk with no armor on.

“No, thank the Maker,” he agreed. His morning voice was impossibly deep through his vocoder. “It’s fine to have on during the day, but it’s a little annoying to sleep in. It’s like sleeping with your boots on.”

You stroked your fingers over the shiny beskar; it would be smudged with dust by the time you got back to the Crest, and it would need a good polishing.

“At least your morning voice is even deeper,” you teased.

He chuckled, and the sound was so gravelly that you flushed. 

“You like it, hm?” he asked, knowing full well the effect he had on you. You gave his shoulder a light shove, and he laughed; you drank in the sound of it and the feel of him next to you.

“Ad’ika,” Din called when your baby had wandered a little too far. Grogu responded to the nickname as easily as he had his own name the night before, and you felt a bit of relief and comfort that he was just as familiar with your name for him as his given name.

“Come back over here,” Din said, crooking a finger. “You know better than to wander off.”

With a slightly disgruntled coo, your baby came back closer to you and contented himself with collecting as many little rocks and pebbles as he could fit in his tiny hands. One would tumble out as soon as he found another one, and you smiled at his diligence in collecting them.

Din stood, stretching a little as he did, a soft groan coming through the modulator. "I’m too old for this.”

He offered his hand and helped you to your feet, and you suddenly felt a twinge of morning sickness. 

“I’m too pregnant for this,” you said with a weak laugh.

Din’s whole demeanor changed as he stepped closer and hovered around you. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

You huffed a laugh and closed your eyes. “I’m fine, honey,” you said patiently. You would never have characterized your husband as a nervous man, but this pregnancy had brought out a fair bit of anxiety in him, and he fussed at every little thing.

“Morning sickness?” he asked, offering you his arm to lean on.

You nodded and steadied yourself against him. “It’ll pass.”

“Hey,” he said suddenly. You heard him rifle through something, probably the pocket on his belt. “I have some of those Kismet biscuits you liked on Nevarro. Would that help?”

You opened your eyes to see a slightly crumpled packet of honey-colored cookies in his outstretched hand.

“You... you got more of those?” you asked. Cara and Greef had given you the grand tour of the city, and you’d had morning sickness then too - at Cara’s suggestion, you got Kismet biscuits and nibbled on them until your rocky stomach settled. 

Din shrugged. “I thought they might be good to keep handy. I talked to a nurse droid at the school, and she said there wasn’t much you could do for morning sickness, but maybe these will help.”

You softened. “You talked to a nurse droid for me?”

He cocked his head. “Yeah.” He seemed to think it was a little thing, but it wasn’t a little thing to you. You knew how uneasy it must have made him to talk to a droid, even a nurse droid, but he’d done it for you. He’d also cared enough to pay attention to what helped and what didn’t, and to keep it on hand. You could just imagine your tough Mandalorian husband double-checking everything before you left the Crest - rifle, blaster, vibroblade, cookies for his wife’s morning sickness. You smiled at the thought.

“What?” he asked, amused.

You shook your head. “Nothing.” You took the packet from his outstretched hand and gave him an intentional smile. “Thank you for getting these for me, love.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”

“You know what else would make me feel better?” you asked.

You could almost see his smile. “What’s that?”

You tapped your forehead. “A kiss, please.”

He chuckled and obliged you, resting his helm against your head for a moment. The beskar was nice and cool against your skin and helped ease your headache.

“Take it easy for a bit, ok?” he said when he pulled back from you. “I’m going to try and find Ahsoka and ask her what kind of tests she has in mind.”

He sounded a little uneasy at the thought, and you didn’t blame him. You weren’t sure what kinds of tests would be necessary to determine the extent of your son’s powers or previous training, and you resolutely refused to let him do anything that would hurt him.

But, it was early yet, and you were determined to make the best of this. You gave Din’s chest plate a comforting pat before you fished out one of the Kismet biscuits and broke off a piece of it, popping it in your mouth.

“Is that helping at all?” he asked.

Actually, it was - the sharp, bittersweet taste made the morning sickness fade to a dull racket.

“Yeah, it is,” you said. “And they’re good, too. Thank you again.”

He chuckled. “You’re welcome, again.” He touched a few fingers to your cheek in parting as he stepped around you to hunker down to your son’s level. Grogu abandoned his collection of rocks and gave his daddy uppy arms, cooing happily.

“Hi, buddy,” Din said sweetly, and you could hear his smile. He took Grogu in his arms and stood. “Be good for mama, ok? I’ll be back in a little bit with the nice lady, and then you can show her your powers.”

Grogu’s ears perked up, and he babbled a response.

“I know, it’s exciting,” Din said. “You need to be on your best behavior, and mind your manners.”

You smiled. That was your husband’s go-to philosophy for raising kids - before anything else, teach them to be respectful and to mind their manners. You liked it, and the admonition had become part of your parenting vocabulary as soon as Grogu came to be with you.

Your little one gave an affirmative coo, and Din gently rubbed the tip of your baby’s ear between his gloved fingers.

“Okay. Go see mama.” Din handed your baby to you. “Be right back, cyare.”

You and Grogu waved to him as he left; even though Din would be back shortly, your baby always waved bye if someone put so much as two feet of distance between them. Din secretly loved it, and always made a point to wave back whether he was really leaving or not.

You sat on a fallen tree trunk and held your baby in your lap, and he gave a happy babble when you took another cookie from the packet for him. You put the rest in your pocket, hoping you wouldn’t need them later; you were feeling better with the cool breeze on your face. Most of the smog from the city was cleared away this far into the woods, and the forest was a little greener too; you wished you could have seen it in all its glory, before the magistrate had ordered it destroyed.

Grogu looked up at you, giving a soft chirp as he cocked his head. You smiled.

“Hi, my love,” you cooed. “You like your cookie?”

He held up his treat and grinned; you gave an affectionate laugh and brushed your fingers over his ear.

“I love you, Grogu,” you said. “And daddy loves you. And no matter what happens with these tests, your daddy and I are so proud of you.”

You hoped he understood you; if he didn’t understand the words, you hoped the tone of your voice told him how much you loved him. Ashoka wanted to test his powers, to see how much he remembered of his Jedi training - would she be disappointed if he didn’t know enough? You knew your little one was never more upset than when you or Din expressed disappointment when he got into mischief or disobeyed. It was especially noticeable with Din: your husband could scold from sunup to sundown and it wouldn’t really make a difference to your baby, but as soon as Grogu heard that shift from frustrated to disappointed in Din’s voice, he was immediately chastised and apologetic, and wanted assurances that Din loved him. 

Your husband would scoop your little one up and remind him he was loved despite the trouble he’d gotten into. Din had told you that his father had dealt with him the same way when he was a youngling, and he had always been thankful for the compassion that accompanied the chastisement. You never got the chance to meet Din’s Mandalorian father; he died before you knew Din, but Din spoke of him with great affection and respect and often said he would have loved you and the baby. You wished you could have known him and told him how proud you were of the man he’d raised.

You knew Din would be crushed when your baby left. Being a father was everything to him, and he was so good at it - he loved Grogu more than anything, and even among Mandalorians he was known for the lengths he’d gone to in order to keep his child safe. Din would let Grogu go with Ahsoka if that was what was best for him, you knew that without a doubt; he would never stand in the way of what his son needed and deserved. 

And yet, the pain of losing him would be unbearable for both of you, a gap that nothing would be able to fill. Your new baby was a blessing and an incredible joy to both of you already, but you sometimes wondered if that joy would be overshadowed by the grief of losing Grogu, or if you would feel guilty loving your new baby when you missed your first so badly.

You brushed crumbs from Grogu’s shirtfront and touched a few fingers to his cheek.

“You’re gonna do great, ad’ika,” you said, trying to infuse your voice with confidence and excitement even if you felt more like crying. “Just... show Ahsoka what you know. Daddy and I are excited to see what you learned at Jedi school.”

He waved his hand in front of him.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you said with a gentle laugh. “The magic hand thing, just like Uncle Greef said.”

He looked pleased that he’d made you laugh and cooed up at you. He babbled something for a moment before he turned and looked towards the direction of Ahsoka’s camp; you’d heard footsteps too, and you saw the telltale shine of beskar through the dense trees.

“Alright,” you said quietly, holding him close as you stood. “Don’t be nervous, okay?”

He looked up at you with an expression that made you question if that reminder had been more for you or for him, and you kissed his head.

“Fine, I’ll try not to be nervous either.”

You followed Din and Ahsoka as they came through the trees and cut through to a raised portion of the clearing. A verdant carpet of moss covered the ground and crept up the stones, springy against the soles of your boots; Din went first up the rise and offered you a hand up.

Ahsoka turned to you and offered you a smile, genuine if not a little crooked, like she hadn’t had occasion to smile in a long time. You returned it and felt a little more at ease, angling Grogu towards her as she came closer.

“Let’s see what knowledge is lurking inside that little mind,” she said, tapping your baby’s nose. He cooed at her and her smile grew wider; your little one had always had the talent of drawing out smiles from people who’d long since forgotten how it felt.

She gestured to a small, flat stone and stepped a few paces from it. You set Grogu down, giving him a little pat of reassurance, and came to stand beside your husband. Both of you were nervous, jittery; Din hid it better than you did, and took your hand in his own to try and steady you with the gentle pressure.

Ahsoka picked a stone from the ground and held it out to Grogu. You watched in fascination as the stone drifted from her palm towards him, landing in his outstretched paws.

“Now return the stone to me, Grogu,” she said, and you were surprised at how gentle she was. He didn’t make a move to send the stone back, though, and you suppressed the urge to say something.

Your husband couldn’t help it. “He doesn’t understand.”

“He does,” she corrected. She looked back at your little one.

“It’s ok,” she said. “The stone, Grogu.”

You bit your lip and waited for your baby to do as she said, wondering if he was nervous, hoping he wasn’t intimidated. Din tilted his head towards Ahsoka in encouragement.

Grogu let the stone fall from his hands, and he looked so discouraged that you knew he hadn’t done it to spite anyone. You hated trying to perform under pressure and always ended up doing a worse job than you would have if no one had been watching you, and you couldn’t help but think your son was feeling the same way. You were all circled around him, after all, watching in silence for him to do something amazing; the pressure had to be uncomfortable, and you wished there was something you could do to ease it. 

You watched as Ahsoka knelt in front of him, taking his little hand in hers. He didn’t meet her eyes.

“I sense much fear in you,” she said softly. A thread of worry pulled taut in you. What was your little one afraid of?

He did look up at her then, and realization flickered across Ahsoka’s face as they communicated in the way only they could understand. You wished you didn’t feel so jealous.

“He’s hidden his abilities to survive over the years,” Ahsoka said, looking up at you and Din. She stood and paced a few steps, thinking; you offered your little one an encouraging smile, hoping to ease whatever fear he felt.

“Let’s try something else,” she said. “Come over here.”

Din nodded towards Ahsoka again, urging your little one to do as she said; when he didn’t, Din shook his head.

“He’s stubborn,” Din said, and you were a little surprised at the hint of affection and amusement in his voice. While disobedience wasn’t a Mandalorian trait, stubbornness most certainly was, and it seemed your husband walked a fine line when it came to your little one’s unwillingness to comply.

 Your little one was like his dad in a lot of ways; he’d picked up certain traits of Din’s, like the questioning tilt of his head, and was very attuned to Din’s moods in a way he wasn’t with yours. You didn’t mind how close they were - in fact, it was one of the things you liked best, seeing how much Grogu loved his dad and wanted to be like him.

Ahsoka seemed to see the bond between them; she looked from Din to his son, reading the communication of fondness and gentle exasperation from one to the other.

“Not him,” she told Din. “You. I want to see if he’ll listen to you.”

Din seemed to close in on himself, suddenly nervous and hesitant.

“That would be a first,” he said, and you knew him well enough to hear the edge of defensiveness and warning to his voice. Din was open and warm and comfortable with you and your baby, but it was very hard for him to be vulnerable around others, and you knew he felt nervous at the thought of his bond with Grogu being the center of attention.

He did as she said, though, and stepped over to her. Ahsoka gave him a soft smile. 

“I like firsts,” she said. “Good or bad, they’re always memorable.”

You watched as she placed the stone in his hand.

“Now hold the stone out in the palm of your hand,” she said. “Tell him to lift it up.”

Din’s body language spoke of his discomfort, and he shifted his weight onto the other foot.

“Alright, kid,” he said. “Lift the stone.” His tone was oddly detached even considering his nervousness, and you felt wanted to tell Ahsoka this wasn’t how Din talked to him normally, to explain that Din was never this uncomfortable with affection. She seemed to understand, and a touch of sympathy softened her expression.

“Grogu,” she reminded him, knowing he knew his baby’s name but hoping to coax out that affection she’d seen earlier. Din set his shoulders and held the stone out again.

“Grogu,” he said, and your little one’s ears perked up. “Come on, take the stone.”

Again, your baby made no move to take it; the set of Din’s shoulders was taut with frustration and something a little like fear.

“You see?” he said to Ahsoka, tossing the stone to the ground. “I told you, he’s stubborn.”

There was no pride or amusement in his voice that time, and you realized with a wave of sympathy that it was more than just Din’s natural shyness that was making this so hard for him. Din knew as well as you did that if your little one did well enough with these tests, Ahsoka might decide to train him.

“Try to connect with him,” she said, and you knew Din would rather do anything else. To have his connection with his son be the very thing that could bring about their separation - you knew it was painful for him, and he was desperate to control it, somehow, even if that meant closing himself off.

“Din,” you said, before you could stop yourself. He looked over at you, tilting his head in question, undoubtedly studying your face. You searched for something to say to encourage him, to offer him comfort in a way that stayed between the two of you.

“Ne chaabar, cyare,” you said. Your Mando’a was rusty as best, but you knew that phrase from how often he’d said it to you - do not be afraid, beloved. You hoped he knew everything you were trying to tell him: I’m sorry, I love you, I’m worried too. It’s okay.

The set of his shoulders relaxed. He didn’t respond to you verbally, but his body language spoke volumes, as it always did: he looked more steady, less hesitant. He sighed as he looked back to your son, both of them tilting their heads at each other.

Din reached into the pocket of his belt and pulled out the gear shift handle, the thing tiny in his big hands. You softened and felt the strangest sort of ache in your chest. Din knew his little boy, and you knew Grogu would finally do as he was told if it meant getting to play with his dad.

“Grogu,” Din said, much gentler and more playful than he had before. He hunkered down and held the ball between two fingers. “Do you want this?”

Your baby’s expression was completely transformed, his eyes wide with wonder and excitement, his ears perked all the way up. He made grabby hands towards the ball, and you couldn’t help a smile.

“Well, go ahead,” Din encouraged. “That’s right, take it. Come on.”

Grogu looked curiously at Din, perhaps trying to puzzle out why he was able to have it now when he hadn’t been allowed to before.

“You can have it,” Din assured him. “Come on.”

So quickly you almost missed it, your baby used his powers to pull the ball from Din’s hand and catch it in his own.  

“Good job!” Din said, genuine excitement and pride in his voice. “Good job, kid!”

He stood and looked over at you. “You see that?”

You nodded and gave him a glowing smile. You were happy, but Din was ecstatic; he was so proud of his little boy, and Grogu beamed when Din knelt in front of him.

“That’s right,” Din said, taking the ball when Grogu offered it to him. “I knew you could do it. Very good.”

Your baby held onto his dad’s finger and cooed happily at him, and you knew Din was smiling under the helm.

You glanced at Ahsoka; she seemed hesitant, of all things, and you felt a sting of worry.

“He’s formed a strong attachment to you,” she said, her tone unreadable. Then, after a moment, “I cannot train him.”

You and Din spoke at the same time. “What?”

Din stood and approached Ahsoka as you moved to pick your baby up, a thousand emotions running through you at what she’d said. I cannot train him. A bigger part of you than you wanted to admit had been hoping for that very answer.

“Why not?” Din demanded. His tone was tight with frustration and confusion, vastly different from his earlier expression of happiness; Grogu read the change easily and gave a quiet, distressed coo.

“Shh, ad’ika,” you said softly. “Daddy’s not angry with you.”

“You’ve seen what he can do,” Din said to Ahsoka, gesturing to his son. Grogu cuddled closer to you.

“His attachment to you makes him vulnerable to his fears,” Ahsoka said firmly. “His anger.”

Nothing could have been more distinct from the Mandalorian way of life, where family bonds were a source of strength. Though you could tell it had taken Din off guard too, he merely shook his head, unwilling to argue.

“All the more reason to train him,” he insisted.

“No,” Ahsoka said, her expression wide with unease and hurt like a wounded thing. “I’ve seen what such feelings can do to a fully trained Jedi knight. To the best of us.”

Her pain was raw, but your sympathy struggled to overcome the concern her words elicited in you. What feelings? Affection? Love? You balked at the idea of sending your son to train with people who considered a child’s bond with their parent to be dangerous, something that inevitably led to ruin and loss.

“I will not start this child down that path,” she said, and despite everything, you felt it was out of some curious sense of concern for Grogu’s well-being. You wondered if she ever questioned Jedi teaching. “Better to let his abilities fade.”

You wanted to protest, to challenge her supposed responsibility to her vow - didn’t Jedi take care of their own? And yet, you knew nothing of the Jedi way of life; your notions about honor and accountability came from your own upbringing and the Mandalorian Way. She may not be bound to help your little one at all.

Besides, you didn’t want her to train him. You’d known from the moment you set foot on this planet that you didn’t want him taken from you to train, and this new understanding of the Jedi way rooted that even more deeply in your heart.

“I’ve delayed too long,” she said, cutting off any further debate. “I must get back to the village.”

She walked to the edge of the  rise, intending to leave without another word; your baby gave a sad coo as he watched her go. You looked over to your husband, wordlessly asking what you should do.

He looked to Ahsoka. “The Magistrate sent me to kill you.”

Your eyes widened and Ahsoka stilled, his words having the intended effect. He stepped towards her. 

“I didn’t agree to anything,” he said as she turned to face him. “And I’ll help you with your problem, if you see to it that Grogu is properly trained.”

You flushed with surprise and anger.

“Din,” you said sharply. He kept his gaze on her but held a hand out your way, and you couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be placating or silencing. Either way, you had to bite your tongue from yelling every curse you knew in Basic and Mando’a at your husband.

Ahsoka looked from Din to you, undoubtedly reading the tension between you.

“Very well,” she said after a moment, her need for assistance outweighing her apprehension in training your son. “I cannot train him. I will not. But, in exchange for your help, I will try and find someone who will.”

“Thank you,” Din said, and you couldn’t believe how relieved he sounded. “We’ll need to return to my ship. I need supplies, and I’m not taking my wife and child back into that city.”

Any other day you might have thought his protectiveness was endearing, but all you felt at the moment was the distinct, infuriating sense of being completely ignored. It was so unlike Din that you were almost concerned, but anger and incredulity outweighed any other feeling. You would have bet your life you and Din had come to the same conclusion about letting your son train with the Jedi after hearing her refusal and the reason behind it. That you hadn’t - obviously - left you reeling.

No matter. Ahsoka and Din would have to go through you to get Grogu and ship him off to train with the Jedi, and if nothing else brought them pause, surely that would.

Ahsoka nodded. “Lead the way.”

Din looked to you then, his body language clearly hesitant. Good, you thought bitterly. Let him fear the worst about what was going on in your head. You certainly weren’t of any mind to ease his discomfort, not when he’d so blatantly ignored you earlier. You weren’t going to confront him, at least not now - the last thing you wanted was to have a fight with your husband in front of Ahsoka, and both of you made it a point not to argue in front of your baby.

“Let’s go,” you said curtly.

A quiet sigh slipped through his modulator, and you could just imagine the downward pull of his brow as he frowned. He started in the direction of the Crest, and Ahsoka quickly followed.

As you walked, you kept some distance between you and your husband as Ahsoka drew him into a conversation of strategy for their attack on the city. Despite yourself, you missed his steady presence beside you; not even your anger with him could erase your desire to have him near. You held Grogu close and drew in on yourself, bitter and hurt, tuning out most of what they said as your own thoughts gnawed at you.

How could Din want your son to train with her, or with any other Jedi? How could he offer to risk his life to secure it? If your son’s powers came at the cost of his ability and freedom to love, you’d gladly let them fade. You couldn’t believe Din thought otherwise. Even more than your anger with him was your confusion, a desperate need to ask him what in the galaxy he could be thinking. 

Your husband wasn’t a foolish man. He had never been given to thoughtless, reckless decisions, and in your marriage, he had never made a habit of making decisions without asking for your input. That he had now, especially about something as important as your son’s future and his own life, was a stunning blow. You were hurt and dismayed at how disconnected you felt from him; by his own actions, he’d separated himself from you, and you had rarely felt a deeper wound.

So consumed were you with your own thoughts that you didn’t notice Din had stopped walking until you nearly crashed into him. You instinctively put a hand to his back to steady yourself; when he looked back at you, you snatched your hand back like you’d been burned.

“Don’t underestimate the Magistrate either,” Ahsoka was saying. You’d failed to follow the first part of their conversation and couldn’t say you were sorry to have missed it.

Din tore his gaze from you and looked back at Ahsoka. “Who is she? She offered me a staff of pure beskar to kill you.”

Ahsoka crossed her arms over her chest, an almost smug expression crossing her features at the high death-price she warranted. 

“Morgan Elsbeth,” she said. “During the Clone Wars, her people were massacred. She survived and let her anger fuel an industry which helped build the Imperial Starfleet. She plundered worlds, destroying them in the process.”

Din looked around you at the barren forest. “Yeah, it looks like she’s still in business.”

Ahsoka fixed Din with a questioning gaze. “When you were in the city, did you see any prisoners?”

Din nodded. “We saw three villagers strung up just outside the inner gate.”

Despite your own turmoil, you shuddered at the memory and held Grogu closer.

“We must find a way to free them,” Ahsoka said. You knew it had already occurred to your husband that those prisoners needed to be saved; he had probably already planned out how they should do it.

All three of you stood in silence for a moment, thinking about the upcoming attack on the city.

“A Mandalorian and a Jedi?” Din mused. “They’ll never see it coming.”

You resisted the urge to say something childish along the lines of No, how could they? Not even your own wife could have seen it coming. You still had a long way to go before you reached the Crest, and you weren’t keen to make the tension in your party any more difficult to bear than it already was. 

You dutifully trudged along behind them as they started fine-tuning their strategy, the steady rhythm of your walking eventually lulling your baby to sleep. You had to accept Din’s help every so often as the terrain grew unwieldy; as soon as you were steady again, he let you go. Part of you was glad his touch didn’t linger. The other part of you wanted him to keep your hand in his even when you didn’t need his help; maybe then you could have been a way of being close to you, loving you, instead of just being a responsibility he felt obliged to uphold.

You felt as though the forest threatened to swallow you without your husband by your side, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so terribly lonely.

Read chapter five!

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[soggy-platee]

What Do We Do Now?- Chp. 4

Rating: M

Pairing: Din x Fem!Reader

Summary: Din learns more about you.

Note: All chapters are on ao3, just posting here if anyone likes it on Tumblr better! Ao3 here.

You had learned several things since taking off. Mainly, that the child was incredibly interested in you.

From the moment the Mandalorian, Mando, as you heard Peli call him, had brought him aboard, he had been desperately trying to get to you.

Still magnetized to the side of the ship, you had managed to slide your cuffs down far enough so you could sit on the floor, not comfortably, you noted, but still able to. The child had managed to squirm his way over to you for the second time in the several hours you had been flying, pulling on your pant leg in a desperate bid for attention. You offered him a small smile, hoping to convey that your hands were tied. Literally. He babbled at you and you feigned interest, quizzically tilting your head and nodding as he vocalized. He squealed in delight at your actions, which alerted his less adorable, just as mysterious father to his location.

A loud thud sounded as the Mandalorian dismounted the ladder from the cockpit, head jerking toward the location of the child at your feet. He huffed loudly and stalked over to you, reaching down and picking up the child with a carefulness that almost made you think he had a soul under all that metal. Almost.

He was still bringing you to your death, no matter how attractive he was or how cute his kid could be.

You had been trying to rectify your situation in your head as you flew. Maybe that old bastard wouldn’t kill you. Maybe he had gotten his wife back and he just wanted to... punish you? You stopped yourself from hoping for that outcome, both because you knew deep down it was impossible, and because you hoped that your efforts to free that woman were not in vain.

You hadn’t seen her since you parted ways a few klicks from the mansion, you had simply wished her luck. She wouldn’t have been any safer with you.

Clearly.

Mando was turning around to leave you alone in the hull once again when you dared to ask him,

“W-What planet are you taking me to?”

No response, he just kept moving back toward the ladder.

“H-Hey!”, you said louder, “Where are you taking me?”

He stopped then, and faced you, the child still held in one arm.

“Nevarro”

Nevarro?

“What?” you asked, dumbfounded.

Why the hell would he be on Nevarro?

“The man that placed my bounty, he’s there?”

No response again, he had reached the ladder now.

“Wait!” you yelled, a little too forcefully while tugging on your bindings to get his attention. You immediately regretted your tone when he turned quickly back toward you and glowered. Well, you figured he must have been under the helmet.

“I can still put you in carbonite, no more questions.”

It was the most words he had strung together since his initial threat in the cantina. You went quiet.

He climbed the ladder and you were once again alone in the hull of the ship. The time to yourself allowed you to realize just how tired you were. Your very bones ached with exhaustion. You hadn’t slept since you had initially fled from your flat the day before. That had been over a day ago, and the near-constant panic had not helped with your tiredness. You leaned your head back against the cool metal of the ship’s interior, your eyes slipping closed. You were worried. You were scared. But your current exhaustion overrode these feelings and you feel into a fitful sleep.

…

In your dreams, you felt the Mandalorian. His iron grip on your arm, pushing you further and further toward the freezer, nothing but inky blackness beyond the metal frame. You tried to plead, to fight. You screamed, you cried, you begged. The interior of the ship melted away and was replaced by the dull walls of your childhood home. No. Your blood ran cold. You looked down at the hand holding your arm. There was no glove. No beskar. Just rough and bloody knuckles. You wrenched yourself around to look into the face of the person holding you. Into eyes that looked too much like yours-

You awoke to your head crashing violently into the wall behind you. Lights danced behind your eyes on impact, and before you had time to process your dream or the pain now blossoming at the base of your skull, the entire ship flipped. The cuffs held tight, so your shoulders were left to take the brunt of your shifting body. You screamed in pain as you felt one of them for sure pop out of place as your entire weight was held with them. Your ass was slammed back into the ground as the ship righted itself, your right shoulder still burning with pain. You heard the sound of guns firing, and were jolted once more when one bolt impacted the ship. The lightning flickered, and then the hull was plunged into darkness.

Several sounds from above reminded you of the Mandalorian’s presence. A gruff curse, an opening hatch, and the sounds of Mando descending the ladder distracted you from the pulsing pain in your arm. You looked blindly out at the pitch blackness, head darting to follow the heavy footsteps that filled the hull. From what you could gather, he was nearly directly across for you. You heard a panel open, a grunt as sparks flittered from some wires, and suddenly the lights returned. You winced against the harsh light as your vision focused on the armored form in front of you. He turned to you now, closing the hatch and tucking the wires back inside.

You were panting, with both the stress of being flipped and the pain in your shoulder nearly overwhelming you. He noticed. He walked over to you and stood above you, studying you silently.

“What?” you gritted out.

“Are you hurt?”, he asked after a beat.

You were annoyed. Who is this bounty hunter to kidnap you, threaten your life, and then ask if you were hurt?

Of course you were.

Your anger boiled over, “Why would you care?” you spat.

He simply continued to look down at you.

You held out for several seconds, before sighing and saying, “My shoulder, I think it’s dislocated”.

He crouched then, helmet almost level with your face. He tilted his head and inspected your shoulder. He must have agreed, as he reached one hand behind your back to grip your cuffs. He used his other hand to grip the front of your tunic tightly.

“Don’t try anything”

Did he think you were that stupid?

He released the cuffs and your arms groaned in protest as your moved your hands to rest in your lap. He reached forward and gently grabbed your right shoulder. You hissed in pain at the contact but he didn’t stop his probing, moving his gloved fingers along the joint.

“It is.”

Yeah, I know, you thought. But you stayed silent, looking into his visor. You felt heat rise to your face as his gaze held yours with his body so close.

“I’m going to set it, get ready”

You nodded slightly, and as you readied yourself to draw in a breath, he snapped the joint back into place.

The lack of warning made you scream, a short sound that echoed through the hull but did not seem to affect Mando in the slightest.

After your ragged breathing had evened out, he removed his hands from your shoulder and stood up, glancing around the ship. You wanted to ask what happened, who had been shooting at you, but your nerves made the words catch in your throat.

He made his way back to the cockpit, and after a moment, you felt the ship begin to descend. You were nowhere close to Nevarro, so the ship must need repairing. You felt both a sense of relief and dread at this development. On one hand, it gave you more time to think of a plan. You still needed to get yourself out of this mess.

On the other hand, it left you more time at the mercy of his overbearing, terrifying presence.

You craned your neck in an attempt to look out the small porthole. You managed to get a glimpse of the planet, covered almost entirely in snow and ice. Great, this is what you get for complaining so much about the heat of Tatooine.

As the ship continued its descent, you wondered about how this was going to work, exactly. The damage you figured must be pretty extensive, so what would become of you as it was repaired? What would he do with the child? You glanced across to the carbon freezer. You realized that it was the simplest solution for the hunter and shuttered.

He had relented before, he had to do it again, right? You figured there was no way that old man cared if you were alive or dead, however.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold”

He really might just kill you this time.

Your shoulder still throbbed dully as you heard Mando descend from the cockpit once more. He had his back to you, but you assumed he held the child in his free arm. He moved over to a hatch on the far side of the ship and pressed a button on his right vambrace to reveal a…cubby?

His bed, you realized.

He deposited the child in a small hammock hanging inside.

Okay, that was cute.

You saw his large eyes meet with the Mandalorian’s helmet before the hatch snapped shut with him inside. He turned to face you. It was only now that you realized that he had never put the cuffs back on.

Maker, I’m an idiot, you thought. You missed your chance! You had this entire time to… to…

Escape?

What the hell were you going to even do?

You were trapped on a junker you had no idea how to operate with a living weapon and a green bean. Escape wasn't really an option you could entertain.

He was standing in front of you now, a slightly defensive stance with a hand hovering over his blaster as he looked at your cuffless hands. You paused and realized what he wanted. You held your hands out limply, grunting against the pain in your shoulder.

“Can you at least cuff me in front? I think I’ll pass out if you try to touch my arm right now."

He moved his hands from his blaster to the cuffs deftly and slapped them on your wrists and pushed them toward the wall, once again trapping you.

You wondered why you had given up so easily.

He stood again and said one word before striding to the mouth of the ship, opening the bay doors,

“Stay.”

You were really getting tired of him saying that to you.

As he was walking down the ramp, you suddenly realized,

“What about the kid? You’re just gonna leave him shut up in there?”

No response. Big surprise.

You rolled your eyes at the back of his head as the bay doors closed and you were trapped in silence once again.

...

You fall in and out of consciousness to the sound of work on the outside of the ship. In your moments of waking, you feel hunger gnaw at you. You think back to the last time you ate, the night before you had originally run from the Mandalorian. You wonder if he’ll feed you, or deliver you as skin and bones to his client.

You are shaken from your thoughts when you hear cooing from the sleeping hatch. You had almost forgotten about the child.

Some dad he is, you thought, leaving a baby all alone in a ship with a criminal.

Well, criminal in the least dangerous sense of the word.

It had to have been at least half a day since the hunter had left you two alone on the ship, no wonder he was getting fussy. You wished you could do something about it.

Mostly, you wished you could get out of the cuffs. They were really killing your wrists, as you had them on for Maker knows how long now.

The cooing got louder, escalating into what you could almost call crying. Small hiccupped breaths followed by loud wines emanated through the ship. You had never been the maternal type (now that you think of it, you don’t even think you’ve ever held a baby), but his cries were tugging on your heartstrings.

Suddenly, the cries stopped, followed by an eerie silence, before the hatch came open. The child, still in his hammock, squealed happily when his eyes found you.

You smiled back at him, confused.

How did he do that?

You peered inside the cubby, trying to see if there were buttons within his reach that you couldn’t see. Before you could do so, the child half climbing/half falling out of his hammock caught your attention. He made his way down to the cot, and then down to the floor with what, you had to admit, were some impressive climbing skills for such a little body.

He practically tripped over his own little feet in his attempt to get to you as fast as possible. You couldn’t help but grin widely, wondering how this little ball of joy ended up with such a joyless father.

He reached your legs, you were currently sitting cross-legged on the ground which he interpreted as an invitation to crawl into your lap. You attempted to use your elbows, pulled across your front due to your cuffs held tight to the wall, to pat the little one on the head. It hadn’t worked as well as you had hoped, but he seemed delighted, reaching up and pulling them down in order to climb closer to your face. He scrambled up your arms, grabbing too tight on your still burning shoulder. You gasped in pain. He stopped then, removing his little hand from your arm, he looked up at you with big, wide eyes.

You smiled back to him, “It’s okay little one, it’s not your fault”, hoping to convey that you weren’t mad.

He still stared silently back at you.

“It just hurts a little, that’s all. Your dad isn’t the best piolet, is he?”

You wondered if he had any idea what you were saying.

Slowly, he returned his attention to your hurt shoulder. He moved his hand toward it and you were about to object before he touched it ever so gently, laying his three fingers at the base of the joint.

You stopped, confused for a moment before a warmth suddenly ran through your arm. You gasped and almost pulled away before you felt the dull ache leave your shoulder like flowing water. You relaxed into the touch, eyes slipping closed, allowing the last of the discomfort to slip away.

Before you had time to react, the little one fell backward, eyes closed, from his place perched on your elbows to your crossed knees below.

Your brief panic was quelled by his eyes blinking back open, staring up at you with a soft coo.

You looked down at the child in your lap with eyes wide.

What?

No, really, What?!

You experimentally rolled your shoulder, feeling absolutely no pain. In fact, it felt better than you could ever remember it feeling.

Maybe you were imagining things. It was impossible, right? Right? There was no wa-

The next thing you knew, the hull was open and the Mandalorian was standing there, blaster pointed directly at you. You looked back at him dumbfounded. What had you done? You raised your hands in the cuffs as a sign of peace, still confused about his sudden threat.

Once your mind caught up, you looked into your lap. Um, hello?

His son was in the lap of the person who was currently his prisoner for crime, you know, a criminal!?

You immediately began speaking frantically,

“N-No, it’s not what it looks like! He just… I didn’t hurt-, I wouldn’t-“

He stalked over to you and grabbed the child quickly, blaster level with your brow now.

“Explain.”

This guy is really a fan of single-word orders.

You stumble over your words,

“He-He was crying. In the hatch. And then he stopped, I don’t know how…he got out and came over to me. He was just having f-fun, then he saw I was hurt and he…with his hand…”

You trailed off and lowered your head, unable to explain what had happened in words.

“He healed you?”

Your eyes jerked to his visor.

He knew?

Was this something that was common in the galaxy? And this was just the biggest oversight of your entire existence?

No. No way.

“…Yes? I think so. My shoulder... it doesn’t hurt anymore, at all.”

He just huffed and walked away, holstering his blaster and reaching his other hand up to check up on the child, tilting his little chin up to his.

Um, no. He didn’t just get to not explain that.

“How can he do that? What is that? Wh-what is he?”

“He’s a child”

No shit.

You were about to speak again, demanding he answer your questions when he beat you to it.

“It’s just something he does, it won’t affect you any further.”

Okay, he somehow managed to answer none of your actual questions. You sat and watched as he deposited the kid back in the hammock. He turned back to you.

“Were going to be here overnight, get some sleep.”

You looked at him, wondering how the hell he just brushed over that whole event so quickly. He turned his back, preparing to crawl into the hatch with the child, you realized.

“Wait!”

Silence, then “What?”

“I-uh”

“Spit it out.”

“I-uh…need to use the fresher”

Silence. A sigh.

Then he was walking over to you, demagnetizing your cuffs and hauling you to your feet. He stopped you at the door of the small fresher, pushing you toward the opening slightly. You turned to look up into his visor.

Maker, had he always a head taller than you?

“Can you take the cuffs off?”

“Your hands are in front”

It was worth a shot. You walked into the fresher and he slid the door closed behind you.

Though you really did have to relieve yourself, you also wanted to look at yourself in the mirror. Call it a strange curiosity, but you wanted to see what you looked like after the insanity of the last two days. Your eyes had deeper circles than you had ever seen. Your hair was still tucked tightly into your long braid but pieces had fallen out to frame your face. Oh, you were also covered in dirt from head to toe. Your little fence scuffle with Mando had left you dirty, and you clearly had no time to clean up. You hadn’t noticed, but your tunic had also ripped at the sleeve, revealing a little bit of skin. The thin pale line of a scar shone through the torn material. You shivered. The last person you needed to think about right now was him. Hey, things could be worse. You could be given over to him. If he was still alive. The idea of him dead warmed you a little, at least. You finished up in the fresher and desperately tried to wipe some of the dirt off yourself before you heard a heavy fist on the door.

Yeah, Yeah.

You pushed open the door the best you could with your cuffed hands and stepped out.

He looked you up and down. What? You thought irritably. His gaze lingered on your shoulder, at least that's where you thought he was looking. Seconds ticked by and you grew more confused. Then, he started moving you again.

Instead of leading you back to the wall, however, he led you to the right, beyond his sleeping quarters to a larger hatch. You looked up at him, a question on your lips when he opened the hatch and ushered you inside. It was a small storage room with a single mat on the floor, crates surrounding the area. You turned back to him, tilting your head in confusion.

“The door locks from the outside, don’t try anything.”

The door shut behind you, plunging you into near-total darkness. Wasn’t he just about to let you sleep on the cold floor of the ship with your hands still cuffed to the wall?

Why did he change his mind?

[smarchit]

Look Around, Look around pt 2

Summary: You escaped an abusive marriage, pregnant with your husband’s child. He sends a bounty hunter after you to bring you back. Everything changes. Din Djarin/pregnant!reader, no use of y/n

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Pregnancy/related topics, implied/referenced rape, mentions of abuse

Notes: I’m so happy you all enjoyed this so far! I still have a taglist for this, please let me know if you want added!

It had been three and a half weeks since the Mandalorian dropped you off on the little planet called Sorgan.

You had been immediately taken into the fold by the villagers and by the children that ran and played through the ankle deep waters of the farms.

Omera, a friend of both Cara and the Mandalorian, took you into her home. She had provided some old dresses that she wore when she was pregnant with her daughter, Winta.

"They're a bit too big on you now," she said almost apologetically, "Give it time. You'll be safe here."

On the twenty-third day in the village, you woke with the sun and with the squawking of birds in the surrounding trees. The air was humid already and a light mist hung low on the ground in your small room.

You scrubbed yourself clean in the small basin and inspected yourself in the grimy mirror. In the past few weeks, you had gained enough weight that now you could tell you were carrying a child. Your stomach had grown with life, and while you hated the way your skin stretched, Omera was there to offer kind words of encouragement.

Right where you should be for this time, Omera had said with a fond smile a few nights ago as she watched you help with dinner. You're even getting a glow. I bet you're having a girl.

You ran a gentle hand over your rounded belly and smiled a bit in spite of the slight tingle of fear that ran in currents under your skin. It had been a challenge, getting yourself comfortable enough to let these kind people into your heart. They had opened theirs to you with no second thoughts and you often teared up at their simple gestures of kindness.

You pulled the simple shift dress over your head and tied the rope belt so it rested above the soft curve of your belly. Your morning sickness had subsided quite a bit as well, something that Omera took great pride in, as she had made you drink a simple grass tea that she said helped her.

There was a gentle knock at your bedroom door and it opened a bit to allow large brown eyes to peak through the crack.

Winta smiled at you when you greeted her and nudged the door open with her shoulder. She carried a small woven reed tray, laden with soup, bread, and a small cup of tea.

"Mommy made breakfast before she went out," she said softly.

"Thank you," you said softly, putting a hand on the top of her head. 

The child beamed up at you and then bounded off to play. You heard the front door shut gently as she started her day.

Once you finished your breakfast, you swept your room and tidied the dishes in the basin. You didn't mind helping Omera, though she always insisted you didn't have to. It kept you occupied.

After you finished your self-imposed chores, you tied your hair back in a simple braid and took a large brown basket in one hand and a shearing knife in the other. You headed out to the flat marsh farm and sat down at one closest to Omera's house.

You spotted Cara and waved as you set up your small work area. She stood against a fence post, legs crossed over one another, her blaster held loosely in her arms. She nodded in your direction and gave a gentle wave.

Omera was currently knee-deep in murky water, her skirt tied off around her thighs as she tended to the krill.

You liked it here. The warm weather agreed with you. It reminded you of the planet you grew up on. 

The children were working alongside their parents, or working as well as children could anyways. They took turns flinging mud and rocks at one another between their parents' scoldings.

You smiled and rubbed a hand across your belly. "How 'bout it, little one?" you asked, turning your head down to talk to your growing stomach, "Think we could live here?"

A few hours passed like this, the humidity finally dying off mid morning. A gentle breeze now lifted the short hairs that framed your face and cooled the sweat under your arms as you worked the reeds in your lap into mats and the humble beginnings of baskets. 

It hadn't taken you long to learn how to weave, a few days of practice and you were getting there. The older ladies in the village were grateful for the help and you enjoyed the busy work. It blistered your fingers though. They would crack and bleed at night and often keep you up until early morning. But you never felt so rested.

Shortly after the noon break, a glint above the trees on the horizon caught everyone's attention. Excited chatter soon displaced the otherwise relatively quiet workday as the vessel grew nearer.

Your heart pounded in your throat as the ship came into view. The Mandalorian had returned, and with it, so did your anxiety. Did he come to finally take you back home? Give you a few days of freedom and then take it away from you? You didn't think that Mandalorians were so cruel as to string their victims along and torture them like this.

Your stomach did flip flops as you shakily got to your feet. Resigning yourself to what was yet to come, you cleaned your hands off on your dress and stood with your head down and hands clasped, as if ashamed.

"Come on!" Winta called to you, a huge grin spread across her face, lit up with joy and wide enough to expose missing baby teeth. "He's here! Mando's back!"

Everyone seemed so excited, so why were you filled with dread? 

Your thoughts turned to the way he shifted when you told him that you were pregnant. How his shoulders squared and his back stiffened. Were his people that disgusted by the mere act of childbearing? Was it vulgar to them? He wasn't disgusted by the thought of children, you figured, as he seemed to care for his own adopted little one. But then what caused him to bring you here?

"Hey," Cara murmured, startling you from your thoughts. "Everything alright in there?" 

You nodded and smiled, clearing away the last of your obtrusive thoughts. If these people trusted him, could he be that bad? You trusted the farmers, so you supposed by association, you trusted him, however hesitantly.

"I can't read you," she said with a small laugh, "You're harder to read than he is even with the bucket on his head."

You gave a mirthless laugh and shook your head as you drew your arms around yourself. A soft breeze drifted through the clearing and you shivered in spite of yourself.

"You don't have to worry about him," she continued, adjusting her weight to the other foot. "He's not going to take you back. Not now, not when you have that little one. That's not who he is."

You looked up at her, teary eyed. After all this time, could it really be so simple as getting the right bounty hunter on your trail? One full of sympathy and compassion for children? 

"I mean it. He may seem like he's uncaring, but he's a softy under that armor," Cara soothed. "Trust me. I've seen him shed tears over that kid of his."

"I never cried," came a familiar voice from behind you. 

Cara turned and laughed as he walked over to us. "You're late."

"By a week. I got held up," he said softly. He then turned his attention to you. You couldn't see, but you knew he was giving you a once over, assessing how you looked. It made you feel small and vulnerable, but there was no negativity attached to it like there had been when your husband used to do it when he scrutinized your appearance.

"You look good," he said softly, patting your arm slightly. He hesitated for a moment and then let his arm drop to his hip. "Sorgan looks good on you."

You smiled a bit and cast your eyes down to the ground. You picked at a blister on your thumb and watched a drop of blood well up to the surface. You squeezed it, letting the dull ache distract you from the anxiety clawing away at your insides. Your stomach lurched as he reached out to touch you again and you took a step back instinctively.

He slowed his movement and instead of going for your face like you assumed he was going to, he placed a heavy, solid hand on your shoulder.

"You look healthier too," he said quietly. He kept his hand there until you shifted uncomfortably.

"Is that what he wanted?" you asked, unable to stop yourself from asking what you so desperately wanted to know. "To have me healthy for his child?"

"He doesn't know where you are," the Mandalorian said firmly. "Okay? So stop that right now. No idea."

You swallowed thickly and crossed an arm over your belly in a small act of protection.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, "Alone?" The Mandalorian glanced at Cara who took a few steps back in compliance, but kept a steady eye on you both. She didn't seem alert or on edge. She almost seemed relaxed. Her hip was cocked to one side and she lazily watched the birds fly overhead.

"I have something for you," he said quietly. He slowly reached into his bag with one hand, keeping the other where you could see it.

When he took his hand from the bag, there was a scroll tied with a purple ribbon in his fist.

You felt like throwing up. Bile rose in your throat and you took a step back from him both out of fear of what he had done and at the fear of throwing up on him.

"Hey, hey," he soothed, his voice low and even as he held up a hand, "It's okay. I want you to read it."

Hesitantly, you reached out your hand as he presented the scroll to you. With your fingers shaking so badly you could barely undo the wax seal on the scroll, you watched him warily for any sign of movement. He was watching you.

Finally, you managed to get the ribbon untied and the wax popped off in your hand. You unfurled it and skimmed the letter quickly - and then went back and read it a second, a third time.

"I... What?" you whispered, nervously looking up at him. "What is this? Is this for real?"

"It is," he said quietly. "Didn't take much for him to sign them either." He shook his head at the thought.

You read the letter again quickly to make sure it was real. Divorce papers. Signed by your now ex-husband. Maker, what did the Mandalorian do?

"Do you trust me now?" he asked, his voice a little softer.

You nodded slowly and took a step towards him. He looked a little startled if his body language was anything to go off of when you wrapped your arms around his torso.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. "Thank you so much."

He sighed softly, the sound crackling through the monitor, but he put a gentle hand on your back. 

"Uh, you're welcome," he stammered. He put his hands on your shoulders and separated you before he walked away to where the others were watching from afar. 

Cara shook her head. "Told you. Softie."

You smiled and watched him as he was greeted by the villagers. His armor glinted in the midday sun and to them, he must seem like a hero. You knew that to be true though. 

***

That night as the bonfire ran hot through the village, you sat on an old piece of machinery, warming your toes in the low light. The Mandalorian's child, the foundling, as he had called it, rested comfortably in your lap. He seemed to like to cuddle up to your belly, as his three little fingers were bunched in the fabric of your dress over your stomach. He cooed and babbled up at you and you talked back to him as if he could understand you.

The Mandalorian eventually found his way over to where you sat, and he sat down on the ground at your feet. He leaned back against the machinery and folded his hands in his lap.

"Kid likes you," he said, angling his helmet up so he could talk to you. "I mean, he likes everyone, sometimes a little too much, but he really seems to like you."

You smiled and looked down at the now sleeping infant. You could almost picture holding your own baby like this in a few months.

"Babies are easy to care for. Love them and they love you right back," you said, stroking his ear, "No questions asked. You don't have to be perfect at it."

"You're going to make a great mother," he said softly. "I mean -- If you're... You know, planning on keeping it."

You looked down at the Mandalorian, slightly surprised. "I am going to keep it."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to offend you."

You bit your lip and then gently lowered yourself to the ground beside him, being careful not to jostle the sleeping baby or your own stomach around too much. 

He looked a little surprised as you got comfortable. He watched your bare toes dig into the grass and watched the way your hands smoothed down the baby's swaddle. 

"I know," you said after a minute. 

"Kids need a someone to love them," he said so softly you wondered if you had even heard him. "They depend on the people who love them."

You didn't reply to that. You didnt even know how. The silence hung heavy around you.

"Are you going to stay here?" he asked after a minute, looking back at the fire. 

You shrugged. "It's nice here. But I've always wanted to go exploring. See the galaxy. Besides," you said, making a small face. "I worry I'm going to wake up one day and this kid decides that we're going to have a severe aversion to the smell of krill and mud. And then were will I be?"

The Mandalorian laughed softly and shook his head. The sound made your heart swell.

"Could always come with me," he offered, raising his one shoulder in a half shrug. "Find you a nice place to live. Set you up in a house."

"What would I do for money?" you hummed.

The Mandalorian went quiet. He reached beside him and picked up a little circle mat you had been working on. 

"Heard you aren't bad at weaving," he teased, shaking the mat in your direction.

You smiled and rolled your eyes.

"Inara thinks my rows are uneven," you said. "I couldn't sell them for anything according to her."

The Mandalorian huffed. "Then you come with me anyway. Maybe we find you a master mat weaver or something."

You both laughed, though there was a part of you that wondered if he meant it. Could he really be offering to take you on a tour of the galaxy? A short tour, anyway. What star systems could you see in the short period of time before you had your own little moon revolving around you?

"Well let's go find me a master weaver," you said.

"It'll be dangerous," he said. "Do you even know how to hold a blaster?"

"By holding it, you mean to ask if I know not to look into the business end? Yes, Omera and Cara have been teaching me in the evenings."

"Any good?" he asked, leaning towards you.

"Not bad," you hummed with a noncommittal shrug. "Slightly better than my weaving."

"Then we can leave in the morning. Should get some sleep."

You nodded and handed him the baby as you struggled to get to your feet.

"You too," you said quietly as you made your way to Omera's hut. Your heart was racing as you got ready for bed. That night, you slept better than you had in months.

TAGLIST - ask to be tagged!: @miscellaneous-mando @lestrange2703 @someplace-darker @the-last-twin-of-krypton @divineangelix @c1996 

[thicctails]

Summer Of Whump Day 30[Crying/Lashing Out]

Reunited at last!

Omega leaned against a tree, her injured leg lifted off the ground slightly. Despite the pain that radiated from various points on her body, she was buzzing with excitement. Today was the day that they were going to meet up with the rest of the Bad Batch and Rex!

 They were just getting ready to leave, Crosshair going off to hunt something down so that they had extra provisions. Cal was laying down in the soft grass, rays of sunlight shining down on him as he slept. Omega felt a flicker of sadness go through her when she realized that Pillow was missing out on enjoying the planet’s nice warm environment.

 Crosshair had explained that Pillow, for some unexplainable reason, had cocooned himself in crystal. Omega hadn’t believed him at first, but the older clone had carried her back to the ship so that she could see it for herself. She’d spent the better part of half an hour just talking to the hunk of crystal, hoping that Pillow could hear her in there. She couldn’t sense him in the Force, which upset her. Crosshair said that he wouldn’t be in there for very long, but she could tell that he’d only said that to make her feel better. Truth was, nobody knew how long Pillow would be stuck in the shining purple chunk of rock.

 Omega could only hope that he was okay in there.

 “Hey.”

 Omega turned her head, surprised at who she saw.

 Chex shifted nervously, his arm resting in a sling. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed, his hair messy and his eyes still holding the remnants of sleep. He looked the way she felt, the two of them having just recently recovered from their fevers. She tilted her head slightly, not exactly sure why he had approached her.

 “I just,” He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, “I wanted to say… that I’m sorry. I was angry and hurting, but that was no excuse to act the way that I did. You’re actually really cool.”

 Omega felt his sincerity and guilt through the Force, and she gave him a half smile.

 “Thanks. You were pretty cool too, taking on that creature by yourself.” She replied. “Just try to avoid swinging that lightsaber at me, and we’ll be good.”

 Chex flushed red in embarrassment. “Yeah, that was one of my stupider moments.”

 “Yes, it was.”

 Chex whirled, gulping when he saw Crosshair standing behind him. The clone glowered at him, his golden-brown eyes narrowing dangerously. A large, furry beast was draped over his shoulder, a trickle of blood dripping down his armored chest. Omega stifled a laugh at the way the padawan visibly seemed to shrink, his shoulders hunching as he tried to make himself seem as small and nonthreatening as possible.

 “So, you’re the one that attacked my adiik.” He growled, and it was as if a thunderstorm had formed inside his chest.

 “Uhhh…” Chex squeaked, somehow becoming even smaller.

 “Crosshair, I think you’re going to give him a heart attack.” Omega giggled.

 “Good.” Crosshair rumbled, still making direct eye contact with the cowering teen.

 Omega rolled her eyes and gave Chex a little shove, causing him to snap out of his terror-induced paralysis and dash away as fast as possible.

 Omega couldn’t hold it in anymore. She burst out laughing, her throat still a bit rough from her illness. She wiped at her eyes as Crosshair continued to glare at the retreating padawan, a toothpick clenched in his teeth.

 “You should have left him to cower, it was amusing.” He grumbled, giving her a small smile.

 “Cal’s gonna be so mad! He wanted to see you do that.” Omega wheezed.

“He should have stayed awake, then.” He said simply. “Come on, let’s get going.”

 She waits until Crosshair has woken Cal up before she moves. She limped forward, accepting Crosshair’s arm when he offers it. She knows that, if she asks, he’ll carry her back to the ship, but she wants to try and do it herself. She’s tired of feeling weak.

 Together, the trio made their way back to the ship. Crosshair threw his catch into the cold storage while Cal and Omega strapped in. Omega claimed the co-pilot’s seat, and Cal didn’t have the heart to fight her for the prized seat while she was injured. Resigning himself to a seat farther back, he curled up and went back to sleep, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his chest.

 “Ready?” Crosshair asked, sliding into the pilot’s seat.

 “Ready!” Omega replied enthusiastically.

 Crosshair stared out the windshield with a determined look on his face.

 “Then let’s go home.”

    Hunter paced back and forth, stopping every thirty seconds to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps. He stared out at the open sky, wishing that his sight was as good as his hearing so that he could see if a ship was coming in. Upon seeing nothing and hearing nothing, he resumed his pacing.

 “Hunter, for the love of the Maker, please stop pacing!” Echo groaned, shooting Hunter an annoyed look. “Walking back and forth isn’t going to make them arrive any sooner.”

 Hunter huffed, crossing his arms. “They should have been here by now. What if something went wrong? What if Crosshair’s chip activated again?”

 “It’s been an hour since we got here. Give them some time.” Tech said, but Hunter didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked towards the sky.

 “Ugh, we’ve given them time.” Wrecker, who had been laying on the floor lifting boxes, sat up. “I say we go lookin’ for ‘em.”

 “That could draw unnecessary attention to ourselves. We’re staying put.” Rex replied.

 Hunter opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when a new sound reached his ears.

 Footsteps. One set was steady and calm, one was hesitant, and the other was uneven, like the person was limping. He turned his head, staring directly at the doorway.

 “Someone’s coming. A few someones.” He said in a hushed voice. Hope made his heart rate pick up, but he also knew to be cautious. There was always the possibility that whoever was coming down the hall wasn’t friendly.

 The group rallied around them, and the air was thick with tension. Hands rested on blasters as the footsteps became audible to everyone.

 They waited.

 There was silence for a moment, the approaching people pausing, hesitant to enter the room. Then, a familiar mop of blonde hair appeared from around the corner. Soft, honey-brown eyes locked onto them, and Omega’s star-bright grin lit up the space around them.

 “Omega!” The Bad Batch yelled, running over to her. She had barely stepped forward when Hunter reached her, scooping her up into a tight hug, ever careful not to touch her scarring burns.

 Omega’s face disappeared into Hunter’s neck, her own smooth skin brushing up against his stubble. The scent of damp earth and clean rainfall fills his senses, and Hunter takes a moment to absorb it, to take comfort from the fact that their ad’ika is back in his arms and that she’s alive and okay. Her limbs shake as she wraps her arms around his neck, almost choking him with how tightly she’s holding on. He doesn’t care. Omega is back, and that’s what matters.

 But she’s not the only family member that has returned to them today.

 Still holding onto Omega, he opens his eyes to see Crosshair standing in the door frame. His vod looks… tired. The skin beneath his eyes is dark, and in his cognac brown eyes Hunter sees a frightening mix of bone-deep exhaustion, deep-seeded guilt, and wavering fear, like he doesn’t know if Hunter is going to hug him or strike him.

 “C’mere, Cross’ika.” The nickname is one that he hasn’t used since their early days of life, but it still rolls off his tongue like smooth honey.

 Crosshair stiffens at the name, and Hunter can practically see the shock going through his mind. He hesitantly steps closer, still uncertain of Hunter’s intentions. Once he’s close enough, Hunter grabs his younger brother and pulls him into his chest, wrapping an arm around his back. He shifts Omega in his arm so that she’s still sitting comfortably while he holds Crosshair as close as he can.

 Before Crosshair could even register the sensation of being pulled into a hug, their other vode joined in, practically smothering Omega and Crosshair with affection. Tech wiggled his way close to Hunter’s side, throwing his arms around Crosshair and tucking his face into his shoulder. Echo was closer to Omega, eagerly offering the now teary-eyed girl a hug when she spotted him. And Wrecker? Well, Wrecker used his enhanced size to hug them all.

 Crosshair blinked, the weight of his vode bringing back fuzz-tinted memories of days long gone. He blinked again, feeling the unfamiliar sting of tears prick at the edges of his eyes. He took in a shuddering breath, the fear of rejection slowly bleeding out of him.

 “Welcome back, vod.” It was Echo’s voice this time, kind and heavy with relief.

 “’s good to be back.” He whispered, resting his chin on Hunter’s shoulder.

 Suddenly, there’s a noise. A shifting of feet on a metal floor makes Crosshair pull back, remembering that it wasn’t just him and Omega that had walked down the hall.

 “Cal,” He called, turning back towards the doorway. “come on out, ad’ika.”

 The Batch and Rex, who had come over once he’d realized that someone hadn’t revealed themself yet, peered curiously towards the doorway. Hunter could hear a small heartbeat increase as the hidden figure slowly poked his head out of the shadows. Startlingly green eyes broke the pattern of light browns, the boy glancing nervously at the group. He shuffled in place, looking like he wanted to bolt.

 They stared at him, he stared at them. All was silent.

 “Is that the kid you stole?”

 “TECH!”

 The kid’s face crinkled with amusement when Crosshair smacked Tech upside the head, scowling at him.

 “Yeah, I’m his stolen Jedi kid. Took me out of my jail cell right as I was getting comfortable.” He joked, laughing when Crosshair lightly smacked him on the head.

 “Shush, you little womp rat. If you were stolen by anyone, it was that Jedi.”

 “She would’a gave us back.”

 “Debatable. You and Omega are very likeable.”

 Wrecker laughed at the conversation. “Aw, Crossy’s gone soft.”

 “Wrecker.” Crosshair warned, bristling at the nickname.

 “Crossy?!” Cal, Rex, and Omega asked, trying not to laugh.

 “Do not call me that!” Crosshair snapped, his cheeks burning red.

 “Softie Crossy! Softy Cros- hurk!” Wrecker started to tease, but was cut off when Crosshair gave him a hard shove. The second-oldest clone let out a playful yell and pulled Crosshair down, wrestling with him on the floor.

 “Ori’vod, help me out!” Wrecker yelled, trying to wrangle Crosshair. The younger clone was too slippery, however, and Crosshair soon managed to wrap his legs around Wrecker’s neck, squeezing just enough to cut off most of his airflow.

 Hunter laughed, an actual, full-belly laugh. It had been years since he’d done that!

 “Tech, here,” He said, passing a giggling Omega off to his youngest brother, “hold this.”

 Tech accepted the armful of child, smiling at her and planting a kiss on her forehead. She leaned into him, tucking herself under his chin.

 “Hello, sarad’ika.” He said softly, taking a moment to fully realize the fact that Omega was back, that his inability to protect her hadn’t ended in her demise. “Gar cuyir bid kotir, ad'ika.”

 “Tech,” She whined, wiggling a bit to get comfortable,“I don’t know what that means. You guys need to teach me whatever language you’re speaking.”

 “We will, little one. I was just saying that you’re very brave, even when you were faced with a terrible situation.” Tech said, giving her an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry that I couldn’t keep you safe when you needed me to.”

 “It’s okay, Tech. I’m actually glad I got caught. Otherwise, I never would have met Cal.” She said, looking towards the redhead. He was cheering Crosshair on, Echo carefully watching to make sure he didn’t accidentally get dragged into the playful brawl.

 “Ah yes, our surprise addition.” Tech said, turning to look as well. “We’re going to have to build a new bunk.”

 “Me and him can sleep on Crosshair’s ship.” Omega said.

 Tech tightened his hold, almost looking distressed at her suggestion. “No. You aren’t allowed to leave our sight, not again. We can leave that Imperial scrapheap here.”

 “No we can’t! Pillow’s still in his weird cocoon thing.” Omega protested.

 “A… cocoon?” Tech questioned.

 “Yeah. He put himself into a big crystal!” She said, spreading her arms out as if to emphasize how large the object was.

 “An amphibian creating a cocoon is bizarre, but a crystalline one? That’s unheard of.” Tech muttered. “I need to analyze it. Would you like to come with me, or stay here?”

 “Stay with you.” Omega said, tucking herself back underneath Tech’s chin. She didn’t want to be put down, didn’t want to be without contact right now. The Force sang happily around her, pleased by her reuniting with her family.

 Tech chuckled and adjusted her so that he was holding her with one arm.

 “Very well then, let’s go see our crystallized friend.”

[themangolorian]

Both Hunter and Prey (Pt. 4)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Five | Part Six | Epilogue

Pairing: Mandalorian x Reader

Summary: A game of cat and mouse between you and the Mandalorian.

A/N: Part 4 of 5. Due to a sudden turn of events, the Mandalorian has to abandon his search for the baby’s people temporarily, which leads you one step closer to both the Mandalorian and finding out more information about your own past.

Warnings: Language, mild violence, mentions of blood.

There was no way out. You were ensconced in the village, all the doors closed and locked to you. There would be no harbor for you in the homes of those you’d put in danger in the first place. There was no sewage system here either. At least not one accessible from the street. They would be on you any second. And it didn’t seem like their orders were to take you in alive this time.

“Stop, scum.” A lone trooper blocking the exit to the street just ahead of you. You froze in place. There was nowhere to run anymore. And being captured alive had never been an option. It wasn’t that you’d willingly give up information on the Mandalorian or the kid. But given what you now knew about the kid’s powers and the stories your mother had told you about those types of powers, you knew there were ways to get information that didn’t involve the teller’s permission.

You turned on your toes, ready to run. The trooper’s finger closed in on the trigger. Just then, blaster fire rained down from above, taking the trooper all over his armor and the remainder of the trooper’s squad just behind him.

In awe, you gazed up at the sky to see a sight you’d never imagined you’d ever see, if only because you hadn’t known it was possible. The Mandalorian, curse him, had come back. But he was flying? The flames emanating from behind him told you that he had on some type of jet device keeping him afloat. He danced in and among the sky as he shot. The danger was he was now being shot at. He dropped straight down now, so quickly you let out a hoarse scream, but he pulled out at the last second and dropped gently to the ground in front of you.

“Let’s go.” His voice was rough, rougher than you’d ever heard it. Not mad. Just- The saddest you’d ever heard it. And you realized, as you ran into his grasp, that you’d caused that. Bizarrely you felt guilty for causing him pain, despite the fact that you’d done it to save him. And the baby.

“Stealing this next,” you grunted as you wrapped your arms tight around his neck, careful not to jostle the pack on his back that allowed him to fly. You were sure he chuckled in response under his helmet. You readied yourself mentally for what was about to happen.

Then, the next squad of troopers rounded the corner. Behind the Mandalorian. “No,” you breathed at the same moment that you used the leverage you had around his neck to twist him around in place. The shots were fired just the moment before the Mandalorian kicked off the ground. Your cries of pain were muffled by the strong resistance of wind as the Mandalorian sped straight up into the sky.

Within seconds, the two of you were blasting through the air far beyond the reach of the troopers’ blasters. But you were beginning to lose consciousness, and your arms were beginning to slip from their grip around his neck. The Mandalorian cursed hoarsely and wrapped one arm tightly around you, holding you to him just as the Razor Crest came into view where it idled high above the world. In your state of daze, you could tell the Mandalorian was panicked, but he kept calm long enough to open the ramp to the ship and slow down rapidly so he could land you both awkwardly in the bay of the ship.

You cried out when you hit the ground.

The Mandalorian seemed frozen in place when he saw your blood. But one of you had to remember what was at stake.

“The TIE fighters,” you gasped through your pain.

His helmet stared at you for one more too-long moment, then he was sprinting to the ladder and practically flying up it to the cockpit. The ship soared up further into the sky and you knew he’d have the Razor Crest in hyperspace within seconds. You were safe. Or at least he was. And the kid.

The kid. You opened your eyes; you had been dozing off. As if he’d sensed your thoughts, the child had poked his head out of the bunk where the Mandalorian insisted he stay to keep him safe. You closed your eyes, fighting the loss of consciousness coming over you. When you opened your eyes again, the kid was just in front of you, his large bright eyes shiny with curiosity. You smiled up at him reassuringly. “Hey, monster.” You teased, closing your eyes again.

You gasped as you lost consciousness when you felt tiny, clammy hands touching your injuries. But then you were out.

*********

When you awoke again, you felt light, weightless. Drugged. He’d drugged you. You should’ve felt pain. You should’ve been dead. The lights in the bay overhead were dimmed and you stared blearily at the ceiling, trying to make out the shapes in the metal above. There was no denying you were out of it. You felt numb, almost blissful. You tried to move but only succeeded in rolling slightly over to the left.

A rustling from across the bay suddenly. Then the Mandalorian was at your side, kneeling next to the cot. His ungloved hands hovered over you.

“Are you alright?”

The dim lights reflected off the shine of his helmet and your eyes widened. You smiled and reached one hand up to touch his helmet. He didn’t pull back. “My angel.” You whispered in a shaky tone of voice. “You’re glowing.”

The Mandalorian sighed with relief. You didn’t know what there was to be relieved about. Clearly he was surrounded by some unnatural light. He ought to take care of that. Maybe you’d both been drugged.

You watched his hand dizzily as it came up to your forehead. His blazing palm covered your cool skin. “Mmm,” you moaned appreciatively.

“I have something for you,” he said in a low voice.

Your eyelashes fluttered open and you smiled up at him crookedly. “I know what you have for me, Mandalorian.” You teased.

He half scoffed, half chuckled. “Even while injured and drugged?” His voice was so amused as he ran a finger down your nose and pinched your nostrils gently between two fingers.

You mimed biting his fingers as he drew them away. “Always.” You whispered, sticking your tongue out at him.

He tilted his helmet down at you, clearly amused by your antics, hyper even in this state. Then he was reaching into the clothing that covered his chest and drawing something out carefully.

“Oh.” You gasped at the sight of your mother’s necklace in his hand.

“I’m sorry I took this,” he was saying. “If I had known what it meant to you…” He trailed off as he placed it softly in your outstretched hand.

Your consciousness grew even fuzzier. In your mind’s eye, you saw your mother, smiling sweetly. Then it was as if she was there beside him. You shook your head then continued staring at a point past the Mandalorian’s shoulder. But his fingertip on your chin brought you back, and the vision of your mother dissipated until all that was left was her necklace clutched tightly between your fingers.

You smiled dazzlingly up at the Mandalorian. “Thank you.”

He seemed taken aback for a moment, but then his fingertip trailed up your face, past your eyelashes and came to rest just in the middle of your forehead. He traced your nose down again watching you as you studied the necklace fondly.

“Who was your mother?” He asked cautiously, letting his finger trail down to your lips now.

You were too out of it to realize that this was delving into territory you never would have touched if you were sober.

“A rebel.” You laughed. It was a laugh he’d never heard out of you before. Not bitter or cynical. Or horny. It was warm and it sounded like home.

He found himself grinning beneath the helmet along with you. “And what are you?” He couldn’t help himself with you in this state, so seemingly innocent and sweet. Not so much a different person, as perhaps more yourself, more at ease.

Your smile grew playful again. “A rebel.”

You sat up with some difficulty to kiss his helmet, and he let you, his hand supporting your neck.

“Yes. You are.” He said in his gruff, unapproving yet somehow affectionate voice.

You forgot yourself again, cradled as you were in his arms, and continued. “She was a rebel. She fought the Empire. She-.” Here, your voice faltered as you remembered all the details. “She died.” Your voice grew weak.

Absently, you’d taken his hand and your grip on him tightened as you spoke. He squeezed your hand comfortingly. “I’m sorry.” He told you.

Your eyes, previously out of focus, finally focused on him. Whatever he had drugged you with was really doing a number on your brain. But you couldn’t seem to stop talking. You smiled gently up at him now, more gently than he’d ever seen you smile before, and it made his heart clench. Only because he was usually so uncertain around you; you always had some sort of guard up, after all. Now was the only time he thought he’d seen you this carefree, this open.

“It’s alright, Mandalorian.” You turned his hand over in your yours, and traced soft lines over his palm, so often hidden from your gaze, that it was always such a pleasure to see with your own eyes. Even if you hardly ever admitted it to yourself. You really needed to ask the Mandalorian what drugs he’d given you; you could stand to take them more often.

“I’ve been trying to avenge her ever since,” you said softly, absently again as you studied his palm concentratedly. Never. You never would have revealed any of this sober. You never had before. Had never told anyone what it was exactly that you did or why.

The Mandalorian was too curious for his own good. Even as he spoke, he knew he shouldn’t, knew he was taking advantage of your state, to get you to open up. In his own defense, he thought it was good for you to open up like this. “What do you mean?” He asked haltingly, almost as if he wanted to stop himself from speaking.

You reached forward, the effort costing you energy and pulled at his other arm until you were grasping his other hand in yours as well.

“I’ve been stealing from the Empire since I was twelve years old.” You admitted conspiratorially into the hollow space you’d formed over your mouth between his two hands.

He shifted in place, but you missed the movement and the way it signaled his understanding that you’d lost your mother at twelve and that you’d been alone ever since.

“Petty theft.” You squeezed his hands and giggled. “I did what I could to hurt them.” Your face grew somewhat forlorn. “It wasn’t much at first. Small things, here and there. But I started to learn what it took to really make a dent. It was hard…” You trailed off studying the creases in his fingers as if they were the most interesting things in the world. “On my own.” You supplied.

He was watching you intently, every nerve of his on end, tensing further with every passing second at each little bit you revealed about yourself. His face must have been one of despair beneath the helmet as you unwittingly peeled back your layers carelessly one by one to him. He wanted to stop you, knew that sober you would want him to. But he couldn’t. He wanted to know you so badly. More, every moment that you spoke.

“I never knew my father. He left my mother before I was born..” You watched him watch you. Your eyes sought out the sleeping place of the child. Your gaze was tender. “To see you with him…” You trailed off, somewhat choked. “It’s...you took him in. When my mother...I had no one. No one took me in. So...I did what I could. Then I got older...and I did worse, stole more valuable things, and they started coming after me.”

Silence grew around you and in the spaces between you two, piercing in a way loudness could never be. By the flex of his fingers, the way in which he leaned into you, you felt a space being filled you’d always thought would be empty. It was simultaneously overwhelming and not enough all at the same time. But you were too drugged to comprehend your own emotions.

“But I learned to run.” You finally filled the silence in again, the silence in which you missed his evolving emotions about you, a silence that for you was peaceful and warm. This was the longest you’d consciously held his hands, even if you were a bit out of it. “I learned to like it.” You grinned wildly up at him, and he pulled one hand gently out of your grasp to smooth your hair away from your face comfortingly. You reveled in the feeling, shutting your eyes briefly to enjoy the sensation.

“You’re not a thief,” he said gruffly, his voice emotional in a way you’d never heard it.

You struggled to open your eyes, fighting the exhaustion that was once again taking over you. “Yes I am.” You said somewhat indignantly.

“You’re a hero,” he clarified, dragging his knuckles over your cheekbones gently. “Your mother would be proud.”

Your throat grew tight, and you closed your eyes so he couldn’t see your tears forming. Even drugged, you knew you couldn’t abide him, anyone, seeing your vulnerabilities.

Somehow he must have known. He leaned over, placing your arms around his neck and resting his heavy beskar helmet on the cot next to your head, in a strange sort of half embrace. His weight over your top half soothed you and before you knew it, you were out of consciousness again.

Time seemed not to exist when you awoke again. You couldn’t have said how much time had passed since Felucia, how much time had passed since-

You sat straight up so swiftly that your head swam dizzily immediately. You grunted in pain. The drugs had long worn off. The pain in your back was almost blinding.

“Wait-” An exclamation from across the bay and with double vision, you watched as the Mandalorian who’d been feeding the child in his lap, placed the baby down carefully but quickly and then rushed your way.

You groaned again and held a hand up in his direction. He stopped in his tracks. He was the very last person in existence you wanted to face right now. General Ulric would have been preferable, and you’d stolen his entire spaceship.

You winced, recalling bits and pieces of your last interaction with the Mandalorian in that very cot. How much had you said? You couldn’t remember. Had you cried? Oh, stars, you’d cried. Your face warmed and you wished very much you could fade into nothingness.

Mistaking your pained face for physical pain, the Mandalorian ignored your outstretched hand and surged forward again, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “You need to lay down. You’ll hurt yourself again worse.” His voice was commanding if gentle.

You twitched out of his grip which only resulted in a sharp twinge of pain in your back. You hissed.

The Mandalorian made a noise of impatience in his throat. “Stop.” He bit at you. “Just lay down.” He held his hands up, indicating he wouldn’t touch you again.

You glared at him but obeyed, lowering yourself slowly back down, every movement bringing with it stabs of pain. The Mandalorian watched your face carefully, noting every expression you made, and though his hands hovered worriedly above you, he made good on his silent promise.

You closed your eyes in humiliation and used your hands to toss the blanket back over your face.

You heard a metal clanking nearby and knew he’d kneeled down next to you again. Meanwhile the baby was cooing and giggling, small pitter patters telling you he was making his way towards the both of you.

“No,” you heard the Mandalorian mutter and from the sound of it, he’d picked the baby up and placed him back on his knee.

“Where are we?” You made your grumpiness known in the tone with which you asked.

He seemed to hesitate. Then- “Almost to Arvala-7.”

You threw the blanket back off your face so you could continue glaring. “What in the world could you possibly need on Arvala-7?”

The baby shrieked delightedly when your face reappeared from behind the blanket and he leaned forward towards the cot. The Mandalorian glanced down at him and pulled the child further towards him and away from the cot.

“I was...” The Mandalorian’s voice finally betrayed emotion again. “I thought…” He trailed off as he struggled with the child, always trying to break free and roam these days. “I thought you were going to die.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but from the way his helmet was still tilted down towards the child, you knew he was evading your gaze. You relaxed a little, dropping some of the anger from your eyes.

You looked at the child now too, his big bright eyes watching you intently, curiously, clearly very happy to see you though you could not say why. Your gaze, of its own accord, softened a bit more as you watched him.

But something had been bothering you in the back of your mind since you’d woken up. Your eyes went from the child to the spot on the floor where you’d thought you would bleed to death. You recalled the puddle of your own blood you’d been in. The pain. The fading of everything when you’d lost consciousness. You’d been so certain…

“How am I alive?” You exclaimed suddenly. Your eyes found the Mandalorian’s visor again but he too was looking at the spot where he must have found you passed out.

He looked down now meaningfully at the child who stared up at his father curiously, as if searching for some cue as to what was taking place between the two of you.

Your eyes landed on the child again and realization came, but… Your eyes widened, then you were shaking your head.

“It’s not possible…”

The child and the Mandalorian both looked your way now at the same time. The child giggled but the Mandalorian merely stared.

“He passes out.” The Mandalorian finally filled the awestruck silence. His words were faltering, as if he wasn’t sure he should even be saying them, but something in his stance told you that he trusted you. “When I got us away….I came back down. You were both…” Every time he broached the topic, his modulated voice grew heavy with emotion. “I thought you were…” The Mandalorian shook his helmet and placed the child down then leaned forward as if he couldn’t help himself.

You watched him, confusion and wonder etched across your face. “He did what he could,” the Mandalorian muttered. “But your injuries are still… You need time to heal. I gave you what I had left of the bacta. Your reaction was…” He trailed off, not wanting to bring up what was clearly the topic of your ire.

The child had clambered up onto the cot at your side. Neither of you stopped him, but he only sat there and watched you, one tiny three fingered-hand on your knee.

You stared at the child, the sides of your mouth pulling up against your will. “Is he alright?” Your hand came up involuntarily and you brushed the baby’s little hairy face briefly before dropping your hand. The baby cooed.

The Mandalorian reached forward and stroked one of the child’s ears. The child cooed more excitedly now as he stared back at his father. “Yes…” He paused. “I think he gives up energy to...heal. He requires rest to recover.”

You stared in wonder at the kid who blinked his big eyes at you, his little hand patting your knee playfully as he grasped at the blanket. He seemed to want you to get up and play. Maybe the little game of chase he’d led you through only a few days prior.

You smiled finally at the kid. “Maybe later, little monster.” You intoned at him. “When I’m feeling better and can actually get away.”

The child shrieked happily and clambered off the cot and back toward his food. He seemed to understand your words. For the most part.

The Mandalorian watched this exchange fondly if silently. The child busied himself with the food the Mandalorian had been feeding him before.

Now it was just you and him.

He shifted in place where he kneeled next to you.

“I shouldn’t have-” He began.

“What’s on Arvala-7?” You interrupted him.

He paused then looked at you. “If I had-”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Mandalorian.” You interrupted again, more forcefully this time.

He tilted his helmet at you, then nodded. “A friend.” He paused, then- “Two friends.”

You waited.

“I want to make sure you heal.”

“I’m fine,” you said stubbornly, resting your head back on the pillow.

The Mandalorian hesitated. “I just want to make sure you completely heal.”

You ignored that as you stared up at the ceiling.

Then-

“Thank you.” Almost a whisper, static-filled and broken.

You snapped your head up to stare at him, wondering what he was talking about. “For what?”

He seemed to have difficulty talking again. His hand moved as if he wanted to touch you but he thought better of it. “You saved my life.”

Your brow furrowed and you threw your head back down stubbornly. “I slipped.” You lied through your teeth, still so mad he’d gotten information out of you while you’d been drugged. But you were madder at no one than yourself, for so willingly giving up all your secrets, no matter your state.

He took your hand anyway, for only a moment, and squeezed before letting go. You were sorry the instant he let go, immediately missing his warmth. But you swallowed the noise of protest and the thought as he walked away. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as he scooped the child up and made his way back up the ladder to the cockpit.

You shifted in place, groaning quietly at the pain. It was dulling, you could tell. The bacta might have run out, but you were healing.

You felt something chafe against your neck and you reached up to grasp the leather cord around your neck. Your hands found the little metallic medallion in the shape of a disc, simple but sophisticated.

Your eyes watered again against your will as you cradled it in your hand. You’d seen beautiful jewelry all around the galaxy, worth millions and millions of credits. This was ugly objectively in comparison yet nothing was more precious. You ensured the necklace was secure around your neck and realized he must have put it on for you.

Your eyes found the ladder again. As mad as you’d been - were - you missed his presence more. And maybe that of the little green goblin. You pondered making noise to draw them back down, but stubbornness won out over reason.

This time, it took you much longer, but finally you fell into what was now a restless, somewhat painful sleep.

The jostling of the Razor Crest as it landed woke you this time. Immediately, the first thing you noticed was the pain, dull even more so than before. The second thing, the child, sitting in the crook of your arm, watching you curiously as you slept with his big bright eyes. You blinked at each other.

The child cooed, giggled, then reached his three little pudgy fingers toward your face. You blew at his hand as if willing it away, and he merely giggled, bringing a reluctant smile to your face. His hand rested on your collar bone and you tilted your head at him, wondering his game when-

You began to feel a calm run through you and a sharp pain went through your back followed by a numbing bliss.

“No,” you uttered, realizing what the baby was doing. You slapped his hand away more harshly than you meant to and tumbled backward off the cot, letting out a hoarse scream of pain when your tailbone hit the metallic floor of the ship.

A storm of footsteps above, then on the ladder.

“Are you alright?” The Mandalorian fell to your side, his hands helping to straighten you out.

His gaze went from you to the child who sat forlornly on the cot, his ears drooping.

“I’m fine,” you said through clenched teeth, involuntarily squeezing the Mandalorian’s hand through the pain rippling in your back.

“I’m sorry, I think I scared him.” You meant the apology to the child, and he seemed to understand because he cooed curiously down at you two, a question, his ears rising again.

The Mandalorian gently helped you sit up and you let him.

“He tried to...heal me again, I think.” You murmured appreciatively.

The Mandalorian made a sound of recognition as he gazed at the child now too.

“I didn’t want…” You started. “I don’t want him knocking out again for me.” You finished lamely, not wanting to be sentimental. It wasn’t not true. You didn’t want the baby weakening himself for you. You would live.

But the Mandalorian stared down at you for several long moments until-

“Help me up,” you huffed impatiently.

This made the Mandalorian chuckle unexpectedly. Clearly he was glad to see that your anger towards him had mostly dissipated.

He picked you up carefully and put you on your feet, apologizing unnecessarily for the hisses of pain you let out.

Then the ramp was lowering and he was helping you down the ramp and into the bright sunlight of this desert planet, the child toddling behind after you both.

You’d learned your lesson from before. Rejecting the Mandalorian’s touch, even when you wanted it, only made him withhold that touch. So, instead, you leaned into him as you walked. Though there was something to be said for the fact that you also weren’t completely sure you could have made the walk alone. You’d always taken for granted how much an intact back had helped you walk.

A shorter humanoid figure waited for you in front of a hut.

“Kuill,” the Mandalorian greeted the figure warmly.

“Welcome back, Mandalorian.” The ugnaught responded. “Welcome to you, young one.” He nodded at you. Then, “And you, little one.” The child shrieked in response.

“Greetings,” you nodded at the ugnaught through teeth clenched in pain.

Suddenly, another figure appeared from within the hut. An IG droid. A hunter. You tensed, your head swiveling wildly to see where the child was behind you. Your back spasmed as you did so. It took you seconds before you wondered why the Mandalorian hadn’t reacted before you did.

“Wait,” he was saying, trying to get ahold of your shoulder without hurting you. “He’s a friend.” The words weren’t registering right. But that could have to do with the pain coursing through you.

“A friend?” You said painfully through gritted teeth, grasping the Mandalorian’s hand painfully as you tried to straighten yourself from the way you’d almost fallen backwards in your haste to cover the kid from the hunter. A friend??? Didn’t he hate droids?

“What were you doing?” The Mandalorian muttered quietly as he stood you up straight again, his arm coming around you protectively just above where your wound was healing. But he followed your gaze to the child then rotated his head slowly to look at you. Was that awe? You ignored it and started forward again so he’d stopped paying attention to your mishap.

“Mandalorian. Baby. Miss.” The droid was saying mechanically, if somehow warmly.

The baby shrieked happily up at the droid.

“A hunter IG unit?” You whispered confusedly at the Mandalorian at your side.

“I am a nurse droid.” So apparently droids weren’t against listening in on conversations.

“Cool, I’m a thief,” you shot back. The droid focused his block head mechanically on you. The ugnaught seemed both taken aback and amused.

“You require a nurse.” The droid said suddenly.

You narrowed your eyes at the droid. “No. I’m perfectly fine.” You attempted to take a step without the Mandalorian’s arm as support and almost buckled.

The Mandalorian caught you swiftly around your waist, careful not to jostle your back. “Wait.” He said patiently. He looked up at the droid. “Will you help her, IG?”

“I can help.” was the mechanic response.

You looked carefully from the man at your side to the droid. Since when was he cool with droids? You filed that away for later, deciding that you couldn’t argue at receiving medical attention when your back was hurting this bad.

“Please, come in.” The ugnaught gestured to the entryway of his home.

The Mandalorian helped you through the entryway and into the home. The ugnaught followed. Then came the droid who had picked up the child who, in turn, was giggling in the metal arms of the droid. You were perplexed to say the least.

The droid placed the child down gently on a small plush chair and produced food for him seemingly out of nowhere before turning toward you.

“I will see to you back there.” The droid gestured to a room just off this one with a cot.

You looked at the Mandalorian who nodded then rolled your eyes. The Mandalorian helped you to the room then left to give you privacy.

“I will require you to lift your top.” The droid approached you mechanically, his arms twirling as intimidating medical tools emerged from the armpiece.

“Not even going to buy me a drink first?” You joked and you appreciated the chuckle you heard from the doorway as the Mandalorian retreated back towards the ugnaught.

The droid stopped and stared. “Do you require liquid provisions? My sensors indicate you’re well hydrated.”

You rolled your eyes again.

The droid noted the gesture, turned back toward the doorway, looked back at you, then- “Besides, I believe you are already spoken for.”

You scoffed in disbelief, your mouth hanging open briefly at the droid’s ability to crack an almost joke. “Touché, IG.” You said happily. Since when were droids sarcastic?

You turned carefully and lifted the tunic over your head. Distantly, you heard the Mandalorian and the ugnaught’s voices fade. They must have left the home altogether.

You hissed when the droid poked your skin, his tools cold and somewhat sharp.

“How did this occur?” The droid asked as he worked. “Were you attacked by a battalion of stormtroopers?”

You turned your head so you could see him out of the corner of your eye. “What?” You asked, shocked he might somehow already know what had happened.

“That’s what happened to me last time I was with the child and his father.” The droid replied matter of factly.

You appraised him for a moment before turning back to face the wall. You chuckled. “Me too.”

“Curious.” The droid responded.

“Were you also protecting the child?” The droid asked in a curious tone. Was he jealous that you might have?

Before you could respond, a sharp pain erupted in your back.

You cursed. Loudly.

“What the kriff, droid?” You shot up involuntarily, dreading the pain, but then- As quick as the shot of pain followed your jerky movement, it was gone, fading fast until all that was left was a remnant of what it had been.

You lowered your tunic as you turned, your eyes wide. “What was that?” You looked at the large needle in his hand, wincing at the size of its tip.

“A bacta infusion I’ve concocted.” The droid responded almost proudly as he disposed of the needle.

“Are you healed?”

You stretched your arms up over your head, your necklace slipping out of your neckline and falling over your tunic. “Yes.” You said in amazement. “Thanks, IG.”

The droid tilted his head. “If you are as dedicated to protecting the child as I am, do not consider yourself in my debt.”

You nodded instead of indicating you hadn’t thought yourself in his debt, biting back the words to be kind because he had been.

“Does your holodisc require charging?” The droid pointed at your neck.

“My what?” You asked in puzzlement, gazing down at your front.

“My sensors indicate your holodisc is out of power.” The droid’s fingertip grazed your mother’s necklace.

A beat then- Dazed, you fell back onto the cot, bringing the necklace up to your eyes. It was a blank piece of metal, just a medallion, its only meaning your great love for and nostalgia for your mother.

You looked up at the droid, took the necklace off and offered it to him. “Charge it.”

*********

You were still in a daze.

The droid had charged the...disc. Not a necklace. A disc.

The Mandalorian had seemed as startled as you to find out the necklace had not been what it’d seemed. The ugnaught had been quiet, but his eyes seemed knowing. It bothered you how little he spoke but just how much his eyes seemed to understand.

They all gave you your privacy when the disc was ready to be sorted through on the ugnaught’s data pad. Only the child remained at your side. Ironically toothing on the Mandalorian’s mythosaur medallion, the one that had started this whole mess.

You took a deep breath and pressed the select button to open the files. Your heart was beating faster than it did on a chase. The child seemed to sense your erratic energy and he made what you took to be encouraging cooing noises at your side, occasionally reaching a tiny hand wet with his saliva to poke at your side. You ignored him.

Your eyes glazed over as they took in what they were seeing. It was an encyclopedia of information on high ranking officials in the Empire, from all varieties of ranks, from an amalgam of background and planets. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until the child poked you with the medallion.

You gently swatted the sharp medallion away absently, as you scrolled, taking in the information with your eyes as a person dying of thirst might down water.

This was a treasure trove of information. You recognized many of the names. Some you’d come into contact with during your thieving, most of them when you’d been stealing from them. Many of them were now considered legitimate members of the senate or other governments, their involvement in the Empire’s crimes either being explained away or excused, many believing they had no involvement. Your mother’s necklace contained the proof, the evidence needed to condemn them all.

You began to find it hard to breathe. You felt trapped again. Your mother had gathered this evidence down to every minute detail over the years. The Empire must have found out. This must have been what set her on the run, why she’d hid you first and stashed the necklace with you. Many in the Rebellion had not known of your existence; your mother’s best efforts to keep you safe from the Empire had been to keep you secret. And it had paid off. After her demise at the hands of the Empire, no one had sought you out.

Your mother had died for this information. And had trusted only you to keep it safe. Years later and you’d only just realized the medallion’s secrets. And not without help.

You gasped, disconnecting the neckl- holodisc from the datapad and pushing back from the table violently. You looked around wildly. Where to run when there was nowhere to run. This hut was unfamiliar, so were its surroundings. There was only one place you wanted to be right now.

You stuffed the holodisc down your shirt, out of sight, and rushed out of the room, ignoring the child’s questioning coos. You half-galloped across the sand, intently not looking in the direction of the blurgs’ enclosure where the Mandalorian stood with the ugnaught and the droid.

You heard the Mandalorian call out for you to wait, but instead you rushed up the ramp of the ship and ensconced yourself safely in the bunk where the child usually slept. You had to pull your knees to your chest to fit so the door would close, but once the darkness surrounded you, you were finally able to release your tears.

You prayed the Mandalorian would leave you in peace until you were ready. Somehow, you knew he would.

Tag List: @disn3yfreak @cosmo-bear @rintheemolion @readsalot73 @space-princesssss @crushingonmando  @imaginebeinlovedbyme @scintilla-morningstar @creamysacrilege @abesottedlass @persephonehemingway @mando--daddo @satans-tongues @doubtedbus409 @retrofaek @random066 @pascalisthepunkest @fruitsaladtree @snokesthrussy @groovinomicon @brooklymw @bithepowerofgay @blue-tidal-wave

A/N: No smut in this one, but there will be next chapter. Hope everyone is enjoying where this is going. Definitely tried to add a more overall emotional element to this and something of a backstory to sort of raise the stakes and create some more meaning. Hope that all comes through and that you all enjoy the building feelings/emotions/climax of the story. But stick around if you're more here for smut, there will definitely be more next chapter! Thanks so much to everyone for reading/enjoying/commenting, it honestly means so much to me! 💖

masterlist

[detroitbydark]

Title: Play With Fire- Part 2

Characters: Migs Mayfeld/”Pockets” (OC)

Rating: T

Summary: First Impressions

Warning: Blood? but not gore

A/N: So apparently Pockets is now and OC and I have more ideas then I care to admit for this pairing. Thank you to @crimson-dxwn​ for being my beta extraordinaire and listening to my rants and raves. Anything ya'll wanna know about these two crazy kids? let me know and I might explore it. Also, 3 ABY is approximately one year before the battle of Endor and the second Death Star and their reunion ( the first part in this) takes place about 9 ABY sometime after the second season of The Mandalorian.

 3 ABY

Sometimes you made the shot of a lifetime. Sometimes you didn’t.

Sometimes you made that once in millennia shot as Rebel artillery was destroying your nest and you went tumbling ass over blaster down a ravine with half a ton of loose debris and rocks.

You couldn’t win them all.

Migs got this. He understood it like he understood his unfortunate short stature or the hairline that had receded for too early in life. Those were the breaks.

You either lived with it or died with it and he was fully set on living until he was old and shriveled.

Some days it just sucked.

Today was one of those days.

“We got a live one coming through. Clear a table, will ya?”

The voice of his squad mate, Crikes, was too loud on his right as his weight pressed heavily into Smitty on his left. The rough outer rim accent bounced around in his bucket like a stray blaster bolt.

Kriff his head hurt.

Everything hurt actually, from his head to the tips of his toes. The slide hadn’t been that bad. Seven meters? Maybe ten? It was the sharp obsidian stone that had come down with him that had done him in. The razor sharp black stone had bludgeoned and gouged his armor, weaseling its way into the cracks and under the plastoid plating. It cut at his skin with each move he made. If the stims hadn’t helped numb him up he’d probably have passed out when the assault droid had helped yank him from the rubble.  His gauntlets were both cracked and he could feel a cool breeze coming through the cracks in his back plate. He’d liked his armor. Command wasn’t gonna take to kindly with having to replace it.

It was nice to pretend his biggest concern was getting a new set of plastoid requisitioned. 

“Hey medic!” Crikes’ voice cuts through his thoughts, “I said we need a hand over here!”

“Maker… do you have to yell so fragging loud? I mean-“

“What are you going on about?” Looking back he’s never sure what it was that he noticed first, but he likes to think it was her voice. Like an holomodel fantasy out of a good spice trip, she shuts that Hutt humping Crikes up, marching over with her hands on her hips and scowl on her face.

“We got an Imperial war hero here.” Crikes sounds chastened, but Migs doesn’t bother to look over to see if his face matches what he’s hearing because he’s in the presence of a fragging angel.

“Yeah? Look around. Got a lot of heroes here.” Sarcasm flows from her pretty pouty lips like water from a fountain. She sweeps her arm toward the other beds and the piles of bloodied plastoid littering the small field hospital. “This one ain’t any better or worse.”

Migs frowns under cover of his helmet. For a while he’s been wondering if he might have some bleeding going on somewhere. He feels a bit woozy when he turns his head too quickly to follow the angel as she grabs a datapad off a nearby cart. He was better then a majority of the scum around him. He was a sharpshooter, best of the best, and the bastard who single-handedly brought down the pair of x-Wings decimating their ground troops.

He tries to tell her as such but the words don’t come out of his mouth in any coherent thought. Angel freezes, looking up from the datapad she barks to his squad mate and Migs suddenly feels his bucket being pulled from his head.

“Designation number trooper.”

It’s an order not a question. He didn’t like orders, even from his own superiors but she’s damn pretty and his head hurts…

“Trooper? A number?” Angel looks up from the datapad. There’s concern on her face. She’s scanning his injuries. The ones she can see. Were they that bad? Migs reaches up and feels something warm and sticky against his temple.

“FO-593” Smitty offers for him.

“593… got it…” she takes a step closer, setting the datapad down and pulling gloves from her pocket. She’s got the prettiest hazel eyes, long lashes. Migs wonders if she’s seeing anyone. It’s probably one of those civvie doctors that signed on…

“593-“

“Mayfeld. It’s Migs Mayfeld.” He clarifies, ‘cause a pretty girl like her should be saying his name.

“Alright, Mayfeld, what happened?”

“He saved our asses is what he did!”

Crikes again. Maker, if the bastard kept stealing his glory he was going to deck him. Once the room stopped spinning.

“You know what?” The Angel looks about as amused with Crikes as

Migs felt. “I think it’s high time you two go get some rations in you and leave Mayfeld and I to our own devices.”

Smitty elbows Crikes, the plastoid of armor clattering as he tips his head toward the entrance.

“I’m good boys,” Migs offers the other two field operatives, “Let me get some alone time with the pretty girl.”

He ignores the raised brow directed his way and the crossed arms that follow. Nausea rolls through him as his buddies wander back the way they came.

“Frag… I think I’m gonna be sick.”

She does well. Manages to miss the first splash of vomit. The second retch hits her shoe.

“Son of a bitch… Maker fragging-“ 

The angel has a mouth on her. He could get used to that. Migs uses the sleeve of his under armor, exposed by the shattered plastoid to wipe his mouth.

“Sorry about that, Sweetness.” 

Her eyes narrow as she reaches behind him. “My name is not Sweetness. I am FM-111 to you trooper. Specialist Coronette if you're lucky.”

The words slip out, some verbal diarrhea to go along with what he was starting to think was a concussion. “I am lucky and you’re beautiful.”

“That’s it-“

“Pockets? Have we got an issue?”

Wait- was that a-

“No Coric, I’m good.”

The older man looks at Migs and Migs looks right back. No shit. A clone. You didn’t see that everyday. Guy’s got a head of close cropped salt and pepper hair, looks real dignified. He’s also… glaring? Ok yeah, that wasn’t good.

“If he’s giving you trouble I can-“

Angel’s…. Specialist Coronette’s face softens as she looks at the clone. Migs feels a little jealousy percolate deep down - accompanied by the occasional flip of his stomach. She pats the other man’s cheek fondly and he gives her a soft look.

Some guys had all the luck.

Migs closes his eyes as the world takes a big spin. He doesn’t mean to groan but the axis has tilted and the poles have just flipped and… Fek… he really is starting to not feel good.

“Hey… Mayfeld?” The voice is soft and Migs focuses on the sweet, silvery words. Slowly he opens his eyes and notes that Coronette, is at his side looking more concerned then she has the entire time he’s been in the damn med bay. Over her shoulder the clone medic gives his own appraising look.

“You got this Pockets?”

Migs sees irritation flash in sharp green eyes, not just green but, like, Endor. So bright and alive there wasn’t any way he could think to describe them other than the greenest Kriffing place he’d ever seen in his life.

“I’ve got it, Sir.” Her tone is sharp but the clone, her superior, doesn’t seem to take offense to it. She must not just be blowing smoke. At this point he doesn’t give a wamp rat’s ass. He really just wants to call it a day, catch a cycle worth of sleep and lay in bed til the gut-rending nausea goes the fek away.

“Uh-uh,” she tuts, irritation melted away, “can’t fall asleep on me just yet. You haven’t even shown me a good time yet.” She teases and Migs wills his eyes wide open.

“You’re flirting.”

“Maybe… or maybe I’m trying to keep you awake because you’ve got a concussion. You’ll never know.”

Specialist Coronette pokes and prods, shuffling him toward the edge of the gurney. “Wanna go somewhere more private?”

“Trying to get me all alone, beautiful?”

She huffs. It sounds half amused. He can work with that.

“I’m trying,” she grunts, looping his arm around her shoulder and manhandling him into standing, “to get you in a private room so I can assess your wounds without the whole battalion seeing you stripped down.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” His head spins at the sudden change in momentum. “I’m not that kind of man. You gotta wine me and dine me before-“

She twists under his arm and sharp pain shoots through his side cutting off his words more effectively then any shushing ever could. 

“Easy Mayfeld.” He hears a familiar voice but can’t place which slimy barve he knew it came from. “You can’t handle that one.”

A pair of voices, masculine and feminine, grunt in agreement as he and his medic slowly hobble past and to a clean, empty ‘room’.

It’s a room about as much as a room as a troop transport is a luxury yacht. Four ceiling to floor curtained walls block it off from the other rooms and the larger, open floor of the hospital. He manages to collapse onto the exam table as the world takes another vicious whip around. This time he manages to spew in the bucket shoved under his nose.

He apologizes after he finishes. “Thanks. You know, you keep showing me basic human decency like this and you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Coronette is pulling clean gloves on and hunting in a shallow drawer. She arches a pretty brow in his direction as she finds a pair of shears. “I have to clean up whatever mess you make. Don’t confuse decency with laziness on my part.”

“Whatever you say, Pockets.”

Her shoulders tense for a moment and then she takes a deep breath and lets the bait he’s laying out go to waste.

“I’m getting this armor off you. ‘Fraid it ain’t doing you any good anymore.”

Migs glances down at the cracked plastoid. His pauldron is long gone and both pairs of vambrace and gauntlets are thrashed. There’s so much under armor and skin showing, Migs isn’t really sure how they're still even on him. Pockets manages to get them off without much to it and little input from the guy wearing them. She begins on his cuirass and Migs thinks of half a dozen smart ass remarks about getting his clothes off, but there’s something going on under the armor and each time she begins working at the cracked and twisted chest piece it steals the air from his lungs.

“Karking hells,” he curses lowly. 

“I’ve almost got it…” 

Migs takes a deep breath and holds as still as he can. It kriffing hurts, burns hotter than two suns over Tatooine. Just when he’s sure he can’t handle a second more of it, the plastoid falls away in two pieces. It’s like a pressure he hadn’t realized was on his chest has finally been removed and he can breathe-

“Son of a mudscuffer-“

Migs doesn’t need to ask what’s wrong. He can feel it. Warmth spreading and staining the under armor across the left side of his chest. 

“Karking thing was putting pressure on-“ she trails off again as she retrieves the shears from her pocket. She’s efficient and wastes no time slicing up the front of his under armor. The black fabric falls away from one side and clings to blood staining his other. Coronette doesn’t stop moving, flowing from one spot to the next. She doesn’t stop talking either.

“Fek. Fek. That’s not gonna fekking come out in the wash-“ 

He could laugh but she’s pulling the clinging fabric away from his chest and pressing bacta soaked gauze into the laceration. If that didn’t burn like the wrong end of a burner’s incinerator he didn’t know what did. 

“Damn it! Is your kriffing processor pickled?! Warn a guy!” He's all bark and no bite at the mercy of the medic who continues to press hard on the wound.

“Shut it 593.” It’s grunted out as she continues to press with one hand and reach across him with the other for Palps only knew what. Sharp words fizzle on his tongue as he catches a glimpse of pale flesh down the top of her scrubs. Fek. He really loved a pretty pair of tits and judging by the rounded tops he can see and the slight jiggle as they move, Coronette’s were perfect. It’s better then any painkiller he could imagine… until she’s leaning back and catches the cast of his eyes.

“So are so kriffing lucky. You slimy little nerfherder- if I had two free hands.”

He should feel bad about being caught but Migs has had a day and he really can’t find it in him.

“Not my fault, maker gave you a gorgeous rack and Imperial uniforms don’t hide it.”

He winces as she yanks the bacta soaked gauze away, blood beginning to well up again immediately. She doesn’t warn him before pressing the gun into the open wound and squeezing the trigger. Bacta foam fills in the area as he hisses, sealing the laceration. She doesn’t stop to make sure he’s ok before she’s spinning and grabbing more supplies. A bacta patch gets slapped over the quick dry foam.

“Weasly stormtrooper scum…” she continues under her breath.

“Aww come on now, I’m sorry.” He tries to offer a weak smile but her back is turned as she furiously enters data onto a pad. “I really am. When’s the end of your shift. I’ll buy you a drink?”

The anger that flashes in those forest eyes when she whips back is the sexiest thing he’s seen in a standard cycle. If the stims weren’t beginning to wear off and his body beginning to hurt to Malachor and back, he’d be getting stiff in what was left of his armor.

“You think I’d have a drink with you?”

“Come on sweets, what really matters is if you think you’d have a drink with me.”

Her eyebrows skim her hairline. “Are you kidding me? Give up already. Karking little-”

“Not the size of the aak in the fight but the fight in the aak, Sweetheart.”

“Not in your life, Buckethead.”

Her ass looks almost as good in her scrubs as her tits but she doesn’t give him a chance to say so before she storms out.

[jasontoddiefor]

hey so for the emporer luke thing would luke eventually get to see biggs/meet him cuz they're cool

As if I could leave my second fave Tatooine kid out of any OT story! Read on AO3

Biggs Darklighter was fifteen years old and he still dreamed of going to the stars someday. He was a good son, helped in the household, and took care of his younger siblings, and would his parents ask him to stay, then Biggs would. If they’d let him go though, Biggs would seek the unknown parts of the galaxy, chase after the adventures he had dreamed of ever since he was a little boy, running around in the courtyard of his family’s home or jumping up and down on Luke’s bed, pretending to be a ship in the sky.

It was strange how easily he had accepted Luke’s disappearance when he was younger. Tatooine was a harsh planet, cruel to the bone, and the death of a loved one happened far too often to be unfamiliar with how tightly life and death were woven together. He hadn’t forgotten about Luke, had mourned his friend and joined his mother on her trips to the Lars homestead, but he hadn’t let Luke’s fate dominate his every waking thought. There had been other things to worry about, such as the suddenly escalating conflicts due to Jabba’s death.

Now it seemed like the exact opposite was happening to Biggs. He couldn’t keep his friend out of his mind. The weekly trips to the Lars homestead, checking in on its state and the refugees hiding there for the next transport that would them smuggle off-world, were now spent trying to see whether Biggs could find any sign of His Imperial Highness in the murals and carvings they had made into Luke’s bedroom walls as children. He had been there when they had found Beru and Owen’s bodies, eleven years old and wondering whether Luke had made used of his uncanny ability to hide away so that he hadn’t been killed too. His aunt and uncle had been half-buried in the sand already, left behind to rot without a proper funeral. It had been easy to figure out what exactly had caused their deaths and what it meant for Luke. In the aftermath, when the news of Jabba’s violent end had reached even the Darklighters, they had traveled to the palace and the nearby city once, trying to see if anybody had heard of a child by the name of Luke Skywalker, but nobody had known a thing.

And then, just a year later, Luke had appeared again.

The Republic had never really cared about Tatooine and neither had the Empire, but even they had heard rather quickly about the Emperor’s death and his heir.

The Luke in the holos had looked like a doll, fake and imaginary, like a wind spirit. His face hadn’t been any different, it still matched the one Biggs remembered, but nothing else seemed to fit, not his name, not even his accent.

And yet he had been sure that the child appearing in front of the Senate was his friend.

All that had remained from Luke Skywalker were his blue eyes, the blond hair and the kindness that had made the other children scoff at him. Luke had been too good to understand, to naïve or perhaps he just hadn’t cared for their petty words. Biggs hadn’t known how he could smile so openly when the others took their teasing to far, but Luke had never lowered his head, at least not where he could see it.

Biggs missed his best friend, the one who would help him fix up old droids and fly speeders and skyhoppers more accurately than anybody else, even though he really shouldn’t be able to do so. Luke would certainly have the time of his life now, rushing across the sands at maximum speed, the wind hitting his face so harshly it almost cut into it. Luke had always enjoyed listening to the wind, from the sweet breezes in spring to the heavy sandstorms towards the end of drought season. Being stuck inside with nothing to do hadn’t been too bad with Luke around to narrate what the wind was telling him.

The distance between the Darklighter homestead and the Lars’ Rest, as they had come to call that safehouse, wasn’t too large. Biggs crossed it quickly even in his slightly beat-up ride that could use an upgrade or two. As far as he knew, no runaways should be staying there for the remainder of the week until they got the next group through. There were fewer and fewer slaves in need of transport nowadays. Tatooine was still, as it had been for the last years since Luke’s disappearance, caught in civil war between the former Hutt slaves, freedom fighters, whatever good soul they could convince to join their cause and those crime syndicates who sought to make use of cheap labor. Where the Hutts had that thought they could reclaim Tatooine quickly following Jabba’s death, Tatooine had wanted to prove them wrong. More and more slaves had escaped every day, more people stood up to fight for what they believed to be right.

Biggs wasn’t allowed to do much, not really. His older sister and her partners were heavily involved in the fights while Biggs could only do supply runs. He knew they were important, but he itched to do something more proactive.

But perhaps that wouldn’t be necessary anymore.

It had become more and more obvious that the Hutts were also a thorn in the side of the Empire and whoever was actually pulling the strings behind their Emperor was set to do something about it. There had been skirmishes so far, a few imprisonments. Nothing too large yet, but the horizon was darkening and if the last years had shown anything, then that the Empire didn’t tolerate disobedience. Biggs wasn’t sure how it would influence Tatooine at large. He didn’t know all that much about the way the Hutts operated on a galactic scale, but he figured that whatever took their attention away from Tatooine, even if just for a while, was good.

Soon Biggs was approaching Lars’ Rest and was surprised to see figures standing in the distance. Biggs frowned and slowed down his craft. He was absolutely certain that no group should be coming in today. The position of Lars’ Rest was kept quiet so that no slaver would discover this particular hideout. The only other groups that knew of it were smugglers and the sand people, though they hardly bothered coming down the underground tracks these days. They had decided to target moisture farms far deeper into their territory or, in the case of some clans who were not as isolated,  target the rich of Tatooine so the poor would cease trying to expand further into the desert.

Biggs reached for his rifle. If they were slavers, he had to be ready. It was obvious that he was doing supply runs, who else would be out here, and if they took him, that could be disastrous for the whole organization.

Tatooine was a horrible planet to plan an ambush on. Sand for miles, the open desert, and skies, nothing could hide you or provide adequate cover. Once your enemy spotted you, that was it.

Biggs could of course leave, drive back home. They didn’t keep anything too incriminating at their homestead, so even if they were to follow him, there was be nothing to be found there. And yet, somehow, Biggs couldn’t bring himself to do so as anger flared up in his stomach like the midday heat.

That house had belonged to his best friend. It was supposed to be a safe haven now when before its inhabitants had found death or worse. Nobody had any right to ruin those memories.

With newfound bravery and strength, Biggs sped up again. He was a good shot, the best in his family, he’d definitely hit them before they could shoot him.

As Biggs got closer, he saw that the group was larger than he had thought at first. Ten, perhaps fifteen figures. He had been confused because their forms had not been easy to make out with the sun bearing down on their light uniforms, no, armor. The armor was mostly white, but some patterns appeared to have been drawn on it. He saw the green ones first, their color standing out the most against the yellow and blue background of Tatooine. Then there some men with blue, orange, and red patterns, those being much harder to see. Biggs’ eyes were good, but not that excellent.

Nevertheless, he readied his rifle. It was easy to get stormtrooper uniform, and to paint it in the color of the Emperor’s guard was even easier.

Biggs took aim. He wasn’t going to shoot unprovoked, but he was going to shoot first if the situation escalated.

“Hey!” He shouted once he was within hearing distance. “Get the hell out of here!”

As expected, the armed men immediately raised their weapons as well. Biggs didn’t know why they hadn’t done that the moment they had seen him. Now that he was standing in front of them, Biggs wasn’t so sure his move had been the smartest. There were way too many of them and only one him.

“Move away,” one of the troopers, a red one, said.

His armor looked pristine, the paint new. This has to be a trick, though he no idea what somebody would get from parading around in trooper armor here. There were certainly more effective ways to pretend to have more power than you actually did on this planet.

“This land doesn’t belong to you,” Biggs said, forcing his voice not to waver. “Move.”

“Listen here, kid,” one of the troopers said, then suddenly stopped talking. Another man had put his hand on the man’s shoulder and leaned forward, probably telling him something. Even though Biggs couldn’t see their faces, they didn’t look too concerned by it all

“I’m not joking!” Biggs insisted and raised his blaster just a little more, set on using it if need be. “I will-“

“Biggs?”

The voice was barely louder than a whisper, certainly not above the noise the wind and the engine were making, and yet Biggs still heard it clearly.

“Your Majesty-“ The red trooper hissed, but in between the trooper’s bodies, a smaller form pushed through.

The person was short, but not as by far not as tall as the holos made him out to be. His hair had darkened as well, wasn’t the light blond Biggs remembered, but the eyes, clear blue, were definitely the same.

“Luke?” Biggs couldn’t believe it.

His clothes were far too fine for Tatooine, at least for standing outside where sand could easily get stuck everywhere on your skin. His robes looked soft and were decorated with gold and red lines interconnecting to images reminiscent of flowers and vines.

The boy's face split into a smile and he looked like he’d jump into a sprint if not for the trooper’s hand on his shoulder.

“Biggs! It really is you!” Luke said excitedly. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. I was hoping someone would look after the farm, but I-“

He cut himself off to shake his head, a gesture so familiar that it had to be Luke standing in front of him, brilliant pilot, Emperor of the galaxy.

Biggs hurried off his speeder and fell to his knees.

[tonksie-writes]

Mark And Soul||Caradin (Ch 1)

Summary: Soulmate AU| Cara is not interested in Soulmates. Even if she were her planet is dead and everyone knows your soulmate comes from your home planet. So why is the helmed wonder she’s been working with over and over sporting a mark matching hers.

Prologue

A/N: Hi back! Some people asked for part 2 so here it is. It’s not finished... that said I also have no set plans for this so we’re on a RIIIIIIDE Friends! Still it should be fun!.... I hope

Cara was too flabbergasted  to really make a move at first. Besides she had better things to do. She needed to keep the Moff alive and get settled, make sure Princess what’s her face didn’t do anything too reckless against, apparently, her soul mate. So she set to work ignoring the image on Din’s jaw,. The tiny, easily missed, almost tattoo; if it were possible to have a naturally occurring tattoo. The tiny familiar shape circle with two thin diamonds on either side and surrounded by what appeared a pronged tear. They said that once you met your soulmate the make would make sense. The reason behind the symbol would become clear and you would know. You would both learn together what the matching marks symbolized of yourself and the other. The pronged tear had made sense since she got her tear tattoo. Though elongated the symbol around the strange circle with diamonds was a simplified rebel starbird. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the meaning of the rest now. It looked just like the kid.

She couldn’t let herself get caught up in it though, even if she had wanted to. Din needed a drink and consoling and a friend. He needed someone to keep that red headed princess away from him. Cara did not like the way Bo- Whatever had looked at him and she didn’t trust the woman. The Moff needed to be put in his Carbonite and stored safely until the New Republic could handle him.

She wanted to focus on the simple and easy things and by the time she found Din again he was sitting alone in the depths of Boba’s ship and had his helmet firmly in place. She was carrying a large glowing bottle of Spatchka and two cups, one with a straw. They didn’t need to talk about it. They didn't need to reference it. Cara could pretend she didn’t see it at all.

She sat down without a word and poured the drinks handing it to him. She’d expected him to use the straw or even just lift the helmet enough to drink. Instead he stood up and closed the door before taking his helmet back off and sitting down.

Damn him for that. He had to go rubbing their mark in her face. Reminding her of promises she had long ago lost hope of and things that weren’t an option. How could they be? Her eyes shot to her drink refusing to look at him and that damn mark that seemed to make her heart flutter. She felt sick or anxious. Maybe it was just a panic attack that made her feel like running away far and fast from her best friend’s handsome face. The deepest brown eyes and prominent jaw with just the right dusting of stubble and caramel skin which almost seemed to have a healthy glow even if she was positive it hadn’t seen the sun in at least a decade.

“It's ok.” He said misreading her need to look away as respect. He downed his drink and sat down and she instantly poured more.

“I thought it was the way?” She said hoping her voice sounded normal and not the strangled panic she felt.

“I thought so too.” He admitted looking down at the drink. The sound in his voice brought her eyes to look at him. He looked so sad and broken there. Staring at his drink. He looked alone.

“Hey, You did the right thing.” She said gently. Neither of them were the best with words. From the beginning they were fighters and soldiers. They punched other people or each other. They sparred and competed and drank and were brothers in arms. She wouldn’t pretend she hadn’t felt drawn to him. For a man who never showed his face he was somehow just as sexy with the helmet on as he was with it off. But they had something so much more important than some stupid physical attraction. She wouldn’t turn him down if he’d offered but this wasn’t a romance.

This was her equal. Someone who respected her and saw who she was and didn’t question.This was someone she was so in sync with it was almost scary. Someone who, from day one, could almost read her mind while they worked together. Looking back, maybe that quick connection was a result of the soul bond they didn’t know they had. She had thought it came from the fight they’d had proving they were perfectly matched. All their competitions did seem to end in a draw after all. Maybe there was a reason for that. She couldn’t be sure though, and she had no desire to dwell.

“I know.” He said. His voice and face were so raw without the armor she almost wanted to tell him to put the damn thing back on but she wouldn’t. This vulnerability was a gift she shouldn’t ignore but it was also killing her. “He’s with his people. He’ll learn and be safe and turn into a warrior.” Din said like he was trying to convince himself.

“But you miss him and it sucks.” she finished the unspoken words.

“Yeah.” He agreed more of a grunt than anything as he downed another drink. She filled both cups again and sat for a moment in silence as they both thought and sipped. “What’ll you do? Go back to Nevarro?” He asked.

She sighed “Have to.” she shrugged. “I’ll give the Moff to some republic officers and stick to cleaning up my back water planet.” She said flatly.

“They could promote you. Bringing in a Moff is big.” He pointed out but she just scoffed.

“No thanks.” She said with a smirk at him. “What about you? Now that you have that cool laser sword thing.” She pointed out a bit of teasing in her tone.

“Don’t remind me. I still think Bo Katan is planning to stab me in my sleep for it.” He said annoyed. The easy smile that pulled across his face was so strange to see. She’d always imagined he smiled under his helm when they talked. She’d pictured the face under the helmet a few times but more so the expressions than anything. She never would have imagined the stoic warrior she sat next to would be so easy to bring a smile out of no matter how sad.

“She tries it and I fill her full of blaster bolts.” she warned but both laughed a little there. The air felt lighter with it. Her fear melted a little, though that could be the alcohol taking effect. She had firmly decided she was blaming the heat in her cheeks and the tingling in her stomach  on the alcohol too.

“I might try to help her re-take Mandalore though. Or keep looking for Mandalorians. Not sure. The kid was my purpose for so long I don’t know what I’ll do.” He admitted.

She took a deep long drink at that and a comfortable, if a little sad, silence descended on the room.

“You could stay with me?” She offered. It was out of her mouth before she was really able to take it back but it did make him shoot his head to look at her.

“On Nevarro?” He asked.

She shrugged “Sure I could use a Deputy.” she teased with a smirk and he laughed again. “Plus you need a new ship. Maybe we could find a pre-Empire one in some scrap heap and get it fixed up.” She pointed out.

He sighed leaning back a little as he took a small sip. She hated the anxiety that flared back as he seemed to think over the offer. It was a stupid plan, a stupid thought. There was no way in hell he would take it. “Maybe. It could be a good change. I’ve had the Razer Crest so long it could be good to upgrade.” He mused.

She snorted a bit and raised her eyebrows imaging him in some shiny new space cruiser with chrome plating. It didn’t fit him. They sat in the silence for a while drinking and just enjoying the other’s company until a small, warm, tingle was starting to overtake both. “Maybe I’ll go look for my soul mate.” He said finally and she nearly spit out her spatchka.

“What?” She asked shocked as hell as to where that came from. Did he know? She had never truly hidden her mark but it was small and she usually had it somewhat covered. He couldn’t know… did he?

“I took the helmet off right? My mark it’s right here.” He said pointing to his jaw and tapping it. “Mandalorians, at least the Children of the Watch, we didn’t talk about soul marks. When you were part of the covert you were a Mandalorian and anything else was set aside. But with the kid…. With everything it got me wondering if maybe I shouldn’t at least look. Maybe it wouldn’t make me less of a Mandalorian” He admitted.

She was stunned listening to that. How did she tell him? How could she? There he was looking for this person and she was right there in front of him and all she had to do was move her hair and he’d have an answer and still she was frozen. She couldn’t do it. He looked over at her and the look in her eyes shook her out of it.

“Yeah. I mean why not right?” she agreed, raising her glass. It was her turn to knock back the drink. “You are a Mandalorian Din. Helmet or no helmet you are exactly what everyone says Mandalorians are in those stories. If they can’t see that, they don’t deserve you. I mean look at everything you did for the Kid and for that village on Sorgon!” and for me. It was true she always helped him, even if she tried to turn it down at first but when she asked he came.

He nodded “Did you know yours?” He asked. She didn’t get where all of these questions were coming from. Maybe he was lonely. Maybe he was thinking about it because of his loss. Whatever it was it made her shift in discomfort. It felt like lying. Not telling him felt like lying to him but the thought of telling him was more terrifying than a space walk.

“I never really thought much about it.” She admitted with a shrug.

“So you didn’t find him on Alderaan?” He asked. They didn’t talk much about Alderaan or her past. They hadn’t since their first meeting. In Sargon they’d swapped a few stories and left it at that. They didn’t get too serious past the admissions of the hard times. This was not their normal way of talking.

“No.” she said simply while her mind screamed ‘tell him!’

He seemed to open his mouth to prepare to talk when a clatter happened above them and shouting started. He instantly put the cup aside and pulled the helmet on and she grabbed her riffle and his and jumped up ready to go. It sounded like danger and this they knew exactly what to do with.

[mawmdalorian]

The Knight and the Hunter: chapter 2

They had the Hallikset player serving drinks now. He’d been watching her for about an hour. She moved through the crowds like she’d been doing it her whole life. He didn’t want to be impressed, but… well, it was that kind of night. Something in the air was singing in Boba Fett’s blood, and though it was distracting, it wasn’t the kind of distracting that was going to become a problem. Few things were.

He was something like desperate to get back to Jabba’s palace and bury himself in the pleasures that could be found there, the spice and the sin and the taste of firewater pouring down the throat like sour velvet. Even Boba Fett, after all, took the occasional day, or week, off to unwind. He didn't exactly struggle to focus, but he did concede to himself and himself alone that he was getting a little jumpy.

When the hallikset player appeared again, this time close enough to touch, she came heavy with the cloying scent of fake flowers. Cheap perfume, the kind you grabbed from a market stall on your way home from a long night shift, the kind you didn’t have to throw credits at, the kind you wore to entice men who hadn’t smelled softness in a long, long while. It cut through the smell of grease and the cleaner used on star destroyers. Her skirt—knee length, tattered, having seen better days—snapped around her legs.

“Chut chut,” he said, brushing off the Huttese. It gave his voice a different timbre, sounded different when he spoke it rather than Basic and added a layer to his disguise. She paused, shifted her weight to her right foot. Bad left hip. Old injury? He'd thought it was just an affectation, but maybe it was a real limp. She looked for just a second too long right into his eyes, probably registering the scars and the chip implanted next to his right eyebrow. Fierfek, she reeked of that perfume. Up close, he could see that her dark hair and boots glittered with the mica-rich dust of the planet, and she shimmered in the bright spots of light that created places too bright and too dim in the crowded cantina.

“Hey, what can I get you?” she asked. Sweat was beading on her tanned forehead, the wispy hairs at her hairline sticking to her skin. It was getting pretty warm in the room, though from his position in the dark corners, it was perfectly cool. The hallikset player had been mobile since he’d started the hunt, but she was clearly happy to stand still for a second and enjoy the cool air.

Something was pinging in the back of Boba’s brain. Like a hook, just missing the memory over and over.

“Oto du yocola.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Jee hagwa chess.”

“We just got in some Corellian goldale?”

He nodded, and she did in return, before heading toward the bar again. She collected glasses from raucous tables, and Boba watched as someone reached out to grab a feel as she did so. He raised an eyebrow as she delicately twisted out of the way. He almost grinned.

Fett was naked without his armor, though it was right nearby--in the bag at his feet, actually. He still bristled with weaponry, from the blaster at his hip to the knife in his boot. His armor was known here, though, and this quarry had evaded hunters nearly as good as he was time and time again. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes. She was clever, and if she smelled trouble, she’d bolt like a startled eopie. He'd been trying to learn her routines but she'd been gone almost all week.

When she reappeared, bearing a large tray and an instrument, she dispensed drinks, dropping them at tables. On the way, she slipped her hallikset off her shoulder and set it on stage. They must’ve been ready for her on the bandstand. A new act was setting up. She set his goldale on the table in front of him, and when she got close, something inside Fett bristled. Under the perfume, he could smell her skin, her sweat, and could feel the cool rush of air with her movements. He swallowed. This was one of the reasons he preferred to work in his armor. This was too much contact with the world, too many smells, too many sensations not filtered by his helmet, too many mysteries without a HUD to elucidate.

“There ya go,” she said.

Her tray empty, she handed it off to another server. He watched as she leapt easily onto the stage, her heavy boots practical and sturdy, and sat down on a stool. She quickly tuned her instrument, a seven-stringed hallikset that had clearly been through a war, and when the rest of the band struck up, her music disappeared.

“Quite something, isn’t she?”

Fett turned his head, looked at the man who had invited himself to sit. Some Hutt affiliate. He’d seen him in Jabba’s throne room a time or two, being entertained by Twi’lek dancers and eating rare, expensive delicacies aboard the pleasure barge. He was a snotty karking barve, and Fett made a point not to speak or be spoken to by him.

“You see now why we hired her.”

“Hmm,” Fett answered. The man had no idea who he was, he just saw that Fett couldn’t keep his eyes off the woman.

“She’s a work of art. You’ll never believe it but we found her aboard a cargo transport a few years ago. She’d been bouncing around the galaxy for years.”

“What’d you offer her that made her settle?” Fett asked, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly because if he was going to have to listen to this barve talk, he’d rather steer the conversation.

“A better job than the one she had.”

“So, she traded cargo hauler for cantina girl?”

Cargo hauler… again, that nagging feeling came back.

“Oh, this isn’t her main job. It’s what we do to keep her busy between assignments.”

“So what is it that you have her doing?”

“She’s quite adept at fetching odds and ends from old Jedi temples.”

Fett raised an eyebrow. “Really.”

What a barve. What a stupid barve. It was a wonder he hadn’t gotten the schutta killed yet, though it also explained all the competing bounties on her. One from the Empire, a pile of them from the syndicates, even Jabba had expressed interest. He hadn’t paid attention to the specifics until Jabba had offered him the job on behalf of a “friend,” or whatever it was that Jabba had that passed for a friend. No one had said anything about a Jedi. And she was serving drinks here? That had to sting.

“Is she a… one of those uh… what are they called,” he said, pausing to sip his drink. It was awful, no wonder she’d pawned it off on him. “You know, jeedai.”

“A jedi? I have no idea. She’s had some kind of training in that sorcery though. I’m sure you know as well as I that concepts like jedi and the like aren’t worth much out here. The Empire likes to think they have us all in hand, and that we just turn over our force-sensitives like ordered, pbut even the grandest of admirals bow to Hutt sovereignty. She’s as safe as safe can be in the Outer Rim.”

A moment of silence passed, Fett drank again. He wanted so desperately to stop, but he couldn’t risk the chance that being persnickety about drinks would draw attention to him, make his face too memorable. Not that it was--he was, after all, one of millions of men with the same one.

The faintest impression of the hallikset made its way through the loud cantina. He could hardly hear her over the sound of chatter, drinking, fighting, shouting, and the other players. But he stayed aware of it.

He needed to go get his armor on, but this barve was the type to get irritable if he didn’t dismiss you, and clearly he wasn’t ready.

“So, where are you coming in from, pilot?”

“I’m no pilot.”

“With those flinty eyes? No way. You’ve seen some things. What are you then?”

“Just a freight mover,” Fett insisted. “That’s all. Agricultural products from Nakadia.”

“YOU? Your boss has you wasted. Please tell me you’re at least a first mate?”

Fett wanted to roll his eyes. He sipped the saccharine drink, which left a sour taste on his tongue, and said, “No, sir. I’m just a simple man trying to make my way in the universe. I’m not looking for that kind of responsibility. Just wanting to send enough home to the wife and kids so they can have a good life.”

“Well, if you’re ever looking for anything else, anything more, you let me know. Don’t touch the hallikset player, though. She’s… spoken for.”

Fett knew by the distant eyes the barve flashed at her that the statement was not only not true, but was an outright lie. The woman had probably turned him down a hundred times before. Maybe more.

He watched her look around as she played. She had her eyebrows furrowed. She was looking for trouble. He had to get this over with quickly. They locked eyes for just a second.

The woman had dark eyes, like he did, but rather than the hard cast his had, hers were friendly. She looked nice. She looked… playful, especially when she smiled like she was just then.

Hers narrowed, but he averted his. He wasn’t sure where he’d seen them before. It didn’t matter. She’d be locked in the holding cells by the night’s end, and then she’d be on her way to the client.

The first song ended as the barve stood up, knocked on the table.

“You take care of yourself, friend. And… don’t worry about that drink.”

He walked away. Fett was smart enough to know that the knock was a signal and he should get out and get changed while the getting was good. The hallikset player was tapped on the shoulder. Everyone in here was too drunk to care if the quartet was missing their strings, and the place was busy, so she was pulled away again to wait tables. The barve walked up to her, stood a little too close, but didn’t touch her as he spoke quietly to her. She nodded, shooting a glance at Fett.

Fierfek.

He sighed. Okay. Time to go.

He picked up the holdsall as the woman walked up to him. “Hey, ready for another?” she said with a smile. It was only then that he paid any attention to her earrings. They were semi-circular and gold, with three long chains ending in points hanging from the open side.

“No. Dobra koona.”

“Oh, so soon? The boss just said you drink free tonight. Seems like he’s taken a shine to you.” She smiled, raised her eyebrows enticingly. “C’mon, man. It’s a good night for it.”

He snarled in Basic. “I said no.”

The hallikset player raised her hands. “Whoa, sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to be a bother. You have a good night.”

She walked off. She either had no idea who he was, or was good at hiding it. Then again, why would she know who he was? How would anyone?

He walked out, found a dark corner next to a stack of transport crates, he began to reassemble and put on his armor. It was going to be a long hunt, a lot of waiting. Eventually, she was going to have to come out. He set his carbine to stun, knelt into the shadows, and got comfortable.

Time passed. Slowly, patrons began to leave the cantina. The staff, too, slowly began to leave. He pulled up the information from the Slave I on his HUD. Her name was Tash Lia. She’d been pinging for a while, which is why he took the bounty, a slightly lower one than he’d normally consider.

Tash Lia. This was going to drive him crazy. He wracked his brain. Boba Fett had no debts, so he didn’t owe her money. His romantic affairs—if they could be called that—were generally brief, nameless things, with few exceptions, and he’d remember if she was an exception. He’d remember that long hair, wrapped around his hand as he—

Fierfek.

He was a professional. Professional disinterest was crucial. He’d hunted pretty women before, he’d do it again, and he needed to get himself together.

The sensor in his helmet blinked, indicating something was nearby. It wasn’t any of the patrons. Something in the shadows. Fett felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. It looked bigger than a tooka, but as soon as it appeared, it was gone.

The employee door opened, and Lia walked out. “Alright, barve,” she said aloud, a blaster in her hand. She wore a rugged brown leather jacket and had twisted her braid into a bun. “I know you’re out here!”

Alright. Fair enough.

He stepped out of the shadows, and she raised her eyebrows. “Oh. You weren’t the barve I expected.”

“I’ve gotten that before.”

She glanced around a little. “Where’s the cute guy? I thought he was the—never mind.”

“Is that why you tried to get him drunk?”

“Well, the boss really did promise him free drinks.”

Fett raised his blaster, and tried not to think about her remark about his appearance. “You going to come quietly?”

She was silent for a minute, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t communicating. Her eyebrows furrowed. Her eyes narrowed above her broad cheekbones. “I don’t think so. After all, whoever sent you has to get their money’s worth. I didn’t think I even had a bounty on me high enough for you to bother with.”

He didn’t have a response to that.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

She raised her own blaster, turning off the safety. “I don’t know who sent you, but I’m pretty sure they want me alive, or you would have already shot me. And I’m not going easy.”

“Alive doesn’t mean walking.”

She fired. The blaster bolt bounced off his armor, and he aimed for her leg, but it missed. That was… great. He sighed. Karking force users. Full-tilt, she went sprinting away from him, but that bad hip was going to stop her eventually. He followed.

She was clever, dipping down alleys. It was going to be easier to follow her from the air. His jet pack activated with a button, and he used the HUD in the helmet to put a trace on her that tracked her heat signature even when she dipped behind things.

Tash Lia ran into a large warehouse, probably hoping to nail him in close quarters, which was a mistake. Not many quarters where she could put up a fight he couldn’t win.

Dropping to the ground, he kept low as he scanned the room for her or her blaster. Faint traces of warmth from her footsteps glowed in the thermal imaging HUD of his helmet. He listened. She’d get nervous, staying in one spot too long. She would want to move and keep doing so, no matter how secure her location. He had a feeling she had the good sense not to engage him directly.

Footsteps pounded up a set of stairs just out of his sight. He pursued.

He charged up the stairs after her. A blow hit him, knocking him back. By the time he realized she’d thrown a box at him, he was watching her dart away. Getting righted, he stood, followed—only to find an open window. Sighing, he activated the jet pack again, easing himself to the ground outside. Fett looked around. She was close, he could tell that much.

Tookas tumbled out of an alley, and he followed.

And that was when that second blip on the radar came back, and he realized he was in deep bantha poodoo.

Lia stood in the alley, stock-still. A figure in gleaming black armor, with a rather distinctive helmet design, stood at the other end. There was a long, quiet moment. The round guard of a lightsaber hilt gleamed in double moonlight.

“Mr. Fett,” said the ghoulish figure. “Fancy running into you here.”

Tash Lia’s hand slowly crept to the small of her back.

“Third Brother,” Fett answered. Always polite. No matter how much the man made even Fett’s icy blood run a little chilled.

Third Brother was a tall, scrawny barve with a particularly mean streak. Fett had only run into him once before, but had also run into the results of his work. It had been… messy. Fett’s durasteel stomach had rolled a little.

The Inquisitor flicked the button on his saber, and the fiery blade filled the alley with light as it grew.

“Natasi Salcilia,” said the ghoulish barve, “Such poor luck you have, to be hunted by two killers tonight.”

“The bad luck is all yours, buddy,” said Lia.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to see the green blade of her saber appear, but he was, and now there were two too many lightsabers involved in this hunt for his liking.

“Inquisitor, I have already accepted a bounty on Tash Lia—,” he began, wondering how he was going to talk his way out of this one when it really wasn’t his style to talk in the first place.

“Don’t bother, Fett,” said Lia. “Vader’s attack dogs don’t care about anything but blood.”

Lia made the first move. It wasn’t the position he would have taken, but then again, he didn’t have a laser sword. She was much bolder with the saber than she was with a blaster. Then again, it was a weapon that lent itself to boldness.

The clash of sabers was loud and jarring. The bright lights filled the dark alley, and it was going to start drawing attention on the abandoned street very soon. He was meant to deliver the quarry alive. However, the client had not mentioned that there might be Inquisitors involved. Nothing about Jedi. That's what he earned, though, for not asking questions.

The two sabers touched lightly, testing. The sound was still jarring. The inquisitor pulled up the visor of his helmet. He had a fantastically ugly face “Well, well. You haven’t forgotten your training, youngling.”

“Pretty sure you’re younger than me,” she said. She had a loose, comfortable grip with her saber. Her movements were practiced, precise.

“As you like, Lady Salcilia.”

Fett had to make a decision. If they would put the sabers away, it would be easier.

The Jedi took a step back—retreat? No. He could tell she was up to something. The Inquisitor grinned like a predator. “What is this? Fear, Lady Salcilia?”

He was mocking her. Fett raised his blaster. Tash risked a glance at him. Raised her eyebrow. He swore that his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. What was she trying to tell him to—oh.

“Well, Fett, hope you’ve got the engine warmed up,” she said. “Seeing as how there’s no shot that both of us are getting out of this alive.”

The Inquisitor lunged.

Again, it was a light show, a constant hum-and-buzz routine. This time was different though. Lia’s practiced movements became brutal, serious attacks, beating the Inquisitor down. No longer on the offensive, the Inquisitor was bewildered for a second, which gave Lia the upper hand for just long enough to tire him out. Watching the whole thing was like being in a nightmare.

Fett kept his rifle trained, and when the Jedi ducked, he fired on the Inquisitor. There was a breathless second where Fett was pretty sure he was kriffed, where the Inquisitor realized what had happened. Inquisitors were pretty immune to pain. However, they weren’t immune to politics.

He looked up at Fett. “You traitor! Lord Vader will hear about this!”

Tash Lia was behind him in a second, and the beam of her saber appeared out of his chest, before tearing through his body like a hot knife through butter. Fett was pretty immune to extreme violence, but that was a little sickening. The Inquisitor turned, his own saber nearing Tash’s leg. Momentum was on his side, but Lia twisted away, only getting the edge of her skirt singed. The Inquisitor fell.

She looked up at him. Silence stretched on between them.

“We can’t leave him here,” she gasped, clearly out of breath. Fett didn't move until the Jedi flicked the switch on her saber, turning it off. She tucked it away and looked up at him. It took him a second to realize she was waiting on an answer.

“We could put him out the airlock.”

She nodded as she slipped her bag over her shoulder. “Any asteroid fields on the way to where we’re going?”

“Not going to put up a fight anymore?”

He put away his blaster and opened the pocket on his belt where he kept the binders. Lia held out her hands. “I’m not an idiot. You had multiple opportunities to shoot, so whoever hired you wants me alive. They definitely want me dead,” she said, shooting a glance at the Inquisitor. “And I need offworld, like, now, before they figure out this barve is missing. I’ll fight later.”

He picked up the gored Inquisitor and threw him over his shoulder. Lia followed him.

"So how'd you get out of the Sarlacc?"